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…

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Between Teacups and Clotheslines…

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Curls escape like wayward whims
from a stoic bun of stolid indifference,
as sweat beads pepper
furrowed brow of worry
like water droplets on lotus leaves,
trickling down oft to imitate
defrosted sigh of winter,
flowing down glass panes at noon.

Hands wrinkled, weather-beaten,
resembling that of her grandmother
–having endured many a frothy tussle,
wear rings dulled and faded by time
like sepia photographs in dogeared albums,
now wedded to fingers forever
and beyond~ only to be rotated in
fuming moments of urgency.

Within flour canisters she hides
meager savings of bargain and thrift
~ like miser’s gold-pot buried underground,
while she reigns supreme as a sorceress
surrounded by luscious aromas and flavors,
wielding her spatula as a wand
to create magical delights on fire-flames.

Humming fractured lines of lyrics
half-forgotten and fabricated,
she talks oft to herself just to ensure
that her solitude has not maimed
those long learnt conversation skills~
disuse atrophy perhaps?
For dinnertime woes and complaints
are hardly versatile enough
to qualify as a dialogue.

Refereeing squabbles and pillow fights,
absentminded daily appointments with soap operas
just to forget her petty troubles,
while the needle knit patterns of affection
for limbs long outgrown
as she fails to steal moments of respite,
the ticking moments befriend
her insomnia as she ponders
on impending problems
in murmured prayers for survival…

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

 

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…

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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