Sunday, March 17, 2019

Whispering thoughts

They give prompts for writing.
And the triggers remind me of you
Words flow
from the nib of my pen.
Plain simple words
that I want to say to you.
that I want to have with you.
I hold on to those words
and weave them into poetries.
I knit them into verses.
I tag them into fictions
and improvised fantasies.
People read them.
And they call me a writer.
A person of free-verses.
Only if they knew that I am no author.
And these scribblings are no poems.
That the verses they read
are merely the unrequited susurrations.

Friday, March 8, 2019

She is.

She is.
And her being is sufficient.
Rather abundant,
plentiful in all respects.
She is..
The horde of possibilities
that this sentence offers,
all the adjectives that you can think of.
Yes! She is each one of them.
Ace. Adept. Accomplished.
So, she is.
And it is because she is
that we are.

Tuesday, March 5, 2019


Fumbling steps,
steadied by your finger,
balance of life literally wrapped around it.
My tomorrows all assured.
It was only yesterday.
Seemingly so.
Though it has been good two decades.
Er.. Slightly more than that.
Today, I stand, unfaltering,
in pink blush of bride-to-be.
My steps are steadier now,
after years and years of running around you.
But as the future stares at me,
deep within,
I crave the envelope
of that one finger of yours.
The surety it promised.
The confidence it inspired.
Today, I wish
I could go back in time
and fumble my steps all over again.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook : 100 words : Pink

Saturday, March 2, 2019


It should so happen
that one eventide
you come
and sit by my side.
And we spend the day-end
reveling in togetherness.
In the simple intimacy
of just being there.
Gradually, at the sunset,
the blue and the red interweave,
and the purple of the twilight grows thick.
Smudging into night.
And it should so happen that
this nightfall blends into nightfall.
This dusk into dusk.
That eventide,
when you come and sit by my side,
there should be no dawn.
How I wish!

Friday, March 1, 2019


May be that’s what I am.
I look
at the fallen foliage of autumn,
dead and dried,
and I fall in love.
And then there is you!
You with your beautiful smile.
You, when you lower your eyelids,
like nightfall.
You, alive. Vital and spirited.
May be that’s what I am