Popcorn Moments


Days are
like popcorns in a pan
bursting and popping
with surprise moments,
gravid with pleasant anticipation
minutes swollen with
the unexpected yet delightful,

My two year old
is an enigma,
his intrigue changing
my jaded, pragmatic outlook,
as I discover life anew
peeling its layers like an onion

he laughs aloud
and cries the next instant,
scattering his emotions
like marbles in sunshine,

playing peek-a-boo with my scarf
he wears a bowl on his head,
babbling and prattling
his ambiguous verbiage
~ he creates a strain
quixotic yet musical

within innocent palms
he seeks to capture butterflies,
racing after fleeting shadows
he smells of sunshine and wildflowers
and sugar and spice,

wearing huge boots
in tiny pattering feet,
he seeks to measure
winding trails of existence.

showering its benediction
over our parched souls,
erasing the silhouettes of quietude
with his giggles and laughter,

fingerpainting rainbow on
the drab and the commonplace
he defines ecstasy
in all its shades and more…

Withered Verse


water-melon days
fringed in curdled hazel horizons
race on invisible feet,
moments trotting away
to blend into obscure mists
of a memory-shackled yesterday.

every morning
like a frangipani blooming
bears promises of versatile tasks
to tackle and tussle to completion,
yet the kitchen and laundry
together seem a monstrous chore
refusing to be finished.

cobwebs sneer
in the corners, cupboards
are like confusion redefined,
window panes
myopic with dust films
glare blaming incompetence,

the sink is eternally
enceinte with dishes,
the broom seems to me
a newly grown appendage
of my dusting, mopping limbs.

my pen languishes
on polished surface
of literary escapades now lost
in mundane preoccupations,
as poetry blossoms
and withers in thoughts
like the blooms of sakura,
never to be
eternalized in ink…

Meeting A Cheater…


I met him
after years in a train,
~ an unavoidable prank
of the elf kismet,
forced to paste
a fake smile
trimmed to perfection
to avoid misinterpretation.

he had
silver in his hair
and crowfeet too,
but that smile
was still slimy~
dipped in cheese sauce
and rancid too
stale from overuse.

fixing my eyes
to the pages of a novel
I doggedly pretended
concentration and indifference
to discourage
any conversation,
despite hints of cleared throat
voiced hesitantly.

he settled behind
a reluctantly spread newspaper,
oft sipping noisily
from a lukewarm cup
of dishwater cappuccino.

the train halted
he descended for water, chips(whatever)
I hastily picked his cup
and spit in it,
for once glad for
the scanty number of passengers
travelling with us,
and hid my smile
behind the ignored novel
lest I burst out laughing…

I Dreamed of Mother…


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
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…

Amnesic Anecdotes Scented in Caffeine



tongue scalded
by an absent-minded sip
I bit back both cry and curse,
and gulped down brew
both unsweetened and angry,
aroma rising with
steaming plumes to flavor
a surreal moment
gestating with tension
and anticipation witnessed
by demitasse fragilities,
when two individuals
talked nuptial affiliations
over coffee~
trying to forge a relation
between strangers
who remained as such.



Cramming unseen chapters
from unfamiliar volumes~
never cajoled in
careless overconfidence,
on the night before final tests,
befriended by adrenaline
and caffeine in overdose,
left eyes red-rimmed,
pulse racing to compete with
electric shuttle or rocket launcher,
mind like scrambled eggs,
fireflies within my rib-cage
~fluttering and burning,
while I blankly stared
at questions refusing
to be answered.



Within my pocket
were some crumpled notes
and wilted longings,
after a weekend of splurging
I could ill afford,
yet a glow-sign beckoned
with aromatic promise,
‘Madras Café’
and I entered to lavish
the last of my money
for a taste of famous filter coffee,
made from fresh beans,
unlike its instant cousin,
insipid and limpid.



Forced to drink
an obnoxious excuse
pantomiming as coffee,
pouring from faceless machine
in coughed out measly dribbles
to rejuvenate
tired sighs of routine drudgery,
I oft carried pouches
of coffee granules
to polish tarnished smiles
and erase lethargy’s shadows,
unable to stomach
the free tasteless brew offered
in the guise of coffee.



Over shared
coffee and camaraderie,
on a soggy monsoon evening,
we relived memories
of another time and place,
within a bubble of oblivion
nostalgia adding a glimmer
to echoing laughter,
as new memories
were formed to embellish
a dishwater existence.

Winter Spawns Spring’s Dream


chill of wind’s invisible fingers covers
dry skin in goose pimples,
shivers woven into frostbitten thoughts
in a winter indulging
in reverie like a wizened old man
rocking on vague armchair introspections.

myopic, frost-beaded windows
peer at barren moments of january,
snowflakes falling like
shattered, stained-glass fragments
of a frozen rainbow stolen
from august’s mixed feeling skies,
while the colorless gardens
await in anticipation of graffiti spring.

daffodils and snowdrops
hibernate beneath silences of soil,
waiting to blossom into perfumed whispers
heralding spring’s carnival,
with chilled feet and cold-numbed fingers
and a burgeoning hope fluttering
in anticipation within my womb
like butterflies’ wings~

which etches my cheeks in blushes
I await the arrival of spring
and the feeling of motherhood,
like a rain-filled conch shell
awaiting the birth of a pearl.

Yearning for Sepia Yesteryears…


I yearn to return
and traipse along those straits
sepia and serpentine
strewn in chiaroscuros spun
on boughs of flamboyant mesua,
riddled in raindrops
blasphemed by muddy puddles
and echoing in muted whispers
of scarlet palash petals
peppering silent mornings,
where rainbow fantasies of youth
sequined my nights
and childhood slowly altered
to blossom into juvenile desires.

where the chartreuse muteness
of tea leaves pregnant
in piquant syllables of aroma,
is unruffled by garrulous dialogue
of golden sunrays~
chirping after being laved in dew
and blue hills that fringe
obscurities of distant horizons
in their curves and contours
dusted in dawn’s golds
argent moonlight dreams
and fingerprints of reverie
of a long lost childhood,
still stand reminiscencing about
a naivete long molted off.

those days were
a grey monotone emblazoned
on cloudy sighs of cerulean heights,
the garbled poetry of sparrows
mingling with verses muttered by doves
to change blue moods
of tempest’s monotonous songs,
my giggles as I threw
my umbrella to the winds’ whims
and danced in falling rain,
those broken lyrics scattered
by my idiosyncrasies in the shower
and that sigh of delight
as I munched on orange popsicles
still linger somewhere
in that place I lived.

those trees which shared
my first love confessions,
their complacence aiding my decisions
as I hesitated and dallied,
the wildflowers in pink
that I picked and filled in
vases of loneliness,
to make solitude fragrant,
the hursinghars whose redolence
composed the aubade
of cerise dawns in flagrant bloom,
are still there adding magic
to someone else’s adolescence
while in a sunburnt land
sighing in heat waves
I dream of mists and rainfall.

Winding Streets of Nostalgia…


those gravel streets
rife with sneering mud puddles,
echoing the sermons
of prolific rainclouds in tandem
filling vacuous silences
in musical notes of rain-chimes,
like temple bells ringing
to awaken drowsy mornings,
replay in my mind’s eye
as array of sepia snapshots.

the mesua trees
their foliage a blend
of pink and chartreuse flutters
stood along winding streets,
draped in streetlight whispers
and buzz of dancing moths,
their white and gaudy blossoms
teasing naive butterflies
with nectarine promises,
while their scents were
a rancid blasphemy of spring.

skies like faded blue denims
had volatile mood-swings,
preened in scarlet satins at dawn
they wore tapestried versatilities
of spring flowers at twilight,
they wore mascaras in azure gaze
wearing their vagrant tresses
flying freely like tempest’s sighs
when temperamental clouds
growled in kohl-tinged monsoons,
their visage like scented plumeria
in the winter chill,
scented in maple wood fires.

harsingars peppered
sublime smile of morns in scents,
to reverberate as an aubade
while early-rising doves danced
to the echoing symphony,
tamarinds laden on boughs added
a tangy flavor to whimsical days,
blending with taste of gooseberries
while bright dahlias in versicolor
scattered laughter on rain-songs.

nights were sequined
in the truancy of constellations,
while a protean moon smiled
her serene smile laced in reverie,
it slept over rippling lake
in a crumpled, tired heap,
or perched over the slenderness
of swaying bamboo groves,
and pressed its nose to windows
infringing on privacies of lovers,
at times being quilted
in the grays of night clouds.

now away from those serpentine streets,
in another time and space
entangled in new found preoccupations
I have long forgotten that past existence
except when in moments of solitude
some scene or vibrant panorama,
brings back these sepia reminiscences,
like a flying dove or a blooming dahlia
some old anecdote or snapshot,
rewinds lost memories in gay snippets…

A Nurtured Love-Song…


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…

Poetry in Marble



marble temple

temple of blessed quietude
-a poetry carved in marble,
or spun of moonbeams stolen
by dawn from night’s boudoir,


stood echoing with
chants of swaying bells
and hymns of priests
besides guttural grunts
of pigeons attracted to
serene realms of meditation,

while soothing aroma of
potpourri of flowers and incense
filled nostrils of cool breeze.

and this haven of tranquility
stood beside tea gardens in verdure
that breathe fragrance of
rejuvenation to awaken drowsy morns
lazily curled up beneath
fleece blanket of eternal clouds.

wherein dewdrops shone
on chartreuse lips of auxiliary buds,
softly drinking in sunshine,
and giant trees stood
as guards protecting a castle of riches,
amid this beauty of nature
surrounded by distant hills of azure
my youth blossomed
rejuvenated and devoted…