Saturday, May 28, 2016


The quest is the sky,
But this mirage of skyline,
Reins my oneirism.

Linking with RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #98 Rein&Quest

Friday, May 27, 2016

The rickshaw-wallah

The scorching sun was bidding goodbye. Laden with files, a handbag and a lunch bag, and swallowing the pain of shoebite, I made it through the subway. And then I lavishly boarded a rickshaw. The rickshaw-puller, a summer-tanned boy of 18-20 years, eagerly accepted the tour for a measely 20 bucks. His dirty sweat sodden vest and sinewy arms talked of day well-labored. He often wiped the burden of responsibilities with his red cotton stole. When I reached, I thanked him but he pretended not to hear. Silently, he turned his cab towards main road in anticipation of new customers.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: Pretend

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Like a moth

A flickering flame,
Dusty wings trace its contours,
In a rhythm of rest.

Linking with Haiku Horizons : Rest

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

The conquest

The eventide dissolves
in the receding moonlight.
The dawn seeps into the world,
twirling delicately into the arms of night,
the touch sends deep resounding ripples.
Quickened pulse, the staccato
and silence.
The moment blends into infinity,
and while they hold their gaze,
their hearts falter.
The illicit thrill, feverish and hesitant,
consumes the night
and the dawn burns bright
in perfect rapture.
A thousand dreams
glitter in diffused light.
Soon, it will be twilight,
and the yearnings will blend
in timeless symphony,
unrestrained and passionate.
Such is the hypnosis of seduction,
the day will dwindle in rustic hues,
as the night comes gliding,
through sultry evening roads.

Saturday, May 21, 2016

Not a flower girl

Here I am,
in the waiting lounge
and instead of sipping on iced tea,
this time
I hold a little flower box in my hand.
Fresh flowers, a loud red,
look delicate but feel heavy.

A little chaos rages within me,
a steam unfurling in depths of heart,
a reflection of clamour outside.
I want to wave it off
as nausea of impending journey
But I know its not that
or maybe it is.

But flowers just don't do it for me.

If only the bus would start,
perhaps the rhythm of wheels
will overcome this sinking feeling.

Flowers! Seriously!

Linking with Friday Fictioneers
Linking with 100 Word Challenge: Thin Spiral Notebook

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

Beneath the lampshade

Silhouettes dance across
dusty and dull lampshade,
the expensive vintage ornament
flickering on and off,
and under its waning cast,
the shadows come alive,
those convincing remnants of light
playing through its gossamer veil,
hiding the bruised nakedness
in diaphanous dusky chambers.
Wandering thoughts sway gently
in stuttering light, like moths,
and burn with passion.
The rising smoke inks the drapes
with poetry.

Saturday, May 7, 2016

I made you stay

You left,
without looking at the spring
bursting from the seams of my being.
You left
but the seeds that you planted with your ardent kiss,
took earth and grew roots in the soil of my heart,
flourishing into vines and twines.
The entangled mesh of capillaries
rewound itself to make space for
subtle harmonies, sprouting slowly.
You left
but you thrive in my garden,
holding my hands,
our fingers entwined, breath staccato and eyes closed.
And all the blossoms,
are seeped in your characteristic Hugo Boss Scent.
You left
but I made you stay
in all my blank verses.

Monday, May 2, 2016

At that time of the night

Oh and it is that time of the night,
when sleep forsakes me in nightly rite,
for you walk in my oneiric world,
unbidden and thus all hath been whirled,
in rising smoke of passionate light.
You walk in like some angel bedight.
Beholding, 'tis such a lovely sight.
Flitting moonlight, star-spangled and pearled,
at that time of the night,
clandestine rendezvous by starlight.
Shadows alive in the folds of night,
melting in the heaven where they're hurled.
With the rhythm of night, now spent and swirled,
the dream will drift away by the light.
At that time of the night.