A Nurtured Love-Song…

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abstract flutters burgeoning
within enceinte realms of amnion
like echoing whispers
of butterflies’graffiti-wings,
or stilted hiccups
of fractured lyrics of a love song
undone by life as a broken
string of soft opalescence,
are reminiscent of
volatile fluidities of
splashed daffodils laughter
on wool-clad spring morns
still peppered in silver frost.

I feel a heart beat within my soul,
a feeble pulse threads itself
as a nascent sigh within my racing pulse,
a dream emerges in rainbow ambiance
from within chrysalis of oblivion,
a hope blossoms like cerise dawn
imparting concrete definition
to surreal susurrus of romance,
tamarind flavors on my tongue
is the shadow of mischief
nurtured within unseen depths.

blurred vision of myopic windows
ailing from winter’s malady,
fails to interpret translucence
of peppered frost and veiling mists,
and indulges in daydreams
reflecting with eyes of imagery,
or sojourns in sepia trails
of yesterdays withered as wares
of a wastrel, moody autumn,
and I imitate these vague panes
reliving the lost past in
silences pregnant with murmurs
of faded hours, days, years.

this is the poetry of my love
scribed by tender togetherness
and a flagrant passion,
I nurture it, cherishing it
caressing it in soft strokes,
words are strung into sentences,
parts of speech piecing
themselves into a solved jigsaw,
futilities buried in past moments
are revived in a fresh verse,
adorned in metaphors and similes,
this is rejuvenation
of a faltering hope tapestried
as a rainbow of azure skies
after tempest tattoo hours in kohl…

Eulogies to the Forgotten…

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orchids

1.Orchids
within scaling crusts
from oft ignored arms
of silent benevolence,
flimsy roots spread
as octopus tentacles,
struggling for survival:

sapping vitality
from dying sinews
of antiquity, lost
within misty recollections
of frenzied storms of old-

to blossom into
vibrant hues,
breathing exotic scents
and wearing
with panache,

illusion of unsullied
dewy, innocence-
unknown to callous life.

2.Eucalyptus

eucalyptus

alabaster skin peels off
as cheap acrylics,
revealing hidden blemishes
for world to sneer at,
yet elegant complacence
endures, under
sun’s scorching critique-

of tainted presence,
sparse foliage;
dancing to rhythm
of taunting winds,
in tranquil contentment
of life’s little pleasures.

3.Penaga lily

penaga lily

familiar trees that stood
lining serpentine path,
of gravel and puddles
to my homestead

with satin leaves
of roseate pink
like sea shell’s bellies,
seemingly,
kissed by virgin rays
of vermilion dawn-
turning green with age;

and sublime flowers
rancid yet gay,
with gaudy yawns,
thick olive foliage
seldom dry, of
whimsical raindrops,

echoing with
sparrows’ chirps,
and cuckoo’s songs;
adorned my childhood
in delight’s confetti-
always reminiscent
to me

as nascent, first love
in nature’s boudoir.

4.Gooseberries

gooseberries

green, sweet-sour,
tangy and shiny-smooth,
bit with gluttonous delight
to savor, with water
turned paradoxically sweet,

collected in stained kerchiefs
oblivious to gritty palms,
sweaty brows, skinned knees
treasured in bulging pockets;
bite of delight
at times turned into
grimace, when greed
plucked raw bitterness,

paying the price
for impatience,
and selfish indifference-
inherent of juvenile
single-mindedness.

5.Touch Me Not

touch-me-not

dewy, luxuriant leaves
furl in silent subservience,
fading into insignificance
at subtle brush,
of trampling juggernaut-

concocting illusion
of terrified cowardice:
an instrument of survival
against the unsurmountable-

to savor sprinkled
sips, of sunlight’s manna
stroking insatiable egos
of approaching trouble,
to bask in breeze’s kisses.

6.China Rose

china rose

those cheery blossoms
of scarlet and fuschia,
grinning in sweltering heat
or rainy downpours,

resplendent with smiles
at gloomiest of hours,
enthroned on straggling arms
of olive foliage,
rightfully, queen of topics;

left a song echoing
on heart strings,
strummed with
invisible fingers of joy,

-a contagious rapture
of being alive,
and celebration of
elusive blessing of life.

7.Flamboyant

flamboyant tree

tree with gigantic boughs
a canopy of frond-like foliage
with refulgent peacock flowers

colors of phoenix’s plumage,
autumn’s frills, twilight’s wink
and dawn’s yawn;

frozen on redolent flowers,
reminiscent of school life
-long leather-bound
in memories’ albums,

that wither to quilt,
bosom of unrevered earth,
with fragrant gratitude:

for selfless love,
nurturing warmth,
eternal nourishment,
throughout life.

8. Harsinghars

harsingar

white and saffron
blended in loving hymeneals
of daylight and moonbeams
at variegated twilight,

scented in wistful hopes
of a perfumed spring day, to bask
in fragrant verses of
night jasmine long withered
on dawn’s threshold in reverence.

they are like dreams
that wilt with rising sun
and are left forgotten
lost within sepia realms
of bittersweet memories.

strung into garlands,
or just picked and showered
on moments of morning,
they together remain
even after years a cherished
reminiscence of backyard trysts.

Thoughts Brewed in my Kitchen

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tea leaves bleed
aromatic synonyms in water
as it bubbles to fill
piquant anticipations in gaze
of lethargic, mist-draped winters,
poured into chiseled transparencies,
insinuating russet delights
of sweet apple cider.

cookie crumbles
voicing soft innuendoes
of honeyed pleasures,
unheeded by a tongue rolling
in hurriedly munched bites
tinged in caffeinated sips
as preoccupations enshroud
sensibilities of an overwrought mind.

as currency crisp afternoon
crumble like stale scones,
into twilights crocheted in wildflowers,
warming cold-numbed fingers
over brewing warmth of coffee
I rifle through lists of ingredients
needed for impending supper.

appetizing breath of curry
fills the blandness of shivering nights,
preening in starry tiarras,
as moments shell and crunch
their oxymoron moods
like fire-kissed peanuts,
seasoned in finger-licking spices
luring gluttony from
routine monotony of dinner table.

ice-creams relax
their realms undiluted by winter nights
cuddled in snowflake sighs,
while hot chocolate sauce laces
their frozen dreams in passion,
and chilled spoonfuls
are gulped in rapture
to frill cold in icy pleasures.

A Day At the Cafe…

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coffee1

sitting sipping
caffeine laced warmth from
Styrofoam cups filled in
the machine’s trickled faceless brew,
my eyes rove, drinking in
the scenes unfolding in snippets
like a collage of live snapshots
from a medley of lives
meeting at another crossroad.

a girl in polka dots and freckles
her pigtails limp as her sagging spirits,
sits in a secluded corner,
quietly rifling through her thoughts–
seeking solitude in the crowd,
as her brow puckers in a frown
and listless eyes gaze at distant horizons
wherein perhaps replay
the haunting moments of lost past,
while her coffee loses steam
as it cools its heels and
the cheese omelette congeals into
an unappetizing mass,
yet she sits forlorn and forgotten
unaware of the creeping minutes.

they sit together
their smiles both eager and hesitant
holding hand stealthily under the table,
their gazes longing-filled and dreamy,
talking in whispers, oblivious to
hustle and noise as they share
another stolen moment of togetherness,
too absentminded to bother
about tasteless lukewarm coffee,
or stale muffins,
mundane realities lost in
the tattoo of heart beats tripping
over themselves to be heard
over the furor of voices.

wafting aroma from the pantry
is a blend of smells sweet and piquant,
sighs of fresh pancakes mixed
with scent of brewing tea,
and the fragrance of
pastries and cookies emerging
from the ancient hot oven,
breath of spices and butter
tickles starved nostrils of appetite,
from simmering gravies and broths,
and expectant faces crowd the counter
to place orders with smacked lips,
while the stomach growls
in anticipation of delights to come.

carelessly tossed menus are forgotten
as favorites are hastily parroted
by hordes of youngsters to a hassled waiter
and the token queue snakes down
the over crowded counter in
a room now filled with
laughter, voices and cigarette smoke,
the tablecloth is stained in
dribbled gravy and spilled coffee,
blotches of ketchup and molten butter
while morsels are hurriedly gobbled
by those preoccupied with
unfolding events the beckoning day.

hollered greeting, ringing mobile phones,
impatient, terse exchanges of another busy morn,
merge with the banter and laughter
of those with moments of respite
in their hip pockets,
a misplaced order, a wrongly served dish
are nightmares of the manager
come alive yet again,
customers placated, tempers calmed
tax the tact of harassed waiters,
spilled cup of coffee ensues a fist fight
for a pristine shirt ruined
and a free breakfast
barely manages to sooth frayed nerves.

the college youth in jeans and hipsters,
old gentlemen in tweeds
with an umbrella or a jaunty stick,
spinsters in pince-nez and floral dresses,
girls giggling together in shorts
unaware of leery eyed executives
in business suits and neck ties,
together crowd the tables
adorned in pink with
whites roses winking in wooden vases
newspapers are read, files rifled through,
homeworks copied and lessons mugged,
gossips swapped in stage whispers
and jokes aired butted on old cronies.

it is just another morning
that slowly rolls in the neighboring cafe
and oft leaving the monotony
of my silent predictable mornings at home
I am drawn to this bustling warehouse of humanity
where I watch varied shades of life
together coalesce like the hues of dawn,
it is a graffiti of tastes, smells, lives
that adds some flavor to
the life of insipid, lonely existence–
a window through which
I watch the drama of life enact itself…

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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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My Routine Weekly Meanderings

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The relentless shriek of 
an impaitent alarm 
sounds to dozing consciousness
like a poignant wail from
beyond the horizons of oblivion,
the sun grumbles at my laziness
in heated syllables
thar filter through flimsy drapes
and the madness of forced monotony
beckons while last crumbs
of savored Sunday 
escape in a groaned expletive…
its Monday again.

familiar faces, distorted grins,
the stench of stale garbage fills nostrils
dreaming of night jasmines,
as I seive genuine illness
sifting through
faked ailments and complaints 
baked by idle thoughts 
miamed in a confined crowd
of bruised temperments,
just another Tuesday of existing 
through unlived days.

On Wednesday,
tea brews with my impaitence,
darkening like thoughts 
eager to escape 
from a corked soda bottle,
perfection falters before the racing hands
of frowning wall clock,
pressure cooker whistles its urgency
as guilt at stolen minutes
beneath the duvet flush cheeks with guilt,
words of prayer trip over themselves
in haste after a brief bath,
comb and socks find place inside
the ever bulging purse while
yet again the mobile phone is lost
within sheets left tangled on
a bed still unmade-
and silent annoyance is louder
than the screech of tyres
on the blistered asphalt trail.

After burping last night
on chicken legs Thursady is about abstinence,
and the mind daydreams with
the weekend just round the corner,
mellowing the moods 
of long suffering grey cells
yellow is the color today
and perfume is sprinkled 
in generous sprays with soaps 
left dry on their shelves-
whatever happened to cleanliness
being next to piety?

Friday dawns hungry with the sun
seemingly a golden bun
steeming in the oven,
fasting on fruits with the promise of
answered desires I find 
my usually anorexic appetite
return with venegeance
as aroma of food tortures my nostrils
long past dinner time,
amid the usual craziness of
syringes, bandages and remedies.

Saturday is a reiteration
of Tuesday’s paranoia and claustrophobia,
but caramelized in sweet anticipation
of languid moments before 
late night sitcoms and delicious bites
prior to a long night 
without the dread of the alarm’s wail.

But Sunday dawns with
my spouse paradoxically eager 
to start the day early,
demanding tea and breakfast while
the drone of whirling washing machine
erases my drowsiness,
setting fire to all hopes of 
a late Sunday brunch past noontime,
yet moments of friendly banter
are stolen to rejuvenate 
spirits dropping with loneliness
further down the week’s marathon…