Hark! The rhythm

Hark! The rhythm. The pellet drum rattles. The dance begins. The creation, the annihilation, the fleeing in-betweens, and beyond these appar...

Sunday, June 30, 2019

Conquest

Tempting teasing trace,
the strange curves of silhouette,
the super ascent,
Scorpio snakes raising dust,
the conquest of Dhauladhars.


Friday, June 28, 2019

Transliterations

These poems are simply
a hesitating attempt,
to define the
sheer seduction
and pure bewilderment
of the abstract,
(the fresh crisp winds,
the gold floating on rivulets,
the crown glittering on Dhauladhars,
the soft covers of blue skies,
the flawless arch of rainbows,
the mesmerizing cadence of life,
this palette encompassing every hue);
translations
of intangible perceptions;
a modest effort at most,
to capture the essence,
of raw beauty
in these instantaneous transliterations;
random lyrical expressions,
couple of words juxtaposed,
in proper meteric form,
to allow a basic rhythmic structure.
Oh! These poems are
nothing but
the words flowing,
creating puddles of melodies,
in the faint hope that someday
birdsongs will breath life in them.



Wednesday, June 26, 2019

Persistence

Just like the persistence,
of the tiny miniscule seed,
seemingly dormant in the dirt,
but wild and robust deep inside,
never really still,
creating and growing all the time,
and then one fine day,
out of the smallest crack in the concrete,
shoots up one beautiful rose,
mayhaps a dandelion.
One perfect mesmerizing rose.
One breathtakingly beautiful dandelion.
A little piece of carbon,
refined by perseverance,
into a purest diamond.
Just like the persistence
of that tiny miniscule seed,
that little piece of carbon,
you too persist.
As long as you breathe dearest.
For there’s no other way to be.



Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook #100words : Dirt

Monday, June 24, 2019

Beacon

I detest the dark,
do not favor the umbra,
that somber mystique.
The rays of light beckon me,
I breathe the morning splendor.



Saturday, June 22, 2019

The winner

The naysayers. The mockers.
The teasers. The idle drifters.
The defenders. The comforters.
Their eyes were watching.
Their watch crawling
on her spine
like a lizard sneaking on the wall.
She shook off the feeling.
Felt the lizard fall.
And busied her mind.
Running the 800 metres,
perfecting the high jump,
revising the broad jump.
The crowd had 14000 chances.
To cheer and boo.
She had but one.
This one.
The uniform beckoned.
The background faded.
And with that denial,
she succeeded.
In her soul.
In her home.
In her street.
And in her test.
The standards were finally met.



 

Friday, June 21, 2019

The calm of rushed mornings

The tea simmering in kettle,
the lentils bubbling,
the clothes churning in washtub,
the deft hands ironing
the wrinkles of rumpled clothes,
the brooming, the mopping, the dusting,
the suppleness of fresh waters,
the crunch of crisp morning air,
the scattered mild sunlight,
filtering through woods.
The calm inside.
The stirring of gravy,
the fluffing of bread,
the frothy blend of minty buttermilk,
the running for school and office,
the rinsing of utensils,
the hanging of clothes on the line.
Simultaneous. Synchronous. Sudden.
The chaos outside.
The discipline. The mastering of sprint.
The pace settling to a soft rhythm.
Harmonious.


Written for Friday Fictioneers 

Monday, June 17, 2019

Home-coming

The lush greens,
the darks, the lights, the mediums, the browns,
blending in perfect proportions,
washed,
rather bathed and cleansed with rain,
dancing and swaying merrily
in refreshing cool breeze,
hailing, heralding,
extending that embalming hug.
The glacial bite seeping through pores,
reviving the parched soul.
Thirst quenching.
Oh! It had been a while.
But, what a welcome?
The hills are happy.
The daughter is home.


Sunday, June 9, 2019

Come soon

Spick and span,
fragrant with the bloom of your favorite flowers,
the house is ready to greet you, my love.
Come soon!
For the daisies will wilt,
and dust will gather
in the crevices
of that designer wrought iron railing.
And darling! I am growing old now.
The dusting, the watering, the climbing of stairs
have all become once in a daytime things.
Amidst the places to visit and errands to run,
I long to hear you ramble
from the diwan bed in the lobby,
munching the home-cooked culinary delights.
And my arms are aching to hold you. Come soon!




 Linking with Friday Fictioneers 

PHOTO PROMPT COURTESY : ©Ceayr

Friday, June 7, 2019

Boxes of desire

Boxes of desires rotting
in the dusty corners of the heart,
silently withering
under the load of odd everyday jobs.
Occasionally they raise their heads,
every once in a while,
like ripe buds, ready to blossom,
but mercilessly we nip them.
Right there, right then.
Asking them to wait,
for the most opportune moment.
And like the abstract mirage of the desert,
that befitting twinkling keeps eluding us.
Boxes of desire keep piling,
one above the other.
Eventually, at the eventide of life,
they glare at us,
our bucket lists, nullified, neutralized.
No voice, no echo, no timbre, no influence.


Wednesday, June 5, 2019

Speak, oh dear little sparrow

Speak, oh dear little sparrow speak!

So long!

And all this while, not a tweet from you?

No chitter, no flitter, not even your glimpse.

‘Twas like you had moved to distant lands.

Seemingly gone forever.

Speak, oh dear little pecker speak!

Did you not miss us, all this while?

Did we not ever cross your mind?

Or were you busy weaving your nests,

building a life in foliage untouched?

Speak my dearest songbird speak!

How cometh you grace our garden today?

What brings you back to my abode?

 “A little green and bird-bath,

in the shade of Balinese firangipani”.


Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook :100 words : Speak