Monday, 12 June 2017

Search....

    

























the space between words
and  the border between colors
     and of confusions, being secure and insecure
and the half wakefulness of sleepy eyes,
      yearning to rise, lost
 between decision and indecision,
        between willingness and unwillingness
 to rise;

    the not-so formed wild path
or the nothingness of sky
    or a wisp of cloud
or a whiff of sand;
         maybe
a time-bound illusion
    of 3-dimensional perceptions;
the consciousness in make
     between breaths

let me find
what soul am I


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Thursday, 8 June 2017

Rivering


















Google Image


i have gone waves
shades of aqua
and the whale song
echoes through veins

 shades of aqua
and the swelling clouds
rains through the eyes
oneness of ocean, muse and self

let’s not break the spell
this is the realm
revive, bloom and river 





Visit IGWRT for Tuesday Platform, Poets United for Midweek Motif (Ocean) and dVerse Poets Pub for Poetics: Poems that could save your life

Tuesday, 6 June 2017

Desperate storm...




                                            







  Google Images



it’s dull and numb,
 the thought;

hesitant grey streaks of rain,
they escape over
clingy consciousness, pouring sweat;

wordless muse builds
 seething storm of weariness,
it storms at nooks and corners
yearning outpour, helpless;

it’s numb and dumb, seeds
craving gush of rain mourn…



Visit dVerse Poets Pub for Quadrille with a storm!

Monday, 5 June 2017

Beware!

                           

















desolate, faded,
like an old, museum canvas
silent with swarming old tales;
lost roadways hankering
light footsteps of new tales;
unhinged doors housing
unfamiliar frozen breaths;
history heaves anxiously
behind every stone
piqued with abominable scars...

history has dark patches
different shades of darkness;
peep and know, but never imbibe---
insatiable souls wait in deceiving stillness...



Visit IGWRT for Flash 55 with Ghost Town theme!



Friday, 2 June 2017

A nameless friend


                                                           Google Image








Night stays at window
Near my bed
                                    Not now
                                    But when I wasn’t even a teenager
It stays there
And stares
Someone’s staring isn’t so pleasing
                                       
                                          It’s not that childhood is gone
                                          It’s there in a different dimension
It stares
I pull my eyes close to my heart
There is something there
                                           There is something inside the heart
                                            A bit icy, a bit warm, fluffy, lively and strange

That something hugs me in
Then it spreads glow worms
And fairies and some cute elfins
The night now has no choice
It gets pensive
Looks around
And no longer stares
                                               What should I call that friend
                                                The friend who has collected all my days
                                                The whole past and
                                                 Gifted it as wisdom
Night doesn’t stare any longer
That friend is a rainbow climber
A dream chaser
A smiling forgiver
An eternal lover
A nameless partner
                                           There is something inside the heart
                                            A bit icy, a bit warm, fluffy, lively and strange
                                         A friend forever



Visit IGWRT for Fireblossom Friday and dVerse Potes Pub for Open Link Night

Thursday, 1 June 2017

...is there any crystal clear gift as the love of your pet?


“What greater gift than the love of a cat.”   Charles Dickens













Google Image


a four-letter word---G I F T
evoked some swift thoughts,
a gush of memories
searching for that moon-like gift,
a gift that lit my heart;
ran like a girl through the castle of memory,
every nook and hidden chambers;
rushed like a storm, clearing all dust---
have i gifted someone anything precious
that lit their heart with joy?
have someone gifted me
something like that fresh rain outside?
among the piles of gifts
i missed anything special,
there wasn’t any;
did i love anyone ardently,
didn’t i ?
did someone loved me completely,
didn’t anybody?

sitting in the window
i conjured up an ocean before me;
with every wave, i saw every face i know---
who is precious, who is not?
who would gift me with  love unprecedented ?
who would love me as my parents and sibling do?
who would accept me as my spouse do?
who would own me as my kids do?
who would appreciate me as my true friends do?
haven’t i kept the standards high?
wasn’t  i so mean, haven’t i built the dam
across my gushing heart?
what memorable gift did i ever give?

the unshaken prejudice---
‘it’s a selfish, egotistical world out there’---
it thumps nail upon nail
to the walls of the barrier!

i drew the ocean within my eyes,
it’s time to unbind the wings,
time to pull away all nails,
it’s time to be the unprejudiced self,
it’s time to know the god’s gift,
the gem that glows along with the truth…

a four-letter word---G I F T
evoked some swift thoughts,
and some unspoken insights


Visit dVerse Poets Pub for 'Wrap it in ribbons please!'


Monday, 29 May 2017

An image that will always come back...







there was a home;
a faded picture of togetherness,
smell of farming, cows, cats, hens,
the feeling of being a child, well loved;

some walkways get overgrown with weeds…

there was a home, or
rather my grandfather;
he was, stories of a faraway land,
of dams being built, of forests, animals
and funny paranormal tales;
he was, reading newspapers for him
and writing letters to his friends,
his eyes failed him, I became his eyes;
he was, the short breaks we took
while we walked, to soothe his paining leg;
he was, the faint old gramophone songs;
he was, the three-time prayers, daily;
the smell of agarbathis, flowers, a little pot of water
and the chanting, the feeling of being connected;

some walkways get overgrown with weeds…

a home, a person, the earliest strong memories of life,
the base of life;

 the home is gone, he is gone…

you keep seeking that walkway all your life;
the feeling of being welcomed to home and love,
 you know it is a mirage, but you keep seeking
                                                   like a lost child…



Visit IGWRT for Weekend Mini Challenge: people and places and Poets United for Poetry Pantry.

Friday, 12 May 2017

Things that filled my diary
















Google Image


It is the umpteenth time I took the diary
Just to write the things I hate
But should I even write negative things
Like gossip, the favorite time pass of ignorant toads,
The poison that ruins relations, like ego,
The creepy snake that comes so unnoticed,
Like selfishness, that doesn’t know what is acceptance

And then I kept my diary under the pillow
Should I even write negative things
To keep myself away from such poisons
Then I thought, why waste a paper on negative things
I have a million things in life to smile and smile and smile
Like the unfettered love from those who know acceptance
Like the million dollar smiles I see around in strangers
Like the million dollar stories I read every day
Like the words I weave to make my existence meaningful
Like the paint I smear on canvas for pure ecstasy
Like the million dollar things I can still learn from around
Like still being the toddler in everything, leaving space to learn
Like the trees around teaching how to be rooted
Like the clouds above teaching how to be free
Like the streams that teach how to be pure and flowing
And so I put my diary under the pillow
For it is the umpteenth time I took the diary
And ended up writing beautiful things in my life
For I won’t waste a second, even a single paper to write
Things that are all against love and smiles…


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Thursday, 4 May 2017

Let it be a rough texture...





















Paul Whitener (1911-1959) Unfinished Landscape, @1950, Oil



The window on the next wall warms up with a child’s glee
My lips curved up in a smile so easy and free
I tried to scoop up a bit of glee to test it on a canvas anew
Just across the road, only aged people at the window, looking so lone
Two old souls waiting at the window like an age old portrait on a wall
While may-noon sun quickly dries up all my laundry in minutes
I tried to put some dry paints on the canvas with contrasting hues
Before me, the window that I opened has a painting so old
It has a warm, light shade of red above a close-to-skin like shade of green
The scenes and hues around me smeared on my palms, giving greasy feel
And the greasy feel creeps all over the flesh, the soul inside wriggles in pain
There is a truth that floats across the scenes, urging to wake up and begin
The becoming warmth of this unfinished painting
Why do the brush strokes speak to you in volumes
There is a lengthy bridge between these feelings and the world of news
The news from around the world through media men’s eyes
We live between parallel truths and dreams, the widening gap so adverse
I won’t chisel out or trim up this poem, let it be odd or raw or worst
Let it not be designed to match with the tastes or favours
Let the canvas be roughly textured like a mountain path up
I would like to go wandering into the mountains and insights
Let the forest grow thick and dark and spare no made-up lights here



Visit IGWRT for Artistic Interpretations with Margaret - Small Town Inspiration...and Poets United for Poets United Midweek Motif ~ News Media


Tuesday, 2 May 2017

sparkle or dust?














Google Image



the citrus taste of lemon tea
tangy saliva oozes
morning runs through veins

when you brushed a kiss
a sea-side wind waved through
tasting salt and primeval chronicles   


yesterday’s metaphysical reads
precipitated around consciousness
and you send salty tangy feelings

i am soul and body
a sparkle and some dust
i have settled on you, dust,
and sparkled up to galaxies
thirsty of clouds that shower
shall I find in them the enigma---
wrapping a sparkle in dust!


Visit IGWRT for Physics with Bj√∂rn: Particle-wave dualism and the photoelectric effect

Visit dVerse Poets Pub for Open Link Night