She Brews Storms in Tea Cups


she brews storms

she brews storms in teacups
leaving lipstick stains
on crumpled faces of paper napkins,
after a clandestine kiss
for his wife to discover
where lukewarm bowls
of insipid soup witness their rows
undiluted by mellowed candle light.

storm in teacup

she gathers kohl stains
from crinkled indigo skies at night
to scatter over apple blossom dawns,
tainting radiance of mornings
with her splashes of espresso whimsy,
her mood swings imitate tempest
and she always discovers
cynical amusement in blowing
life’s predicaments out of proportion.

tempest in teacup

a drizzle is a tempest storm
a breeze a cyclone in the making,
she collects golden pollens from meads
to freckle flawless cerise
of aurora’s soft, radiant taffeta
a frown on his face
she must autopsy to build into rage,
she thrives on the dramatic
the superfluous must be made crucial
every day is an opportunity
to build mountains from molehills…

storm in teacup1

Thoughts Brewed in my Kitchen


tea leaves bleed
aromatic synonyms in water
as it bubbles to fill
piquant anticipations in gaze
of lethargic, mist-draped winters,
poured into chiseled transparencies,
insinuating russet delights
of sweet apple cider.

cookie crumbles
voicing soft innuendoes
of honeyed pleasures,
unheeded by a tongue rolling
in hurriedly munched bites
tinged in caffeinated sips
as preoccupations enshroud
sensibilities of an overwrought mind.

as currency crisp afternoon
crumble like stale scones,
into twilights crocheted in wildflowers,
warming cold-numbed fingers
over brewing warmth of coffee
I rifle through lists of ingredients
needed for impending supper.

appetizing breath of curry
fills the blandness of shivering nights,
preening in starry tiarras,
as moments shell and crunch
their oxymoron moods
like fire-kissed peanuts,
seasoned in finger-licking spices
luring gluttony from
routine monotony of dinner table.

ice-creams relax
their realms undiluted by winter nights
cuddled in snowflake sighs,
while hot chocolate sauce laces
their frozen dreams in passion,
and chilled spoonfuls
are gulped in rapture
to frill cold in icy pleasures.

Epistles Scribbled in Tea Leaves Aromas…


a caffeine addicted dewy morn
sniffs at faint aroma
exhaled by simmering tea leaves
in a lecherously whistling teapot,
her eyes closed against
misty lipstick dreams,
arms stretched in coral embrace,
a stale yawn like
dredges of last night’s coffee,
tasting bitter within chapped lips.

scribbling ambiguities
on sublime parchments of thoughts,
like crayons doodling
wavelengths on cloudy opalescence
at frangipani dawns,
I scribe epistles addressed in
envelopes of anonymity,
about swirling concentric feelings~
as liquid colors bled in
brewing saucepans in cinnamon golds.

writing out pent up, pregnant silences
into hopscotch calligraphy
of alphabets, I unload my grievances,
unanswered questions, snippets of intuition
and confusions on frailties
of translucent paper,
concocting myriad scribbles scented
in citrus droplets, crushed ginger
and blended spices~
bay leaf,cardamom and cinnamon,
syllables of potpourri autumn,
reminiscent of tea gardens
who mutely witnessed my cerebrations.

relating memories garnered
down life’s bittersweet odyssey,
peeping from within ancient diaries
and forgotten sepia snapshots,
incidents favoring blandness
of routine existence,
facts learnt and fiction savored
in cognitive jigsaws,
I pen myself on sterile blankness
breathing fertility like
flowing waters of rippling rivers.

warming frostbitten sensibilities,
like frozen fingertips
revived by hot, russet lemon tea sips,
flavored in honeyed sun rays,
I pour myself on crumpled sheets
with ink of insomniac nights,
while sinuous steam stains
the clarity of crystal moonbeams
in grayish wafts of aroma
and my poetry is tapestried
in syllables on pothole faces,
as monsoon which crooned lullabies
and aubades for my childhood…

Scents of Winter…


Scents of Winter

winter scents1

winter scents2

winter scents3

winter scents4

winter scents5

winter scents6\

with cinnamon
breath of fall mingling
in infinite oblivion
of past buried
beneath piling snow–
feather soft and sublime.

morning breeze scented

in aroma of citrus delights,
and freshness of
dew on grass blades,
untouched by lethargic
tongue of mellowed sun.

rich aroma of
brewing tea and coffee
scents environs,
in nipping chill
and fragrance of green peas,
spring onions and herbs
emanates from kitchen.

crackling fire
palmed by hearth,
leaves room redolent
with earthy smell of
incinerated timber,
and a roseate glow etched
on softness of cheeks.

Christmas brings scents
of pine needles and myrtle,
blended with the smell
of delicacies, cakes
pies and cookies fresh
from the blazing oven.

and above all scent
of your closeness beneath
moth ball smothered blankets,
as you hold me close,
dissipating chill of winter,
are to me epitomes
of winter season…