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…

Vignettes on Amnesic Memories

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(i)
drinking sweet sips
after munched gooseberries
were swallowed by a tongue
addicted to raw and tangy desires,
while dew-kissed feet of childhood
pranced on velvety greens,
and childish fingers
gathered green sour sighs
peppered on grassy indifferences,
beneath benevolent boughs.

(ii)
arbitrarily scattered
wildflowers with fireflies aglow
seemingly in their pink, nectarine wombs,
were like fractured fragments
of a dialogue lost in ambiguities,
fringing drains and puddles
to effortlessly smear
tempest-tainted days in laughter~
they were picked in idle whimsy
to momentarily scent
innards of porcelain vases
too sophisticated to bask in
faint redolence of the commonplace
spawns of rustic weeds.

(iii)
memories were treasured
within scrap books in weird collages
composed of wrappers
snapshots, newspaper cut-outs
and old greeting cards,
glued in togetherness to enhance
the fading realms of reverie~
a quirk of adolescence
which now lies on dusty shelves
to be rifled by fingers of nostalgia.

(iv)
drinking hot coffee
on somnolent nights of winter
frostbitten at the edges,
when taunting, unread volumes
lay glaring on the study table
and pleading for
caffeine-induced insomnia
tired eyes tried to learn
lessons soon forgotten
in mandarin sunshine of days
which dawned with sinister threat
of examination looming.

(v)
eyes caressed visions
which mannequins preened in
within lighted shop windows,
like a stardust strewn fairytale
~elusive yet alluring,
mute sighs of desires too lofty
to be touched by earthbound realms
peppered blandness of naivete,
and a silence pregnant
with anticipations from the morrow
yet to emerge from
its chrysalis of oblivion,
and every lavish indulgence of today
is a reflection of
those wasted, serile sighs.

Nostalgia (vignettes)

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(i)
she wore a tired smile
like singed marigold petals in june,
to camouflage the searing pain
which wizened her beyond
an anorexic youth yet unlived~
sighing soft whispers to placate
our anxieties with her complacence
and suddenly that flickering smile froze
on chapped lips now quiet,
her voice coffined in silence.

(ii)
life is an enigma, a mystery
strewn in laughter and tears,
such the lyrics flowed as rippling river
entrancing me with their depth
as they unraveled surreal meanings
of bittersweet existence,
unaltered by the drooled moments
by an hourglass bellybutton.

(iii)
a face scratched by mischief,
an impish grin worn with bravado
to defy angst of skinned knees and elbows,
a little girl with grit enough
to challenge boys twice her age
trying to prove something to herself,
but on stardusted nights
she peered into onyx realms of insomnia
trying to gather fragments
of once savored choco-chip cookie realities
now a distant, faded dream.

(iv)
the boundaries
between truth and falsehoods
are blurred by conceptual interpretations
she lost her most cherished dream
and sought satisfaction
in making empty threats to break
the sand castles built by others,
just to prove to kismet
she could beat it at its callous game
of cheating, swindling and destroying…

Yearning for Sepia Yesteryears…

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I yearn to return
and traipse along those straits
sepia and serpentine
strewn in chiaroscuros spun
on boughs of flamboyant mesua,
riddled in raindrops
blasphemed by muddy puddles
and echoing in muted whispers
of scarlet palash petals
peppering silent mornings,
where rainbow fantasies of youth
sequined my nights
and childhood slowly altered
to blossom into juvenile desires.

where the chartreuse muteness
of tea leaves pregnant
in piquant syllables of aroma,
is unruffled by garrulous dialogue
of golden sunrays~
chirping after being laved in dew
and blue hills that fringe
obscurities of distant horizons
in their curves and contours
dusted in dawn’s golds
argent moonlight dreams
and fingerprints of reverie
of a long lost childhood,
still stand reminiscencing about
a naivete long molted off.

those days were
a grey monotone emblazoned
on cloudy sighs of cerulean heights,
the garbled poetry of sparrows
mingling with verses muttered by doves
to change blue moods
of tempest’s monotonous songs,
my giggles as I threw
my umbrella to the winds’ whims
and danced in falling rain,
those broken lyrics scattered
by my idiosyncrasies in the shower
and that sigh of delight
as I munched on orange popsicles
still linger somewhere
in that place I lived.

those trees which shared
my first love confessions,
their complacence aiding my decisions
as I hesitated and dallied,
the wildflowers in pink
that I picked and filled in
vases of loneliness,
to make solitude fragrant,
the hursinghars whose redolence
composed the aubade
of cerise dawns in flagrant bloom,
are still there adding magic
to someone else’s adolescence
while in a sunburnt land
sighing in heat waves
I dream of mists and rainfall.

Childhood Memories of March…

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apple blossom mornings
of march tinted in aromatic sighs
emanating from tea leaves’ nostrils,
were favored in gold-pink sweetness
of gujhias deep fried
in mother’s kitchen of magic.

festival of colors
lurked round the corners
of days laved in lukewarm honey,
as seen in scarlet laughter
of blazing flames of the forest,
peppered on dewy grass blades.

affection was ground and kneaded
into delicious dreams
on gas stoves and in oven wombs,
paste of dry fruits and saffron blending
in the boiling fluidities of milk
to scent throats of chilled glasses,
as sidewalks and walks awaited
graffiti splashes in anticipation,
to color their bleak realities.

spices romanced jack fruits
into curried delights,
platters of china fragilities preened
adorned in sumptuous delicacies,
sweets competed with each other to lure
drooling tongues with their charms,
the beauty of spring forgotten
in the redolent whispers
echoing from the ardent kitchen.

summer hovered on sidelines
with ripeness of golden mangoes
and sweltering gasps of a wrathful sun,
but often the day of vibrant hues
was peppered in whimsy of spring showers
drenching mischievous hopes
of splattering colors on mellow daylight.

Winding Streets of Nostalgia…

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those gravel streets
rife with sneering mud puddles,
echoing the sermons
of prolific rainclouds in tandem
filling vacuous silences
in musical notes of rain-chimes,
like temple bells ringing
to awaken drowsy mornings,
replay in my mind’s eye
as array of sepia snapshots.

the mesua trees
their foliage a blend
of pink and chartreuse flutters
stood along winding streets,
draped in streetlight whispers
and buzz of dancing moths,
their white and gaudy blossoms
teasing naive butterflies
with nectarine promises,
while their scents were
a rancid blasphemy of spring.

skies like faded blue denims
had volatile mood-swings,
preened in scarlet satins at dawn
they wore tapestried versatilities
of spring flowers at twilight,
they wore mascaras in azure gaze
wearing their vagrant tresses
flying freely like tempest’s sighs
when temperamental clouds
growled in kohl-tinged monsoons,
their visage like scented plumeria
in the winter chill,
scented in maple wood fires.

harsingars peppered
sublime smile of morns in scents,
to reverberate as an aubade
while early-rising doves danced
to the echoing symphony,
tamarinds laden on boughs added
a tangy flavor to whimsical days,
blending with taste of gooseberries
while bright dahlias in versicolor
scattered laughter on rain-songs.

nights were sequined
in the truancy of constellations,
while a protean moon smiled
her serene smile laced in reverie,
it slept over rippling lake
in a crumpled, tired heap,
or perched over the slenderness
of swaying bamboo groves,
and pressed its nose to windows
infringing on privacies of lovers,
at times being quilted
in the grays of night clouds.

now away from those serpentine streets,
in another time and space
entangled in new found preoccupations
I have long forgotten that past existence
except when in moments of solitude
some scene or vibrant panorama,
brings back these sepia reminiscences,
like a flying dove or a blooming dahlia
some old anecdote or snapshot,
rewinds lost memories in gay snippets…

Reflections of Winter Sun…

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wizened winter sun
is like a faint smile
on a face wreathed in wrinkles,
as it gazes with eyes
reminiscing sepia yesteryears,
its rays on snow-salted pine tops,
like golden honey trickling down
icy contours of popsicles.

it remembers its juvenile days
when it woke up to
scented yawns of frangipani
its blonde mane laced in dewdrops,
while scores of drowsy sunflowers
reflected its lazy grin,
and its face was a ripe red plum
staining brightening azure
in its vermilion juices, at dawn.

it recalls sweltering days of summer
that were like harshness of blazing cinders
frosting hourglass existences
in sweat beads of moisture,
remembering the chiaroscuros spun
on shady looms of palm fronds,
the balmy hours flavored
in sweet-sour sips of lemonades,
and longevities of august days ending
in variegated poetics of sultry dusk
winking in fluorescent fireflies.

tempest clouds tinted in grays
are like salt and pepper maturity
of a middle aged person,
shivering, geriatric sun of snow
remembers rainstorms with howling winds
tossing its drenched realms like a frisbee,
while lightening flashed as spluttering mustard
in hot oil on frying pan moments~
its silver arms like opportunity’s limbs,
and trumpeting thunder rattled
introspections of cobwebby windows,
until rainbows concluded this rancor.

cinnamon days glowing in mandarin sighs
of a sun preoccupied with armchair reflections
are remembered by it in december mists,
it recalls taste of apple cider and pumpkin pies
gracing the table tops of october,
soft,rustling melodies reverberating on
piano keys of cobblestones,
are remembered in fractured fragments
of frayed and orphaned lyrics
by a sun with memories lurking on
the whimsical edge of age-lorn dementia.

now peering through foggy days
with eyes covered in presbyopic lenses
and scales of withering memories,
sun slowly walks along chilled brevities
of faded days of winter,
drinking in not the bland barren scenes
but reliving the memories of brighter days
rifling through them as snapshots,
as a twilight etched in stale crayons
unfolds as an epilogue to another winter day…