Fairy-tales of the Meads -2…


Rapunzel tendrils
of dusk-lorn wisterias,
hang in scented breeze
casting long, sinuous shadows
in receding light
and streetlight speculations.

Cinderella escapades
of butterflies
fluttering their nervousness
while ranting in
language of ambiguities,
donning firefly-refulgence
under moonlit fantasies
to ballet in floral ballrooms
only to be left
holding a pumpkin at midnight.

Sleeping beauty,
lost in eternal slumber
wakes up to honeydew kiss of spring
to spread her laughter~
as a golden daffodil,
making the dawn redolent.

whispers of night-jasmine
peppered on soil,
are each like spawned love-child
of sunshine wedded to the moon,
poetry of white and saffron
and perfumed in love.

She is Zephyr…


she is
wreathed in fragrance
gathered from
boudoir of flowers,

invisible and elusive
garlands of strung scents
compose realms in
rainbow-crocheted meads,

when virgin sighs
of awakening daffodils
with gold-dust wombs
herald colorful spring.

pink-white whispers
of cherry tree,
pepper silence of mornings
~citrus-lorn and clutching
to lingering sliver
of lunar promises
fading on face of azalea skies.

she finds her whimsy
in moods of sakura blossoms,
her laughter reminiscent
of sunflowers and plumeria,
her sensuous dreams
abound in breath of roses.

painting evensongs
with nectar of violets
wisterias and stoic amaranths,
she adorns nights
in sequins of night jasmine,
and pollens of dahlias.

she is the dream
of lotuses daydreaming over
lake’s indifferent embrace,
exuberance of marigolds
in balmy summer’s veranda,

she is
emblazoned essence
of poppies on aurora-sky,
ambiance and prosperity
blooming like hibiscuses
~footprints on marble-steps
of worship.

Eulogies to the Forgotten…



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.



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,
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.



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

5.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.


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


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.

Golden Morning Unfolds…


golden morn

the sun
with his golden mane
braided into pigtails by fingers
of ambidextrous night breeze
unbraids his hair,
unraveling the secrets of
its dreams in colors on
the faces of floating clouds
at versicolor dawn.

shimmering bay

babbling brook’s mouth
is filled with treacle dribbling from
fingertips of sunshine,
while sleepy stars form
a bodice for her rippling form,
while a beaming sun
looks on really mesmerized.

flowers at dawn2
beauty of aurora is
brocaded by sighs of flowers
gently arisen by
fondling caress of sun-rays,
while night jasmines wither
like alms falling from
myriad palms of beggar tree.


cacophony of
early rising swallows echoes
to badger dozing eucalyptuses,
while rooster, boasting
a hibiscus-crown,crows
awakening drooping sleepyheads
of snow-white lilies.


sunflower believes
empty promises of ever and after,
made by benign morning sun,
gently licking away dewy tears
of departed night,
only to be baffled by
his changing moods when
it frowns belligerently at noon…

Jasmine-scented Memories of Childhood…




moist, dewy morns
peppered in honeydew sunshine,
caressed by morning breeze
softly on blushing, vermilion cheeks,
fringed in translucent frills of mist
with lingering fragrance of
faint sighs of withered jasmines
that cover grass in sublime quilt,
still hover in sepia memories,
that scent familiar and precious
like taste of acerbic berries
and sips of aromatic brew of green tea.

in my pinafores of adolescence,
still drowsy with soporific dreams
of blanket cuddled nights,
I traipsed in my backyard
every spring dawn to pick hursinghars
sweet scented blossom of ethereal scent
a blend of white and orange
like tangerine juice spilled dusk
whence daylight is wedded to moonlight.

flowers I collected with care
to string into redolent garlands
not to ornament my raven mane but
to be offered in reverence on pedestal
of deities in devotion and prayer,
perhaps many a hope blossomed
and many dreams turned into reality
because of my humble offerings
of redolent night jasmines ,making
them a treasured childhood memory…