Ode to Cerulean Tides…


are relentless,
tireless and adamant,
perseverance on
chiseled contours
of igneous,

apostles of brine
against indifference
~ brine of tortured emotions
born of harsh adversities.

cerulean tides
resonate with life’s strain
echoing eternally across eons,
seagulls breech
quietude of the sea shore
with cacophony
blending in waves’ strain.

a glutton ocean swallows
golden morsel of a versatile sun,
while trickling hues of crepuscule
are reflected on
sea’s visage of turmoil~
by receding evening light.

within aquamarine depths
mysteries hide and sagas breathe,
seahorses and oysters sail,
remnants of some ship
dilapidated in a seastorm,
mermaids n’ sirens
add fantasy
to realms of pragmatic.

on aureate sands ashore,
fragments of seawaves
drench and break
fragile castles of sand,
scattering seashells n’ conches~

like broken pieces
of a giant, pretty doll
lying on the quiet beach
as phrases
of nature’s poetry eager
to be wreathed into verse.

Every Woman is a Flower


every woman blooms
in the veldts of existence,
spreading her own
unique fragrance,
her typical smile radiant
on variegated face.

some are like
the redolent rose abloom
with scented sighs,
blossomed excuse of
satin softness amid
the sharp, prickly thorns,
the reason for dewdrops to
linger longer on
the satin soft cheeks
of vermilion dawn.

some are demure
as those tiny wildflowers,
speckling vagrancy
of the obscure weeds,
lost in haze of anonymity
but adding their breaths
to redolent potpourri
of versicolor spring~
beauty yet undiscovered.

some are golden daffodils
smiling in winter’s lukewarm morn,
too preoccupied by
narcissistic self love to
pay heed to beauties around,
or appreciate ethereal grace
of the others in life.

others are orchids,
of exotic taffeta and
exclusive tastes and scent,
unlike the commonplace daisies,
simpering with delight,
in trifling joys of existence.

some are lilies, pure and sublime
as virgin frost
or moonbeam-spun dreams
bejeweled in dewdrops of
modesty, humility and veracity,

and some are poppies
sultry in gowns of scarlet,
with allure in their smiles and
intoxication in their kiss,
leading the enamored
down the path of misfortune.

some smile as wisteria~
blooming kisses of twilight on
slender and frail vines,
entwining tendril-arms on
supporting trunks of strength,
always quailing and dependent
without stamina to
endure life’s myriad vagaries.

some are lovelorn sunflowers,
gay and blissful only
when basking in soft glow
of the beloved’s presence and
drooping in gloom
when separated from love.

some are hursinghars~
insomniac creatures of nocturne,
smiling as sweet evensongs
in the moonlit nights
and sung in homage
as dawn’s saffron-white aubade
their fragrance lingering
in nostrils of memories long after
they whither from
ephemeral stalks of life.

a few are frangipanis,
outwardly a serene white,
but with a firefly of passion aglow
within scented depths
of the introvert soul,

other are lotuses so pure
blooming in muddy ditches,
so unblemished
despite the filth they
blossom from.

one of them is an amaranth
not ethereally beautiful
and fragile as prettier flowers,
but with strength in her sinews,
grit in her stance,
facing hardships without
quailing and withering away…

Loving With Wisterias…


fragrant wisterias
blossoming in chortling sunshine
of an exuberant summer,
are like lingering sighs
of spring twilights tapestried
in lavender whorls on clouds afloat
over cerulean heights.

they crept over ancient walls
on shadowy feet of redolence, to concoct
a verse of perfumed flowers
that reverberated with dreams of
a love which blossomed underneath
these mauve blooms of softness,
nurtured by their scented verses.

they grew up together
in that antiquated homestead,
love flowering in the realms of naiveté
as a nascent rainbow streaked
on blue-grey cheeks of
a tempestuous yet boisterous childhood,
or as a butterfly slowly evolving
within unseen chrysalis depths.

friendship metamorphosed
into love in soporific meads of adolescence,
like thunder storms changing into
honeyed symphonies of falling raindrops,
a blazing noon sky being
replaced by versatile hues of dusk
and the pink-lime foliage of mesua being
speckled in sublime flowers.

the silence of snowflakes
powdered over chiseled mountain backs,
is replaced gradually by
a rippling cascade of argent delights,
mischief of innocence now
becoming the sly innuendos of youth.

reading linguistics of gazes
enamored by a relation forged down years,
they together blended into
a confluence of entranced heartbeats
forming a novel yet exquisite melody,
while their togetherness
is scribed on papyrus of the fates,
with the silent wisterias
a witness of love’s juvenile dream.

he expressed his love
when at crepuscule not only the threshold
but also azure heavens were brocaded in
the beauty of wisterias,
her smile had the sheen of morning dew
her gaze reflecting
the fragrant song of a field
abounding in blooming lavenders.

she wore wisterias in her mane
on the day of their nuptials as an expression
of their surreal love story,
even he had a discreet wisteria
tucked inside the button hole of his suit,
their love voiced in sweet scent
of the whimsical wisterias of summer.

everyday she filled her vases
in the purple laughter of scented wisterias
and her rooms in their eloquent poetry,
their children played with these flowers
stringing them into garlands
and wearing them on their heads
their branches wreathed into crooked coronets,
concocting their memories
in the perfumed sighs of wisterias.

now years later when he searches
for her lost smile in forget-me-not blooms,
the lone wisteria blossom is
always perched inside his buttonhole
like a whispered kiss emblazoned
on her life’s moments from her in adieu…

Amber Moon of Solstice


like amber droplet
of honey on bosom of
celestial infinity,
glistening like aureate orb
in ebony vacuum.

tainted as tangerine
visage of autumn,
by fingers of earth shielding
cascading sublime gold
from the chalice of Sol.

shimmering pearl,
wept by Nyx in silence,
to glow softly on
sable velvet brocaded
in photon strewn sequins.

lingering fragment of
watery smile of Hespera
from the molten twilight’s aisle
stolen by palms of creeping
shadows of sombre night.

a round topaz
aglow on heavenly heights,
its inherent platinum sheen
erased by umbra of Gaia,
while sun fails to
donate its dower of light,
in this chilly solstice
of elastic darkness…

You are No Longer Here…

vines of roses and wisteria,
citrus blossoms
and sweet-sighed frangipani,
boughs laden in bouganvillia,
bottle brushes and hibiscuses in red,

variegated dahlias
and conventional sunflowers
with many an anonymous flower~
bloom today in April on
this fragrant spring morning–
each with an echoing sussurus
of your inherent beauty.

they bloom as lovely as ever
the glory of nature in
our front yard born of your efforts,
but as always today somehow
the joy they give is missing,

I feel your touch in the softness
of their fondled petals,
and your smile in their pollen ‘grins’,
today you are not there
to savor coffee with me in
our cherished, nurtured alcove

and I feel my thirst become eternal
never to be quenched by
another draught of caffeine…

Coffee is a Metaphor…


Coffee-Foam-Art-46   threedcoffeeart08

insomnia sips steaming aroma
of nocturnal espresso till ughten,
in gossamer fragilities of lunar china,
savoring it on adrenaline tongue
with dashes of grappa introspections,
punctuated in the buzz
of fluttering moth-wings
indulging in the psychedelia
of streetlight’s fabrications,
until cream of dawn dilutes
bitterness of night
as a blasphemous epithet.


when virgin morn splatters
muddy froth of stale coffee on horizons,
rinsing dredges of night
with rose-tinted fingertips,
honeyed trickles of sunshine mingle
with brewing black coffee,
flavoring bland shivers of winter
with lingering traces
of autumn’s cinnamon sighs,
to concoct a cafe miel
for erasing smears of drowsiness.


crisp, lukewarm, nascent days
are toasts layered in sun’s marmalade
tasted by starved appetite,
with sips of foamy cappuccinos,
laced in exotic whispers
of sweet tooth cocoa~
a heaped spoonful of passion
to besmirch stoic flavors
of straitlaced coffee,
into insinuation of mocha delights.


afternoons are languid,
with after-lunch complacence,
and a consciousness
over-brimmed with read chapters
of mixed feeling paperbacks,
scribbled on dogeared diaries
penned with intuition and intrigue~
sipping a naive latte
in creamy mouthfuls
of soft absentminded epistles,
day dissolves into graffiti dusks
tasting like softness
of coffee cakes on the palate.


the fluid night is
salted in sugar granules of stars,
as a sweetened cafe noir
served in demitasse of dialogue~
a perfect epilogue to dined reflections
in diaphanous candlelight,
when fireplaces cackle
with tangerine laughter-flames,
an eggnog latte steaming in porcelain
defines the warmth borrowed
by cuddled blankets on
snoozing armchairs in solitude.


in summers sweating
their sensibilities on brow frowns,
frosted frappé mists hourglass clarities
of parched moments in
a bittersweet, iced concoction,
satiating singed petals of marigold noons.
jagged edges of heated conversations
are smoothened by frozen gulps
rolling down arid throats
like rounded, treacle vowels…coffee-cup-012

Verse in Turquoise…


silk-embroidered, turquoise feathers
dances to rhapsodies of falling rain
as once to mellifluous tunes of Krishna’s flute.

guarding gates of paradise
devil lured it to allow entry,
on resplendent, fanning feathers
glow hundred vigilant eyes of faithful Argus~
embedded in his memory by Hera.

a visual poem quilled by the gods
dexterously crocheted to titivate
throne of kismet , borrowing silken chords
from the coiffeurs of Iris,
or is it where celestial orbs of night
hide in brilliance of daylight,
lying languorously, in slumber till dusk
and where sun reclines at night?

wearing angelic patterns on feathers,
its voice like the devil it swallowed
it walks stealthily on velvety whispers.

bird, Saraswati deity of knowledge rides
~eyes of omniscience staring from its plumage,
a symbol of immortality, fidelity and undying love
that lives beyond the grave and breathes loyal.

Indra’s alter image, it dances in rapture,
his wand flashing to herald rainfall,
ridden by kama, it is incarnate desire
a verse in turquoise walking in aloof vanity,
plumage rarely displayed, emotions stoic
its dancing delight an unfading memory…