Goosebumps…

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Reading unvoiced
tremor of nervousness,
as Braille under
caressing fingertips,
he recited in stilted sighs
a sonnet of desire scribed
on her skin in moonlit silence
drunk on love’s chardonnay.

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Popcorn Moments

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Days are
like popcorns in a pan
bursting and popping
with surprise moments,
gravid with pleasant anticipation
minutes swollen with
the unexpected yet delightful,

My two year old
is an enigma,
his intrigue changing
my jaded, pragmatic outlook,
as I discover life anew
peeling its layers like an onion

he laughs aloud
and cries the next instant,
scattering his emotions
like marbles in sunshine,

playing peek-a-boo with my scarf
he wears a bowl on his head,
babbling and prattling
his ambiguous verbiage
~ he creates a strain
quixotic yet musical

within innocent palms
he seeks to capture butterflies,
racing after fleeting shadows
he smells of sunshine and wildflowers
and sugar and spice,

wearing huge boots
in tiny pattering feet,
he seeks to measure
winding trails of existence.

showering its benediction
over our parched souls,
erasing the silhouettes of quietude
with his giggles and laughter,

fingerpainting rainbow on
the drab and the commonplace
he defines ecstasy
in all its shades and more…

Sensual Whispers

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caved pillows
imprinted in twin heads,
wrinkles furrowed
on satin sheets of silent morn,

lingering whispers of sweet-nothings
murmured in night’s ear,

remnants of molten, vanilla candles,
their dead wicks winking
in early refulgence~
murmur stardust-secrets,

Echo of blending breaths
entangled and fragrant with passion,
caresses exotic
like molten, dark chocolate,
trickling down butterscotch,

emblazoned
on alabaster skin
as hibiscus petals on dawn~
sensuality defines itself.

I Dreamed of Mother…

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colored tendrils
frozen on distant horizons,
like versicolor yarn
tangled in disarray
~reflecting confusions
of memories mutated
by whimsy of racing eons.

I saw her
face forgotten yet
familiar,
like a faded photo,

her smile like a wisp of fall
floating in potpourri draught,
or a sliver of silver
on uncompromising black
of fathomless night.

fingers yearned
to caress those contours
chiseled in reverie,
but palsied I stood,
mesmerized as a moth
in lantern light,

while she beckoned
with a promise of embrace
long hankered for.

like a rain-song
her presence satiated
the thirst for maternal love,
as my loneliness
was erased forever and beyond,

I relived those
scanty memories
nostalgia a rolling spool
of precious but elusive
moments captured
like fireflies in
in a crystal bottle,
spread prismatic winks
of delight.

her voice
echoed dwarfing
the distance of lost years,
butterflies fluttered
in a hue-filled fog,
my gaze filled
with anticipation
of love nurtured by love
of a mother
now my shadow…

Nascent Motherhood

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baby in the womb

Within amber realms
of anonymity and ambiguity,
lost in slumber of innocence
a soul awaits
the moment of discovery
of life’s versatilities and intrigue.

a tiny heart pulsates
like the dialogue
of clock’s garrulous hands,

while tiny hands and feet
curled as petals in a calyx
flutter at times to etch
tired smiles of maternal bliss,
making her yearn
for that bittersweet moment
of burgeoning anticipation.

crocheting dreams
on loom of complacent insomnia,
she speaks to the one
who swims within enceinte contours,
crooning lullabies
and sharing thoughts and feelings,

aware that the hour looms
when these umbilical ties
would be severed to
gather a new dimension
as a part of her body and soul
finds the angel wings of life…

womb

 

If Love Could Paint the Sky

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if love finger-painted
her versatilities on the azure canvas
bland familiarities of noon sky would be colored
in its spectral moods,
twilights and dawns not just transient graffitis
expressed on skies’ complacence.

rainbows would laugh in abstract shapes
on cornflower heavens,
revealing myriad sentiments braided in love,
like lyrics of a romantic strain
splattered in variegated fonts on sky.

tempests would smear skies
with their unpredictabilities more often,
cafe noir of love’s angst being spilled in greys
on the cobblestones of stars.

while sunshine wooing
shadows with gold-dusted promises,
would be the reflection
of the flush of first love and desire,
as love indulged in painting exploits.

Loving With Wisterias…

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fragrant wisterias
blossoming in chortling sunshine
of an exuberant summer,
are like lingering sighs
of spring twilights tapestried
in lavender whorls on clouds afloat
over cerulean heights.

they crept over ancient walls
on shadowy feet of redolence, to concoct
a verse of perfumed flowers
that reverberated with dreams of
a love which blossomed underneath
these mauve blooms of softness,
nurtured by their scented verses.

they grew up together
in that antiquated homestead,
love flowering in the realms of naiveté
as a nascent rainbow streaked
on blue-grey cheeks of
a tempestuous yet boisterous childhood,
or as a butterfly slowly evolving
within unseen chrysalis depths.

friendship metamorphosed
into love in soporific meads of adolescence,
like thunder storms changing into
honeyed symphonies of falling raindrops,
a blazing noon sky being
replaced by versatile hues of dusk
and the pink-lime foliage of mesua being
speckled in sublime flowers.

the silence of snowflakes
powdered over chiseled mountain backs,
is replaced gradually by
a rippling cascade of argent delights,
mischief of innocence now
becoming the sly innuendos of youth.

reading linguistics of gazes
enamored by a relation forged down years,
they together blended into
a confluence of entranced heartbeats
forming a novel yet exquisite melody,
while their togetherness
is scribed on papyrus of the fates,
with the silent wisterias
a witness of love’s juvenile dream.

he expressed his love
when at crepuscule not only the threshold
but also azure heavens were brocaded in
the beauty of wisterias,
her smile had the sheen of morning dew
her gaze reflecting
the fragrant song of a field
abounding in blooming lavenders.

she wore wisterias in her mane
on the day of their nuptials as an expression
of their surreal love story,
even he had a discreet wisteria
tucked inside the button hole of his suit,
their love voiced in sweet scent
of the whimsical wisterias of summer.

everyday she filled her vases
in the purple laughter of scented wisterias
and her rooms in their eloquent poetry,
their children played with these flowers
stringing them into garlands
and wearing them on their heads
their branches wreathed into crooked coronets,
concocting their memories
in the perfumed sighs of wisterias.

now years later when he searches
for her lost smile in forget-me-not blooms,
the lone wisteria blossom is
always perched inside his buttonhole
like a whispered kiss emblazoned
on her life’s moments from her in adieu…