Summer’s Mischief

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Summer is a juvenile boy,
hopscotching with pebbles
on afternoons strewn in
quixotic cricket’s rhapsodies,
and butterflies fluttering
salsa delights,

He scatters and gathers
moments like sparkling marbles,
winking in honeyed sunshine~
wearing a hat pinned in sunflowers
he guffaws his laughter
to flower into mustard blossoms.

On hibiscus-tinted dawns~
scented in mango blossom verses,
he sequins delphinium bays
in constellations,
spilling his moody eructations
on azure clarities
to crayon vibrant dusks.

he offers naive faith
in night jasmine filled palms,
tolling bells of worship
on temple steps of tranquility,
fingerpainting rainbows
on kohl streaked blues,
he discovers flavor of first love
on adolescent tongue,
in peppered kisses of tempest.

playing peek-a-boo
with chameleon silhouettes,
he scribbles his secrets on clouds,
with the moon his ball
he aims to taint the night
in mud-stained shots…

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Scents of Naiveté 

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syllables uttered
by variegated gossiping wildflowers,
to an uncouth morning
fenced in swaying bamboo groves,
are like perfumed sighs
from chiseled hourglass of essence
sprayed in rancid space to erase
smudges of claustrophobia.

smell of mango blossoms
abloom under foliage draperies,
are flowered promises
of luscious tanginess
bottled into sunshine pickles,
and golden sweetness
poured into chilled glasses
for parched sensitivities.

a pie baking in oven
whispers sumptuous aromas,
like a cherished dream evolving,
a browned moment
burnished and crisp,
cooked with flavor of affection
to enhance radiance of festivities
and make life special.

under sly gaze of pale moon
hursinghars bloom
filling fragrance in nostrils
of moonlit quietude,
to be scattered on face
of dawn as petals of devotion
for rising aureate sun.

falling rain tappers,
puttering as a busybody
with kitchen utensils,
on stark, corrugated rooftops,
playing rain-chimes
on potholes with their fluidities,
and sprinkling humid breath
over freshly laundered realms,
reminiscent of brewing
cardamom tea in earthen cups
and spicy fries within
porcelain palms.

scent of September
molting its old songs in bronze,
strung as nutmeg rosary beads
on threads of existence,
are symbolic of maple’s angst
and penury of humus strewn days~
when roasted marshmallows
and cooking cinnamon rolls
add taste to bland palates.