Relentless Woe…


sewing sequin tears
unto night’s benevolence,
with starlight threaded
into the needle
of hope~

I sought
to borrow fake smiles
from sparkle of glowworms,
the constellations
strewn carelessly
over drowsy river at dawn,
and the daisies
etching ebullience
onto the face of quietude.

but my woes
were like wet blankets
weighing down carefree skies,
the graffiti
painted on clouds
now but streaks of mascara
~drab and colorless.

life once
mellifluous as
the lark’s vibrant strain
is now discordant
as raucous cacophony
of ravens cawing
to breech sanctity
of a silent morn.

haunted by my own shadows
chasing elusive mirages
etched by treacherous sunlight,
going nowhere in
a riddling maze of
concentric circles of despair
I scribble my inadequacies
on cemented indifference
of mute walls.

plaster peeled
heralding ruin by angst
leaving my writings illegible,
I then wrote them
on withered flutters of fall,
to allow vagrant wind
to blow away my grievances,
only to find them
rot to humus and stink
with unwanted reverie.

the remains of dead leafage
in reluctant fingers,
I burnt them
scattering the ash in air,
only to let it sting
my eyes forming tears anew.

Bride of Decadence


Under un-made satin sheets
of unholy decadence
riddled with sneering wrinkles
left by my hasty fingers
trying in vain to erase
the past few hours,
smelling of musky maleness
and stinking perspiration
of unwashed bodies
under them lay hidden
the corpse of my innocence
as bud of chastity was crushed
cruelly into satin sheets
smeared with
blood of my deflowering
or is it the stain of
wounds of bleeding hopes?

in my eyes a half spun dream
of innocence takes
its last sighing breath
A love story ,
my incomplete love story
has died and my eyes
like barren holes,
dried of all emotion
staring into space vacantly,
fail to weep in angst.

I have no tears of regret
for its grave under unmade sheets
innocent in my adolescent years
we shared smiles
across windows
that faced each other
a mute friendship blossomed
and grew into a saga of love
with conversing eyes
that met across the windows
as I stepped into juvenility.

Promises never spoken aloud
but shared in caressing gaze
were fragrant in my soul, my life
making me forget my fate, my plight
when the time came for me
To follow my mother
in the market’ s boudoir
protest shrieked fell
on indifferent ears
my mother helpless
and old before her years
became the shackle
of my rebelling love.

today with unshed tears
swallowed, I became
a bride of the decadent night
my innocence was put on sale
for vultures in human form
as the flowers braided
in my hair were molested
by hands scalding ,
bruising my skin in lust
I burnt over the pyres of hell
my innocent love story became
a sighed wish of the past
and I became another bride
of decadent nights
with body for sale
as a living carcass…

She was a Tainted Sigh…


a trampled rose
bruised in purple sighs
its fragrant innocence lost
in harshness of suffocating dust
is a callous blasphemy
of nature’s generous blessings.

a bird maimed
its wings torn by cruelty
watches azure skies
with yearning to kiss clouds
and soar like hope.

she was untouched
sacred as an unfurled flower bud
unsullied and pure
as virgin glow of sunrise,
with naivety of dewdrops in
smiles like liquid rainbows.

she had incandescent dreams
her life a collage of scented desires
laughter like tempest cascade
exuberant with silver syllables,
a poetry scribed in incense
by versatile moods of life.

but marauded she endured
the sacrilege of her tainted virtue,
like a song scattered in
whithering petals faded and scentless,
her cries lost in indifference
and her frail attempts
at survival futile she became
a dead, burnt leaf of fall,
vagrant and forgotten
in the humus of melancholy.

She was a Paper Lantern


paper lantern

her alabaster realms
oft winked in twilight’s purple smudges,
explained by plausibility
of fabricated excuses,
that failed to erase dark umbras
floating in bruised gaze
of fluid, too bright eyes.

her laughter was brittle
like the echo of glass bangles
shattering into splinters
on harshness of indifferent concrete,
a voice as silhouettes of ughten
~ darkness preluding aurora’s gold,
her moods flickering
as a tempest’s temperament,
grayish and thunderous
or tinted in liquid rainbow smiles.

hers was a dual existence,
a deliberate split personality–
she wore expressions like bland mask
her deep thoughts unfathomable,
those that she hid even from self
she believed her own lies
living in illusions of fairy tales,
scared of ugly realities.

living a seemingly enviable life,
she often seemed alone in crowds
lost in her own contemplation
a sigh of pain clung
to her skin like a rancid odor
refusing to be washed away,
she was wrapped in invisible secrets
like winter mist’s ambiguities.

yearnings tinged her smiles
hope the artlessness of her grins,
she craved to be a paper lantern
destined to scatter
radiance in nocturnal darkness,
adding sweetness of milk
to bitter espressos of existence.

rain-songs mutely flowed
on her grief-stained cheeks,
hastily adsorbed on paper tissues
in stolen moments,
she was a mirage~
her life a pieced kaleidoscope
formed of stained glass fragments,
beautiful but useless.

he had lured her naiveté,
tentacles of soft words imprisoning her
enthralled by his charm
she was ensnared assuming
bright dead leaves to be flowers,
now her illusions shattered
she see sneers in his plastic smiles
and abused by cutting sarcasm
she must wear crayon smiles
painted on poker faces
to salvage her humiliated pride…

Her angst stains twilight in purple bruises…


Her eyes are charcoal smudges,
twin, vacant potholes
floating with muddy thoughts,
which had once wept
only the idiosyncrasies of onions
~ peeled and quartered,
now they are mystical depths
where nights curl obscure angst.

Naiveté covered her dimples
in soft shadows,
dappling her face in photon-dust
of innocent, artless freckles,
while every dawn
was a chrysalis of intrigue
defined in emerging hues
vivid in their resplendence.

A paradox unfolds in life,
as antonyms are juxtaposed
in an uncomplicated existence,
which becomes a bitter-sour piccalilli
barely gulped down a flinching tongue,
she now sees with intuitive sorrow
in crescent moon, melted desires,
erased by silhouettes of pain.

Splintering glass bangles of dreams
into fragments of futility,
their clinking pieces ripping
her shocked gloom in tatters,
she was a bird of maimed emotions
with wings which refuse
to fly, shackled by sneering fear.

Bruising kisses blaspheme her love
as marauding fingers sully
the soul of her virgin fidelities,
muting her serrated cries of pain
she must endure his touch
and his torturing humiliations,
pledged to him by nuptial vows.

Her days are yellowed pages,
dogeared by tentacles of epithets
voiced in sarcasm and anger,
her aspirations withering
like burnished leafage in autumn,
as she is the cursed daffodil,
throttled by chill of snowflakes
in uncharitable, harsh realms of winter,
when she deserved honeydew spring.

Sighs roll off her tongue in despair
as she accepts inflicted pain,
her tears frosting clarity of smiles
now an apparition of reluctance,
while deft strokes of her concealer
seek to cover bruising violets of pain…