Poetry is…


Poetry is a stargazer~ admiring
constellations through
telescopic metaphorical adjectives,
gathering stardust on
fingertips addicted to printed word,
having verbs and nouns
sticking to them like ink,
and clutching a singed symphony fallen
from flaming comet-tails.

Poetry is a painter~
playing with consonant pastels,
watercolors blossom
on the canvas of reality,
using the crayons of simile
it plays on aisle and blank paper
every emotion or thought
finds shades and appearance in
the brush strokes of poetry.

Poetry is a gardener,
using tools of versatile imagery
to brocade blossoms on verdure,
fragrance born from flowers
floats above to scribble
verses on bosom of twilight,
toiling to nurture
saplings of metaphors,
watering them with adjectives
and redolent vowels budding
on the stalks of imagination,
pruning the wayward and commonplace
to be-ribbon flowers
in gerund intricacies to form
a bouquet of redolent poem.




She is aureate smile of daffodil
as it awakens from winter-lorn siesta
on a crisp peppermint morn
after apparently scores of dawns,
draped in misted confusions.

The soft lilting rhapsody
of a skylark as it senses fragrance
in flowing realms of zephyr
and sings to welcome floral delights.

She is lingering sigh of sakura
which blossom in redolent brevity
~ haiku penned by nature’s quill
on to be mouthed and scattered
in scented syllables
by a vociferous breeze.

Drizzling symphony of clouds
seeking to pepper petal-cheeks in gems-
as perfumed boudoir of Zephyrus,
enamors their vagrant souls.


Her laughter echoes in rippling gait
of cascading mountain brooks,
which flow down chiseled verdure
when a belligerent sun frowns.

She is infatuation
of a love-struck sunflower,
reiterating celestial path of Helios
with entranced gaze of one hypnotized.

She is fragrance of mango blossoms
which herald anticipations
of luscious, golden delights
soon to ripen on boughs of desire.

She is the elusive mirage
fleetingly cheating visions
on asphalted paths,
when light plays conjurer
on some harsh, perspiring noon.


She is auburn whisper of nostalgia
withering from bony fingers
of geriatric mendicancy,
echoing on dusty trails
in cinnamon-scented ambiguity.

She is placid grin carved
on juicy melons of reality,
to concoct dancing shadows on
stark lamps of veracity.

She is the swiftness of squirrels
eagerly hoarding nuts,
only to be forgotten restart
another xylem-phloem equation,
while golden wheat-dreams rippen.

She is the mandarin moon
seen perched on nude branches,
delighting in the vista
of enceinte fields afore harvest.


She is the sepia morning,
apparently bleached of flavors and hues,
awakening lethargically to
steaming lure of caffeine~
seen through frosted panes
fingerprinted by wind’s shivers.

She is warmth of blazing hearth
and blankets coaxing agility to laze,
on afternoons veiled in fog
while nostrils delight in scents
of roasted peanuts and brewed hot cocoa.

She the flavor of green peas
shelled in bowls like moments of leisure,
the aroma of greens permeating from
a kitchen’s larder of allure.

She is the forbidden pleasure
of ice-creams savored in the chill
when snowflakes cover foliage rustles
like children after pillow tussles,
and fingers are numbly beg for sunshine.

Moon is a Poetic Whisper…



a runaway moon seeks
to flee from its haunting eclipse,
she is inflicted by curse
of a waxing and waning persona,
always melting into vacuous nothingness
of espresso spilled skies
and freezing into sublime orb
oft stolen by silent bays~
in snippets of crumpled reflections
from a lenient nocturne.

lit in benevolence of sun
moon rues its loneliness on heavens
where stars never befriend her,
preening in her tarnished halo
she tries to erase her boredom
filling empty, elastic moments in
glimpses of lecherous voyeurism
trespassing within walls of privacy,
or just getting drunk on wine
in morose moments of solitude,
seeking oblivion to wipe away
lurking shadows of the forlorn.

she is like a fairytale princess
enshackled in nascent rain-songs of tempest,
fated to be forever emblazoned
on cosmic vacuum as a reluctant sigh,
she can escape momentarily
on gossamer wings of imagination
behind facades of vague,cloudy oblivion
or play truant to sleep over
shimmering hopes of indigo lakes,melts
she reclines over denuded boughs of fall
her face tinted in twilight hues,
and blends into opacities
of the treacherous winter mists.

she gilds nature’s realms in silver
these ornaments like butterfly flutter poetry,
she is the echo of radiance
from sun buried within womb of hurling oceans,
a reminder of the sunrise awaiting
beyond dark thresholds of ughten,
she is an eternal dream
finding diverse interpretations,
to the hungry, beggar gazing at night sky
she is a rounded bun or a milk bowl,
the poet lost in metaphors
sees a mirror in the moon which
revives dwindling meters of his verse,
while to a lover she is epitome
of the glowing visage of his beloved.

salting sleeping earth contours
in fragile embryos of dreams,
she etches smiles over blooming harsingars,
blessing sleeping sunflowers
with hopes of fluid graffiti dawns,
she is the whisper of long faded sunsets
reiterated by the night’s chasm,
owl’s hoots and eerie calls of night jars
are scribbled as faint wrinkles
on the face of forlorn moon,
perched over velvet softness of night
she dwells of longevities exhaled
as an old woman reflecting on past years…

Jasmine-scented Memories of Childhood…




moist, dewy morns
peppered in honeydew sunshine,
caressed by morning breeze
softly on blushing, vermilion cheeks,
fringed in translucent frills of mist
with lingering fragrance of
faint sighs of withered jasmines
that cover grass in sublime quilt,
still hover in sepia memories,
that scent familiar and precious
like taste of acerbic berries
and sips of aromatic brew of green tea.

in my pinafores of adolescence,
still drowsy with soporific dreams
of blanket cuddled nights,
I traipsed in my backyard
every spring dawn to pick hursinghars
sweet scented blossom of ethereal scent
a blend of white and orange
like tangerine juice spilled dusk
whence daylight is wedded to moonlight.

flowers I collected with care
to string into redolent garlands
not to ornament my raven mane but
to be offered in reverence on pedestal
of deities in devotion and prayer,
perhaps many a hope blossomed
and many dreams turned into reality
because of my humble offerings
of redolent night jasmines ,making
them a treasured childhood memory…

Glimpses of Morning Star…


glowing on 
brightening azure,
blushing in vermilion sprinkles
of virgin aurora,
while the pale sliver of moon
lingers on skies
freckled in clouds fringed
in glittering gold dust,
from the quill of sunbeams,
as a wordless song
lurking in the throat,
the pole star glows
as the silver lantern of hope.

when night departs leaving
its kohl as shadows
of trees basking in sun’s smile,
and with its moonlight 
splattered as molten droplets
on verdant flutters as dew,
while truant stars siesta
on the rippling bay of teal,
leaving a drowsy sun awakening
with its yawn of volatile gold,
from between the hill’s arms
and a morning star shining
as last night’s fragile dream
evanesced from eyelids of sleep.

the north star is a gem
aglow on the sublime horizons,
as though bejeweled in
the wedding band of the day
when the sun weds the sunflower,
its rays echo softly over
the peppered jasmines
showered on the earth’s bosom,
its light fell in bright syllables
on the face of docile dawn~
like desires of a little girl,
until the sun-flames with
their dazzling rays hide this
soft glow into oblivion…

Lullabies Nature Croons…


sing to the leaves
on skeleton fingers
of tired trees,
lullabies under
the velvet night,
lulling even
insomniac stars
asleep beneath
fleece blankets of

cool summer breeze
croons to
twinkling glowworms,
with quaint rhapsody
of crickets
putting them
to sleep on
swaying branches
of starlit thistle,
while even
the amber moon
and its enamored moths
are lost in slumber
by midnight.

lark, nightingale,
and cuckoo,
serenade to
scented apostles
of spring,
a soft, soporific echo
in perfumed gardens,
puts flowers
to afternoon siestas,
despite blazing lantern
on cerulean heights.

tidal symphony
in moon’s sheen,
is sung by tireless waves,
to ancient igneous,
lethargic gulls
and pregnant oysters,
after sun retires
on tangerine footprints
leaving a long night
and lure of dreams
beyond realities shores…

Spring is a sonneteer of flowers…



vermilion lips wear
smiles like swaying poppies
bathed in filigree sunshine dreams,
mesmerizing all
with soporific whispers.

eyes are frangipani,
scented with gazes of naiveté,
twinkling mischief in glowworm irises,
winking golden within
sighing poetry of sublime petals.

apple blossoms bloom
in satin pink on blushing cheeks,
dimpling her soft words
in brackets of honeyed sweetness,
casting cerise glow
on the face of dawning morn.

slender, sinuous stalk
of pink, sweet-scented orchids,
or casablanca scrawled
in perfumed epistles of poetry,
epitomize elegance in
cursive calligraphy of her neck.

giggles are buttercups
splattered, spicing monotony of green,
laughter bursts its exuberance
in daffodils melting frosted murmurs
of nascent spring with their warm sunshine.

lotuses abloom on ripples,
are her palms spread in fragrant sigh,
to garner honeydew and moth’s strains,
braided in her mane are artless marigolds
and hursinghars plucked by moonlight,
she leaves footprints as amaranths
emblazoned in memory~
she is spring~ nubile and unforgettable…