Dusk to Dawn…

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amethyst skies
at crepuscular hour
are reflected on sapphire waters,
as epistles of poetic calligraphy
resonating with versatile hues,

when the topaz sun
is gobbled as mandarin morsel
and periwinkle heights
pantomime a giant chrysoberyl,
of oxymoron shades
soon blending into
an obsidian night.

the opal moon
ailing with insomnia pours over
ivory, printed volumes,
in long hours of silent onyx night,
and the diamond stars
effulgent above peer at the lovers
painting rainbow dreams
within molasses of eyelashes.

budding chartreuse whispers
kiss fringes of
a blossoming tourmaline dawn,
the sky like an armful of scented orchids
with a silver lunar sliver
on the distant aquamarine,
like a half forgotten love song
lingering on edge of reverie.

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Nature’s Versatile Vignettes…

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gravid
a slate-grey sky
frowning its wrath
amid tantrum throwing clouds,
showers blessings
of fluid poetry,

night dissolves
in its own pessimism,
leaving the moon forlorn
to blend in tequila sunshine
like ice-cream scoop
on mango jelly,
and orphaned stars
are adopted by benevolent bay
abounding in constellations.

whispers
of snow peppered
on wizened brow of winter,
echo in eerie night
moon shivers
and wraps itself
in warmth of muffler clouds
and stars hide
beneath the quilt of mist.

purple orchids
are syllables of evensongs,
reverberating
their exuberance under
the golden glow of sunbeams.

In Abstract Realms of Insomnia…

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measuring incessant drool
of an abstract hourglass
and skittish flight
of nimble steed-hands of clocks
in muted gasps of gaping night’s chasm,
I dwell over realms of insomnia
haunting lethargic eyelids
cursed with eternal vigil.

in ambiguities of nocturnal silences
float echoes of soft rustles
serenaded by garrulous foliage,
in vague lexicon
symbolic of crooned lullabies,
whispered fluidities of cricket’s songs,
hooted calls of elusive owls,
harsingar desires blooming in secrets
under volatilities of moonlight
and crumpled reflections of moon
palmed by somnolent lakes.

night is like
liquidity of sinuous river
trailing over parched quietude
salted in stardust sequins,
it nurtures exotic orchids of dreams
on its obscure banks of consciousness.
night is like a young lad
his pockets full of sparkling marbles
reminiscent of cosmic bodies,
or like an unsolved mystery
draped in fluorescence
of gypsy fireflies, taunting shadows
with the phosphorescent obscure.

within dogeared albums of night
I discover sepia wordings
of stories told in my moonlit childhood,
candles burnt in cramming
on eve of torturous examinations,
festive moments still reverberating with
the noise of crackers long dead,
novel poured over in the beam
of torches in adolescent intrigue
and pillow fights indulged
in at bedtimes with childish laughter.

it is a dark chasm within which
hide dove feathers, old gramophones, fairy tales,
splintered giggles and murmured gossips,
and today I yearn for sleep
on frayed edges of hope’s susurrus
within which I seek to lose
the lingering smudges of a weary day.

I am a changing dream…

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jan

I am chilled sigh
of blazing hearths of january,
scented in burnished whispers
from incinerated maple-wood,
and wafting warmth
from bittersweet cups
of frothy cappuccinos,
my veil spun by ancient hills
as translucent fogs,
my realms bejeweled in frost~
never tasted by
an anorexic, wizened sun.

daffodils2

I am confusion of february
a confluence of snowflake’s monologues
and daffodils golden giggles,
cuddled in honeyed sunshine
reminiscent of lukewarm saffron milk
sweet, scented and mellow,
a moment dozing in time’s grasp
forgotten as a caterpillar
nascent within its chrysalis
its butterfly flutters hibernating.

spring11

I am fragrance of march
exhaled by tulips,
the breath of lilacs hanging
as a divine promise
on thresholds of drowsy morns
I am withering hope of roses
marauded by spring showers,
exotic incense of orchids
wafting in sunshine,
psalms of worship echoing
from variegated lips
abloom in redolent meads.

brook

I am the laughter of april,
reflected in sparkling gait
of a mischievous brook,
skipping on silver stilettos
on shingle scattered
like marbles in her path,
the days singed at corners
like marigold petals,
when winter slowly fades
with blankets cozying up
alongside moth ball piquancy
and summer blossoming
with flowers of mango trees.

lemonade

I am the sultry breath of may,
with a sublime sun stealing
the chill from marble footsteps,
day like scribbled poetry~
a blend of shadows
and twilights strewn in
melodies strummed
on quixotic banjos of crickets,
while noons are parched words
thirsting for lemonades.

alphonso

I am the clarity of june,
scented in ripeness of alphonsos,
molten serenade of distant blue hills
echoing in cascades
on velvet shod geometrics,
I am the rarity of china roses
speckled on verdure hedges,
my moments like acrylic graffiti splashed
rainbow wings worn by butterflies
writing sonnets in nectar.

july

I am the liquid treacle of july
poured over cobblestones
in silken symphonic fluidities,
the murmured epistles of
gypsy clouds writ in ripples
on muddy face of earth,
I am the bipolar moods of azure
an exuberant sunshine
mingling with grey overtones
of a mixed emotion tempest.

puddles

I am the whimsy
of august sunshine
oft enveloped
by monsoon clouds,
my chiaroscuro silences
tinted in tempest grays,
and trumpet of rowdy thunder,
with soft reverberations
of fluid melodies
brocaded on potholes
in musical ripples.

autumn1

I am complacence of september
a subtle metamorphosis
molting myself in yellowed foliage,
an array of hours aromatic
with potpourri and flavored in
sweet gulps of apple cider,
a honeydew sun leniently smiling
over trail rustling in old songs,
and a butter bowl moon
perched on autumnal beggary,
as alms of benevolent, indigo skies.

autumn twilight

I am brooding gaze of october
piled under boughs in tangerine,
tasting like crisp crackers
on the palate of consciousness,
I am a bronzed whisper
like baking cinnamon rolls,
my crepuscules withering in
burnt scales on indifferent roads,
mornings like placid hymns
reverberating in temples,
and nights like princess tiaras.

wisteria

I am caress of november days
acronymed between elastic nights,
tinted in volatile golds
tasting like latte afternoons
flavored in sweet choco-chip cookies,
dew peppered salmon dawns,
scented in wisteria
and nights like lingering taste
of wine in crystal minutes,
with a muffler clad moon
pouring chianti on chilly soil.

snowfall

I am snow-song on december
scattered in mute pearls on life,
my words muffled, my tune fractured
draping quietude in expectancy,
days like sepia reminiscences
from dogeared yesteryears,
nights like forgotten emptiness
with a lazy moon asleep
under blankets of vague mists,
and stars reluctantly
grumbling on their long vigils,
trees adorned in silver jewels.

Moon Speaks in Sparkling Syllables…

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moon is a pallid sigh
lingering on
edges of cosmic quietude,
as a leftover crumb
from lunch table
of daylight’s chaos.

huddled shadows
gossip in eerie whispers,
beneath gossamer bed covers
of moonlight satin,
while wistful bay indulges
in fumbling, stuttering dream
of a crumpled moon.

a lonely maple
reaches high on tiptoe,
to try to pluck
harvest moon from
unfathomable depths of nights,
with leafless fingers
like prongs of a giant fork,
grasping at opportunities
as shooting stars.

hurling waves
crash against fang-like shores
as shattering hopes,
while a pearl moon
seeds oyster wombs in
reflections of secret fantasies
and echoing promiscuities.

moths flutter
their inadequacies
under a delinquent streetlight,
craving all the while
for elusive moon perched
high on a stagnant indigo moment,
cynical smile ridiculing
the moth’s illusions.

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.

Poetry Breathes in Night’s Womb…

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moonlight is white wine
scattering expletives of intoxication
in bipolar moods of night,
teetotaler stars frown indignation
as earth loses itself
in soporific slumber lulled
by mesmerizing lunar radiance.

poetry breathes stardust
into dejections of dying comet,
whispered metaphors sneak
through gaps underneath doors
which moonlight creeps in through
diluting maps of fluorescence
etched in darkness by
meandering fireflies of insomnia,
as I scribe brewing cognitions
on drowsy, unimaginative sheets
while the clock trudges along
crawling as a toddler
on reluctant hands of lethargy.

crisp browned toast autumn morns,
with a poached egg sun reclining
on white albumin of cloudy duvets,
aromatic with promises
of oven fresh cinnamon rolls,
lurk within eyes like reminiscences
of spring’s bluebonnet skies,
tapestried in citrus blossom sighs
as they patiently await
the elusive oblivion of sleep
while poems beg to be
voiced in scripted calligraphy.

elastic hours creep
through milestones punctuating sojourn
to the ughten lit by polaris,
while eerie shadows befriend sleeplessness
and novels are rifled by preoccupations,
scanning horizons for virgin wink
of a rising blonde sun,
seeking to rinse away drowsiness
with dew from leafy palms.

poetry exhales redolence
within the privacies of yellowed diaries,
nurtured by moodswings of indifferent sleep,
to be sprinkled as laughter
on morning faces of dewy roses,
to reverberate as rain-songs
of musical ripples on pavements
and waft in scented sighs of butterfly flutters…