This be luck

This alone be luck ... 

Yonder horizons of hope,

love sweeps up. Sunrise!!!

Linking with Ronovan Writes 

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha

Spring and storm

It was a beautiful spring morning. 

Greyish white cotton floating against

greyish blue backdrop.

Clean, fresh, cool breeze.

Birds chirping. 

And amidst this newness, this bloom, 

this freshness, a beautiful early sun 

was peeking through the lush green leaves 

of a garden tree.

And though the scene above was pretty,

the tulips in the lawn had all wilted 

due to excessive rains. 

And this reminded me of our dear Farmers. 

Baisakhi is round the corner. 

Usually at this time of the year,

the fields glisten with golden wheat

ready for harvest. 

But these mistimed rains have spoilt 

their crops. 

I shudder at the thought of their loss. 

So today's tanka is driven by these thoughts. 

 

And it rained all night,
the downpour inopportune.
Red tulips drooping.
Farmers worrying for wheat.
Gold glittering on moist morn.

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 

Surroundings

 Wind-chimes in the verandah

have started singing the sunup song. 

Discarded ones

hung on the curry tree,

are jiving too, albeit gently. 

And the lawn is spotted

with tiny little winged friends. 

Beautiful. Distinct. 

I don't even know their names. 

Some have a magnificent tuft. 

Some have striking colors,

some, a mesmerizing plumage. 

Each one busy, singing it's own song. 

There, 

midst the frangipani and electric power pole, 

a squirrel is creating ruckus,

Constantly gnawing and squeaking.

Its tail going up and down in tandem,

with its chatter.

And the greens are, literally, swaying

to this outstanding composition 

of mother nature. 

And attuned to this riveting opus, 

is the mortal man's daily routine. 

Someone is praying. 

Someone is sweeping, 

dusting and brooming.

Someone is busy managing the laundry. 

And someone... 

well, someone has already begun 

the day's dash.

I have also attempted another version in Punjabi

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 

Sunup songs

Birds flutter, greens dance

to symphonic sunup songs,

resonant reggae.

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 

Dawning

The sky pulls a curtain
on the star-studded night
and suddenly, the day peaks,
from the gossamer corners,
flashing a naïve, innocent smile,
so pristine, so pure, so refreshing,
and the sky lights up.
Slowly at first,
blushing a tad bit,
(that unmistakable
and unmissable
subtle red-violet streak
on the cheeks)
and then the daylight twirls,
and whirls, in full swing,
until the blue trail
of flowing chiffon gown
is splashed everywhere.
Ah! The daybreak.
Raw. Radiant. Resplendent.
The showstopper,
mesmerizing the audience.
The temptation, the tease, serenading.
The trance, the reverie, spellbinding.
The exquisite dawning, inspiring.
Just like you!

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook - 100 words

Welfare unto all
Rab rakha 🤗 🤗 🤗 

Twilight

Marvellous morning,
and jewelled purple velvet,
terrific twilight.

Linking with RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #PoetryPrompt #Challenge 

The flight of birds

Early dawn.
I hear the singing birds,
gliding, soaring, weaving
through the blue expanse.
And I wonder,
if they can
judge the kilometers they have flown?
Do they know the places like us?
Like Mandi. Hisar. Ludhiana!
Do they see the boundaries we have drawn on maps?
The directions, the longitudes, the latitudes,
do they know about them?
Or is it just a big brown earth for them?
Those primal beings,
are they on a flight of purpose,
or is it just an aimless trifle?
Mesmerizing. Breathtaking. Uplifting. Enlightening.
Small birds. Impressive flights.
Mighty contemplations.

Linking with Sammi Cox Weekend Writing Prompt #115 Judge

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 

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

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.

Drowsy dreams

The tender envelop of mild breeze
at the borderline of
instant spring and impending summer,
sprawling spread of green hills,
serpentine dirt pavements woven around them,
sparkling sky, just the right shade of blue,
chirping birds and chattering monkeys,
broad daylight soaking my room
with quiescent tranquil repose,
drifting in and out of slumbers,
comprehending
the low hum of washing machine,
the whistling pressure cooker,
the sweeping susurrations of broom,
and "wake up" insistence of mother.
A shrill alarm dissipates the trickery.
Irritant of reality inflicts the oculus.
Drowsy dreams,
drunk on nostalgia, sigh heavily.
Astir, beneath a foreign roof.


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

Through the night

I lingered with you

In thick dense fog;

Slowly weaving my way

Through the murky night,

Lit by two bright

Hazel lamps;

And in that warm luster,

That radiant glow,

I strayed far,

Until the dim light

Of dawn

Sneaked up to me.

By then,

It was too late

To turn back

And find my way.

Instead

I decided to wander,

With you,

In your skies and oceans.

May be

They could lead me home.

Promise

Stars twinkle against dark skies,
Tethering on a subtle promise,
Tomorrow arrives.

Winter greys

A misty shroud spreads,
The winter greys hide the gold,
Like a crane of doubt.

Linking with RonovanWrites

Good morning!!!

The faint fragrance drifts,
Pears and coconut oil,
Chiffon draped across her skin,
Still moist from shower,
Streak of fair waist
Glistening against crimson red,
Her umpteenth attempt to wake me up.
I pull her in my embrace,
The cooler,
Buzzing somewhere.