A Mandarin is a Citrus Dream…


citrus skin of mandarin
is peeled in acerb abstracts
like a twilight melting into oblivion,
segregated portions
on platter of sustenance are
a array of crescent juice pockets,
of oranges plucked from
ripeness burdened on
boughs of abundant orchards
in frost peppered winters
draped in blurred mist-songs.

tides gobble sun at dusk
like savored oranges in winter silences,
flavored in wispy kisses
of showered snowflakes on landscapes,
when clouds indulge
in stormy pillow fights on skies,
and faint light from
the tiara clarities of cold nights
like espressos never sugared
in the sighs of constellations.

a child suckles sustenance
from a halved orb of tangy sweetness,
crystal chiseled contours
satiate thirst of summer parched hours
in tangerine ambrosia from oranges,
piled on carts in bazaars
as forgotten lessons of life,
they are like unread lines of verse
fragrant in citrus sighs
and with every piece eaten
I taste a slice of paradise,
breathed in a mother’s affections…


Doves on Temple Footsteps…



chiaroscuros of orange fluidities
splashed in abstract echoes
of whispered psalms of devotion
on marble pedestals of temples’ piety
scented in harsingar’s hymns,
add radiance to extinguishing twilights
like dying sighs of saffron cinders
peppered in soft subtleties over
chilled moments strewn in vague umbras.

on volatile crepuscules
like molten emotions of infinite skies,
scattered with crumpled-thought clouds
as waste paper on concrete,
sublime doves grunt and grumble
in syllables of puzzling ambiguities,
as pink beaks peck at
discovered grains of sustenance,
complaining at human meanness
which forgets the hunger of others
while satiating its own greed.

they hopscotch on sun-singed grass
and flutter wings in brief haiku flights,
sprinkling their rage on dusk
like bread crumbs on face of existence,
as a glutton night swallows
the yolk sun in a large mouthful,
I sit on the deserted temple steps
watching pigeons redefine poetry in motion
and scatter palms full of rice grains for
these feisty creatures to savor in delight
and their softly cooed thanks
enhances the sweetness of
the ringing chimes of temple bells…


Tangerine Trail of Fall…



mandarin sun
hanging lusciously on azure,
on a citrus morning
pours honeyed photons
on earth’s variegated platter,


while on a serpentine trail
covered in orange molts
of denuded terrestrial giants,
breeze indulges in
aromatic feast of
cinnamon rolls.


the once verdant leafage
has been gilded in gold,
by whimsical brush of nature
as on this dust trail
they fallen from lofty perches
of garrulous flutter~


pantomime as petals
withered from
embrace of a gulmohur–
reviving those days
of early summer scented
in breath of mango blossoms.


every orange leaf
forming part of fall’s carnival,
whispers soft secrets
in nutmeg syllables
into ears of indifferent breeze–


about lazy moon
who plays truant at midnight
to fall asleep on branches of oak,
the fireflies who
call themselves stars of earth,
about cricket’s weird strains
which it compared to the cuckoo’s,
of the nightingale’s love
for the hursinghar.


as I walked one autumn morn
treading softly over dewy leaves,
along this orange trail,
leaves withered and burnished,
apparently sang lullabies
to me just as in spring time–
but somehow the voice
seemed but an echo of yesterday…