Foreplay…

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Playing criss-cross on my flat belly,

With fingertips that oft escaped to circle
Within lips of a softly voweled navel,
You’d let your fingers linger on my skin
Which you said reminded you 
Of kitten’s underbellies and petals of palash,
Your knuckles brushed over my arms
In the whispered intimacy of a caress,
As we ate, barely tasting our sustenance.

You would carry me out
At the twilight hour brocaded in
Shadows in silent salsa,
Just to see them roll over 
My alabaster realms as tides of smoke,
There was a song in your gaze 
Which was reflected syllable by syllable
In that fluid new moon smile,
And reverberated in the tattoo of 
My erratically whimsical heartbeat.

Now punctuated in pregnant pauses
Your indifference casts a shadow on my days,
Your fingers seem to prefer the crosswords,
Dinner is an engrossing, silent ritual
And togetherness obsolete and forgotten,
We once read looks now words
Are difficult to comprehend.

Only at lonely hours of dusk,
I still see the shadows softly caress
My skin still smooth as eucalyptus’ trunks,
And despite the quietude that song
Just refuses to fade from my soul’s depths…

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A Priceless Gift

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subtle fingers of mist cover
yesteryears in sighs with cracked edges
and sepia footprints are left
by filtering recollections
on the bosom of tranquil moments
– transient scribbles of reverie
like the hues of fading crepuscule.

distant echo of words 
long forgotten is revived by 
lethargic solitude interwoven with
with threads of recapitulations,
as seemlessly snippets of 
long erased past unfold 
in burnished syllables of the old.

I remember an incident,
watching it play on mind’s canvas
almost like a vaguely remembered scene
from a movie seen once,
I am a child again-
all knee scrapes, laughter and mischief
visiting the shops with mother,
my eyes alight with delight
at the myriad colors, lights, smells-

I fell in love with her
as she sat high on a glass shelf 
in a dainty frock in the shop,
pestering mummy I whined for it
and with a smile-tipped sigh
she bought it for me.

pleased I went prancing downstreet,
to show my doll to father
and learnt my mother had spent
money meant for her saree to indulge me
even after all these years, flown 
under time’s bridge as a river,
I still cherish this memory like
a memento of love from
my mother long since departed
to tread cottonwool clouds with angels
her smile lighting up life’s drab alleys forever…

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My Routine Weekly Meanderings

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The relentless shriek of 
an impaitent alarm 
sounds to dozing consciousness
like a poignant wail from
beyond the horizons of oblivion,
the sun grumbles at my laziness
in heated syllables
thar filter through flimsy drapes
and the madness of forced monotony
beckons while last crumbs
of savored Sunday 
escape in a groaned expletive…
its Monday again.

familiar faces, distorted grins,
the stench of stale garbage fills nostrils
dreaming of night jasmines,
as I seive genuine illness
sifting through
faked ailments and complaints 
baked by idle thoughts 
miamed in a confined crowd
of bruised temperments,
just another Tuesday of existing 
through unlived days.

On Wednesday,
tea brews with my impaitence,
darkening like thoughts 
eager to escape 
from a corked soda bottle,
perfection falters before the racing hands
of frowning wall clock,
pressure cooker whistles its urgency
as guilt at stolen minutes
beneath the duvet flush cheeks with guilt,
words of prayer trip over themselves
in haste after a brief bath,
comb and socks find place inside
the ever bulging purse while
yet again the mobile phone is lost
within sheets left tangled on
a bed still unmade-
and silent annoyance is louder
than the screech of tyres
on the blistered asphalt trail.

After burping last night
on chicken legs Thursady is about abstinence,
and the mind daydreams with
the weekend just round the corner,
mellowing the moods 
of long suffering grey cells
yellow is the color today
and perfume is sprinkled 
in generous sprays with soaps 
left dry on their shelves-
whatever happened to cleanliness
being next to piety?

Friday dawns hungry with the sun
seemingly a golden bun
steeming in the oven,
fasting on fruits with the promise of
answered desires I find 
my usually anorexic appetite
return with venegeance
as aroma of food tortures my nostrils
long past dinner time,
amid the usual craziness of
syringes, bandages and remedies.

Saturday is a reiteration
of Tuesday’s paranoia and claustrophobia,
but caramelized in sweet anticipation
of languid moments before 
late night sitcoms and delicious bites
prior to a long night 
without the dread of the alarm’s wail.

But Sunday dawns with
my spouse paradoxically eager 
to start the day early,
demanding tea and breakfast while
the drone of whirling washing machine
erases my drowsiness,
setting fire to all hopes of 
a late Sunday brunch past noontime,
yet moments of friendly banter
are stolen to rejuvenate 
spirits dropping with loneliness
further down the week’s marathon…

Tempest Storm At Dawn…

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Dawn was a liquid prelude
echoing in pattering notes on roof tiles,
its water colors washed away
by the deluge of overwhelmed clouds,
and drenched eucalyptuses
swayed like drunken sailors to
resonating music of the flute
of damp, tempest breeze.

With the duvet wrapped around
the lingering warmth of a lost, balmy night,
I sat gazing at the silver showers
riddling the aged, blistered pavements
in ripple-puckered puddles,
while some droplets splatter my face
through half open windows,
like pearls scattered from
the broken necklace of dreams.

Roses nurtured by sunshine
are bathed by monsoons in manna,
breaking with rapture to
kiss the soil in petalled sighs,
on glass panes  aroma of rain
precipitates in misty translucence
like the haze covering
spectacles of memories,

The sword of lightning flashes
while the thunder resounds as trumpet of war,
the earth is an insatiable sponge
absorbing the melodies of vagrant clouds,
the tempest o’erbrims 
the emptiness of solitude in
fragments of ambiguous poetry
waiting interpretation from
moments of quiet contemplation.

Orphaned Lyrics of a Vagrant Song

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an orphaned song 
longs for lyrical syllables 
long withered as wizened thoughts
of ripening October days,
and rhythm bleached
from faded sighs of the muse.

faint susurrus 
of confidence echoes softly
like dogeared words reiterating 
from geometric contours 
of igneous juggernauts,
only to float as 
winged seeds of dreams
yet to germinate 
on the soil of reality.

thrill pulses like
gulped caffeine sips
singeing walls of 
intricate tapestry on flesh,
as resonant vowels 
adding spark to the sinews
of insipid consonants,
only to pepper as dewdrops
of complacence over
the velvet blades of relief.

within catacombs of 
mind’s riddling contemplations 
lurk umbras of long coffined mistakes,
emaciated regrets amid 
cushions of comforting memories,
and weaving through 
cluttered attics of a past 
forgotten yet not buried deep,
I seek to gather
withered frangipani of bliss
under scorching rays 
of the noon of adversities…

Versatile Ruminations About Self

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I am the insomnia of cavorting waves
splashing against the dozing shorelines, 
their indifference seen in
gaping yawns of serrated jaws,
while the moon has a lonely chardonnay,
amongst disapproving teetotaler stars,
sipping bitter espresso till ughten.

I am the fractured lyrics of autumn,
echoing from parched leafage 
in mottled, distorted verbiage,
their rhythm hollow like distant dreams,
of a spring long withered,
while within opaque woods of evergreens
shadows prance to
quixotic melodies of foliage,
on the stage of elusive chiaroscuros.

I am the amnesia of snowflakes,
that powder mountain cracks in soothing talc,
shimmering like gold dust 
in rare smiles of winter sunshine,
but trickle down the curves of summer
as a memory trailing down 
striations of whimsical reverie,
to lose itself in obscurity of subconscious.

I am the orchid of exotic scents,
scattering verses onto blank sheets of fancy,
with the quill of spring breeze,
bathed in sunbeams, peppered in dew,
like hope braided into life’s sinews,
I twirl my perfumed realms into poetry
to garland life interpretations.

Drenched in rain’s serenades,
and wrapped in wafting scents of humid soil,
I am a vignette rainbow
resplendent in versatility of thought,
reflected on window panes and puddles alike,
my revelations like psalms
chanted to nature in devotion,
as I blend in the pulsations of rivers.

A Glissando Metamorphosis

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(i)
mating moments
of kaleidoscopic quivers,
in pheromone-crazed clock ticks,
in winter’s frostbitten minutes 
or spring’s scented gasps,
glue eggs on verdure~
new life takes birth.

(ii)
centipede-like gluttony,
crawls as vermiform creature,
nibbling foliage rustles,
while memories and regrets 
moult in cuticles, 
dreams abound 
in stained-glass wings 
and redolent zephyr-trysts.

(iii)
days are somnolent 
under leafage, hibernating 
in obscurity of chrysalis,
miniature wings forgotten as
time stands still
like toppled hourglass,
with pocketfuls 
of nascent moments .

(iv)
drying gossamer wings
in filigree sunshine,
a resplendent imago is poetry
perched on thought’s ledge,
eagerly whispering,
‘its time sip ambrosia from
nectarine lips.’Image