Sunday, March 31, 2013

Summer starting

Monotony of solitariness
Broken only by hovering flies.
Tired fan drones on.
Heaviness hangs
In those burning gusts
Of warm noon winds.
Spring has flown swiftly by
Bringing lazy dog days of summer.

Sunday, March 24, 2013

A happenstance

She moved her hand
To tuck in the strands of auburn hair
That had escaped the
Tangles of a perfect French braid.
It was the same hand
That had lent him pencils before exams,
And notes after class;
That he had held
On friendship’s day
And then again on the valentine’s;
That had waved him off,
And written him several letters.
Unmistakably, same hand.

Even with her back towards him,
He knew it was her.
It had to be her.
A sudden pain rose in his elbows,
A sudden surge,
Melted only by
That glittering rock
In her ring finger.

Saturday, March 23, 2013

Scorching June rebellion

Big bold drops of rain
On the parched sun-burnt thirsty soil
Vaporizing into a damp spot
With a lingering earthy aroma
To remember
And hopes in cradle to cherish.
Life is but a scorching June rebellion.

Saturday, March 9, 2013

Faith is ... You

Some look up at stone
And find their faith.
I found mine in you.
Your name is my only prayer;
Your love, my only salvation.
My life and forever, I offer to thee.

Linking up with Trifextra - Week Fifty-eight
P.S. - Constructive criticism would be appreciated.

Thursday, March 7, 2013

Mom's shoes for a day

Have always looked up to her.
Seen her running,
Through the multitude of her chores;
Seen her juggle many a role,
Falling in line, every time,
With those endless expectations;
Ever caring,
With an unconditional, unparalleled,
Absolute and faultless love of hers.
Content with her niche.
Her shoes, it would be -
If it could be.
The #ketchupwithus # 13  In 57 words or less, tell us about whose shoes you'd like to walk in for a day.
Trifecta week sixty-seven prompt - juggle

Saturday, March 2, 2013

Home calling

I, me, mine echoes all around.
The temples ache, and so does the heart.
Ah! I long for mother’s lap.
To empty the burdens
That I carry.
I long to be at home.


I met her first at the bus stop.
And now we meet there daily.
Exchange silent acknowledgments.
Sync our actions.
Let go of the too crowded ones (together)
Hail those with breathing space (she does that)
And when the bus stops,
I lead, pull her in with me, and call out for two passes.
(I am tall and that helps)
I stand by the door; she blends in those arms, elbows and bags.
I look back before getting down.
There. In the ladies zone.
Hooked to her earphones.
We smile together.
And the bus drives away.
We meet tomorrow again.