Café au lait moments…


café au lait moments
frothy, bittersweet and creamy
flavored in variegated thoughts
peppered in sugar granules
blending with moody coffee spoonfuls

~are whispers of a carefree youth
when thoughts hopscotched
through redolent sunshine
and rain-song laced rainbows,

playing peek-a-boo through oriels
of intrigue and adventure,
casting dices in virgin oblivion
to challenge uncertain fate,

letting versicolor balloons
kiss austere and cornflower horizons
like myriads of potpourri emotions
scattering themselves–

their shades
painted o’er bland chiaroscuro
of mixed feeling existence
~a dusk frozen within
a bubble of time.

caffeine is
a calligraphy of hues,
it breathes fragrance in sinews
of a drab chequered verses
born of juvenile imaginations,
filling freshness
within drooping eyelids
of long, languid hours…

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…

Truck Driver’s Versatile Reflections…


siting in my self assumed cockpit
I measure the stretching elastic trail
on whirling tires,
never ending is this sojourn
except for when I siesta
on lumpy seats like the sun
taking respite beneath cloudy quilts,
or play truant as the moon
lolling over foliage hammocks,
to recline over hard jute charpoys.

I envy the sun and the moon
whose sojourn ends in timely fashion,
while mine ends to mood-swings of milestones
beaded along the gravel trail,
alone with my own company I befriend
the ditches and coal tar,
with diesel being my lifeline,
I must and I do race along
the serpentine road which goes
nowhere but takes me everywhere.

as that withered leaf of fall,
burnished and tinted in gold I am
the loitering gypsy destined to fly to
the moods of the wind of fate,
tanned and weather-beaten by life,
I ferry goods to their destination
going everywhere and belonging nowhere–

yes, I have a home somewhere,
beyond the hills in a tiny village where
my wife awaits my return
and my children grow without my love
I go there when the sun completes
on whole revolution to be
with them for but a small interlude
returning always to my real home
this endless, stretching road…

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…

moments of november reverie…


snow on trees

whiplash winds flog
trees denuded by pilferer autumn,
as sugar-flakes fall
from mixed feeling grays, to pepper
landscapes and sweeten
the bitterness of November chill,
with wispy, caramel kisses.

hot chocolate
simmering in warmth
of kitchen strewn in blended aromas,
a lonely cup of cocoa
tries to mellow, to sugarcoat
lingering piquancy of departed fall,
before filling emptiness
of hollow, porcelain throats
to trickle down drooling tongues
as pacifying gulps
of winter’s complacence.


golden glow of flickering amber flames
ablaze in hearth coated in soot
of past years and memories,
casting sepia shadows on bokhara rugs,
as armchairs cuddle duvet quilted moments
festooned with trysts in reverie.