Glow of Grace

This senryu seeks the blessings of the radiant sun and the peaceful moon on this sacred occasion of Eid. Just as the moonlight brings serenity and the sunshine fills hearts with warmth, may this festival bring tranquility, joy, and divine grace to all. Eid is a time of reflection, gratitude, and renewal, and laughters this poem captures the essence of light, peace, and abundance that illuminate the hearts of believers on this joyous day.

Peace of moonshine, and, 

radiance of sun in hearts. 

Bountiful, Thy grace! 

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 

The Indian Valentine

Big beautiful smiles,
dreams floating in kohl smeared eyes.
Festive date with moon.

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 🤗 

The color of night

What is the color of night?
Black. Obviously.
But isn’t it the red of passion?
Vibrant and exciting.
Or streak of orange,
releasing inhibitions.
exuding happiness, joy.
Perhaps uplifting yellow burst
of youthful energy.
The vulnerable pink?
Tender. Nurturing.
Wait! The loyal blue.
No! Verdant green.
For all one knows, black,
seductive and secretive.
Or may be it isn’t black at all.
Possibly the compassionate indigo.
Or the very sophisticated grey.
Perchance, warm and earthy brown.
May be it is a palette of colors.
A dash of this, a stroke of that.
But what truly is the color of night?

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook : 100 word challenge : Colors

Game

Moonlight seduces,
sets loose the game of desires.
Both, hunter and prey, yield,
savor the taste of yearnings.
Perilous, but enticing!

Linking with RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #119 Hunter&Moon

September night

In the quiet stillness
of September night,
I sit by my chosen spot,
soothed by the moist gentle breeze.
A tired neighbour makes his way,
slow and cautious,
as the street light has failed
for the umpteenth time.
A man pedals a bicycle,
secures it in the verandah
and locks the wicket gate,
turns around one last time
before switching off
the light in porch and
retreating to the safe insides.
The sentry on vigil,
visits periodically,
the staccato of his walking stick,
loud against the hushed darkness.
In such quiet and still
September night,
our laughter rings in air.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook : 100 words: Quiet

On silent streets

A stuffy airless June night,

nothing resonates outside,

no leaf ruffles, no crickets chirp.

Some dreams are being woven

comfortably on sidewalks,

in soiled vests,

mosquitoes buzzing around

sweat-stained faces,

hands and feet calloused

and hearts cauterized

with labors of the day;

while we perspire,

beneath the shade and comfort.

And when the weather will shift,

cold winds will shuffle the leaves,

freezing the veins,

and nibbling the fingers and toes,

these dreams will weather that too,

unflinchingly;

while our coats will numb us to our souls.

On silent streets,

some dreams find happy homes in hearts,

while we wander.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: Weather

Linking with FRIDAY FICTION with RONOVAN WRITES Prompt Challenge #28-A Dream.

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

A random smile

Lifting random smile.
Bathed in prayer, penned with love.
All my plans crumble.

Linking with RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt
#Challenge #88 Lift&Plan

Ramblings over cuppa

Milk blend occasionally. Black tea on Shatabdi rides. Green tea and iced tea almost regularly.
Remember how I used to be anti-tea. That changed when I moved to this new office.
An occasional cuppa now and then.
Distasteful. This hot beverage.
Quite unlike coffee.
Nothing beats a hot vanilla cappuccino.
Peculiar that I should be rambling about this, estranged as we are now.
And not that it really matters.
But I had to share my heart with you.
Over a cup of coffee.
Just like old times.
Peculiar too, that times never return.
And flow of life is almost ceaseless.

Linking with: Thin Spiral Notebook : 100 word challenge: Peculiar

Rivulet of desires

By the glint of smiles,
A rivulet of desires,
Each worth dying for.

Sunset

Bathed in mystery,

A beautiful silhouette,

Curtains close on day.

Still whispers

Swaying golden wheat,
lingering caress of breeze,
whispers stay hidden.

Bridges unite

Linking with RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Challenge

Curtains of night

The curtains of night,
Embellished with silver lace.
Dappled seaborne clouds,
Against silhouttes of cedars,
Golden glory ripping them.



Linking with Friday Fictioneers

Wintery musings

We fall, like snow flakes.
Crystal wishes blanketing.
Melting and blending,
The firelight keeping us warm.
Winter leaves a blazing trail.

Courtesy: Friday Fictioneers

Linking with Friday Fictioneers

All for a drink

Durga ran through the clutter of rickshaws ignoring the splatters of mud staining her soiled and frayed frock. In her rough and dry hands were wads of money, her reward for having slaved for a month in that palatial residence, scrubbing floors, dirty dishes and laundry. Finally, she would be able to pay her brother's school dues, long pending. But first she would have to hide this bundle from the bleary and glazed eyes of her wasted father. Drunk as he stayed, he had this amazing talent of sniffing the green currency from three houses away. She closed the door ever so gently, hastily and soundlessly making her way towards the attic where she slept. The plan was to hide the small parcel beneath her mattress before attending to her father. She was barely on second step when he called her out "lil princess ... Got a lil present for your daddy dear, have we, eh?" Firm and resolved, she shook her head, hiding her hands behind her, crumbling and crushing the crisp currency. But he grabbed her hands, "lyin are we here, missy?" his eyes fixed on her face. She had hoped to see her scared face in his eyes. All that stared back was green greed and Budweiser. She knew she would not be able to fight them both. Slowly she opened her hands. Tomorrow she would have to beg the principal to give her some more time.

Courtesy: Ermiliablog: Picture it and Write

Linking with: Ermiliablog: Picture it and Write

H is for ...

Not the roof above,
Or hills yonder; roots nowhere;
Home i take with me.

From the heart of Ganges

My prisitine icy gush from mountain snows
Refining, smoothening the roughened rocks,
Oft running past the perimeters, the untamed, savage surge
Embracing and accepting all that you offer:
Largely devotion and veneration
Defying sciences, preferring rituals;
Mostly refuse, muddying my being,
While cleansing yours for eons and generations.
Just the way it was destined.
I am your salvation,
A little murky now, but I will survive.

Maybe next time...

She didn’t look up the details of suitors now. This one was, anyways, late. Prejudice was beginning to blur the rationale. She moseyed through the labyrinth and watched the dying sun. Tired of enduring the cliché, phony, glamour of the shopping-plaza, she typed a goodbye and then back-spaced it. She knew she couldn’t, rather, wouldn’t hit the send button. Not with mom’s words resonant, “Maybe this time, you can be persuaded otherwise”. She bought a bestseller from a peddler and was halfway through the sixth chapter when he arrived. A familiar wave of ennui spread through her.

Maybe next time…

Courtesy: Friday Fictioneers

Linking with : Friday Fictioneers

Scraping skeletons

Beneath this skin,

Smoothly wrapped around

The bare bones, we are all

But skeletons, fairly homogeneous.

Each one born naked,

Each,

An assemblage of

Branches,

Carefully cloaked with barks,

Some dark, some faded.

A smooth layer, that the rind makes,

Enfolding the chalky figures.

Deceiving. Deluding. Definitely

 Leading astray.

And all along, cozened

By this illusion

We shower sweet caresses

On charming surfaces,

Never bothering

To rake the cutis.

But

Some day

Our bloom and our strength

Will decay.

We will all

End up as

Skeletons,

Not in the glory of skin

We wear

But a set of bare bones.

Courtesy : Friday Fictioneers

Linking with Friday Fictioneers

Linking with Velvet Verbosity : 100 Words Challenge : Smooth