Sunday, August 27, 2017

A poem

A poem tangled
in my capillaries,
syllables of scattered thoughts
stuck in the web of uncertainties.
I catch the words,
casually tossed in air,
and juxtapose them
so that they settle down
in a meaningful rhyme
but the clock ticks away
yet another hour
and I delete yet another draft.
Then playing with my thoughts,
I ink your name on a blank paper,
your full name,
and it reads like
a poem scribbled to perfection.
What could be better than this? 

Sunday, June 25, 2017

Courtyard

A lifeless ageing courtyard,
across the fence
that marks the territory
of our dwelling,
was littered with
crisp decaying foliage
until a short while ago.
Today,
after a few rains,
it looked transformed.
The lush abundant greens,
shimmered in sunlight.
Like life,  in all its verdancy,
beauteous and resplendent
and just like life,
the rustling leafage whispers
that there is always a hope.

Thursday, February 23, 2017

Coveting

We swirl to desires,
under the blanket of stars,
till the break of dawn.

Linking with Haiku Horizons : Break

Day end

The day draws to close,
the doorbell rings twice, wait ends.
I break into smile.

Linking with Haiku Horizons : Break

Monday, February 13, 2017

Keepsake

Some yesterdays,
we sat together
on a rickety age old chair
made of teak wood,
treacherously balanced
by our uneven weights,
sharing little tidbits,
browsing the galleries that held
our picture-perfect kodak moments.
The ever responsible you
had warned me about
the splinters
I might get
and the madcap that I am
I unheeded,
laughed off your caution,
and sat right beside you.
Caught up in simplicity
of such moments,
we attempted to
fathom our complexities.
The chair sits empty today,
forsaken and gathering dust.
The keepsake
breathes our laughter.
And I can't bring myself
to chuck out the relic.

Linking with Friday Fictioneers

Friday, February 10, 2017

Magic

Tossing and turning,
I stare at roof,
the insomnia
leaving me
hazy and fuzzy,
desperately wanting sleep
to drift me away.
But the slumberous bliss
forsakes me,
playing hide and seek,
and I know that
it is going to be
one long lidless night.
Then I feel
your soft hands
rhythmically and gently
patting my forehead.
The shush-pat
or the magic of your hands,
I know not what it is
but I savor the relief that follows.
Nestled against you,
I sleep,
snug, cozy and safe.
Drifting off to dream world,
semi-coherent thought rings,
"You must be made of magic".

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: Magic

Touch of rain

Simmering, the touch of rain,
symphonies trail on my skin.
I quiver beneath.

Linking with Haiku Horizons : Rain

Monday, January 16, 2017

Ringing echoes

I can record your
reverberating, resonating laughters,
the ones that start
straight from heart
and reach your lips,
and play and replay them
over and over again.
And then,
I can imagine the rosy blush,
the surge of warm blood,
that slivers of smile
lend to your cheeks
and
feel a little envious
of their soft, subtle caress.
Your quick breaths and short gasps
interspersed between hearty chuckles
can warm me on icy days.
But, I am left with
this irresistible urge to reach out
and touch and kiss those
squeezed eyelids
and
those laughter lines.
What do I do?

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: Record

Wednesday, January 11, 2017

You, unplugged!

I found you thus!
Oblivious to the
loud banter of
stained machines,
rattle of motors,
squealing belts
and hustling cogs.
Bent over a lathe,
with a staff member,
perhaps runing some diagnostics.
That metallic beast
held your complete attention.
Your skilled hands
moved deftly over her,
tracing her sleek cuts
and exploring the nuances
of her body.
You skillfully maneuver the lady.
Tweaking, twisting, teasing.
Until she trembles
and springs to life.
You pat her gently,
"That's my girl!"
And then someone calls
you over,
and you busy yourself
with iron-teethed gears.
Mesmerized, I revel
in this version of you.

Linking with Friday Fictioneers

Monday, January 9, 2017

4:33A.M.

Your hands run
in the mess of my hair,
your touch tender
and full of care.
I stir a little,
perhaps even mumble,
incoherently in sleep.
You pull me in
the circle of your arms,
my back fits perfectly
in the hollow of your torso
and your warm legs
entangle in my not-so-warm.
Its a biting January morning,
cold, frosty and foggy.
But nestled in you,
I am all cozy and warm.
And then drifting
in and out of consciousness,
I realize I am dreaming.
I hold on to the vision,
and prolong my sleep.
until the quilt becomes cold.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook : 100 words: Cold