Endless Wait of Hope…


cappuccino stains,
blotched on sensibilities
on table-cloth naivete,
sneer at chiseled flower-vase vanity
with a crimson rose-bud
held within porcelain embrace.

sublime candle
weeps wax tears, trickling
down melting contours,
with incandescent wick
of eternal optimism aglow
in hope of lost love~
trying to imitate
serenity of moonlight.

dust filmed frames
hanging morose with sepia gaze
on psoriatic walls
doze to lullabies of ticking
ancient grandfather clock,

old, dogeared calendar
hangs as remnants from
long faded yester-years,
when days held intrigue
within clenched fists.

the array of bone china cups
with coffee dredges
staining their emptiness,
reminding of creeping
moments of endless wait,
within a derelict sigh
of relentless, phoenix hope…

A Fragrant Memory of Love


memory of love

she lingers in
my mind as
a nascent memory,
a gossamer dream spun
of redolent sighs,
a faint reminiscence
which lurks in
memory’s catacombs,
draped in opaque mist
of confounding amnesia.

memory of scents

I remember not
her features, her face,
nor her silken mane
or her alabaster contours,
but just some scents
which whisper in
surreal syllables tales of
a romance long lost,
a romance we shared.

faded face

scent reminiscent of
breath of lemon blossoms,
peppered over
dewy face of spring morn,
or redolent chants
of hursinghars like
wedding vows of night
and dawn blooming
in resplendent delight.

lemon blossoms

in my mind she is
a cocktail of aromas,
a bittersweet concoction
which tingles and
tantalizes the senses,
faint whiff of coffee’s smell
mingled with snow’s freshness,
which was braided
perhaps in her breath,
and luscious scent of
molten dark chocolate,
which lingered as a nuance
on her sensuous lips.

kiss of chocolate1

and every time I try to
remember her visage,
all that is revived is aromas,
citrus fragrance of
juicy slices of mandarin,
~ sweet-sour as her mischief.
and scent of drenched earth
after monsoon’s virgin shower,
reminds me of her,
and her rippling laughter…

peeled mandarin

You are No Longer Here…

vines of roses and wisteria,
citrus blossoms
and sweet-sighed frangipani,
boughs laden in bouganvillia,
bottle brushes and hibiscuses in red,

variegated dahlias
and conventional sunflowers
with many an anonymous flower~
bloom today in April on
this fragrant spring morning–
each with an echoing sussurus
of your inherent beauty.

they bloom as lovely as ever
the glory of nature in
our front yard born of your efforts,
but as always today somehow
the joy they give is missing,

I feel your touch in the softness
of their fondled petals,
and your smile in their pollen ‘grins’,
today you are not there
to savor coffee with me in
our cherished, nurtured alcove

and I feel my thirst become eternal
never to be quenched by
another draught of caffeine…

Remembering You Over Cappuccinos…



on moonlit winter nights
when absurdities of chilled raindrops
tapper on corrugated rooftops,
as insistent knuckles
fraying the linen of flimsy silence,
on bittersweet demitasse nights.
cold shivers tapestry
my trembling solitudes in goosebumps,
snuggled within fleece quilts
of piquant cappuccino aromas peppered
in sugar granule memories,
I indulge in your reminiscences.


cocoa giggles salted on mocha mirth,
treacle smiles lace fluid lips
mingling sugar in peppermint laughters,
shared sips like emblazoned kisses
exchanged on the brims of fragile china,
twin straws and huddled faces of togetherness
over iced cappuccinos in frothy coronas,
baked festivities of cookies
flavored in coffee are like crisp dawns
of winter emerging as scented butterflies
from the oblivion of chrysalis-night~
are now sepia tinted recollections.

cappuccino and cookies

you are to me my morning coffee~
your scent rejuvenating my lethargies,
as blind fingers caressing
your latte-silk skin,
relearn hourglass contours as braille
our love story is camaraderie,
caffeine-scented laughters echoing warmth
a blend of passion and vitality
like simmering sips of mocaccinos
and today on this bland night
tasting like stale dredges
of yesterday’s leftover coffee,
I relive our long lost tale of love
gathering you in faded thoughts
like scooped withered molts of fall…





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…