Premonition

When I used to hear

the word love,

I didn't particularly think

of any face,

any name,

any person...

nothing would cross my mind.

Dark, black screen. 

But I had this certain feeling, 

this instinct, 

that it would seep into me.

Someday.

One day.

In time, I met you.

The word love,

well, it didn't cross my mind.

Not immediately. 

But you seeped in.

Slowly.

Gradually.

Definitely. 

It's like I knew it all along. 

Just couldn't register it well in time

But I know better today.

Today, I register your face,

at any slightest rustle.

I know this is love.

Linking with yeahwrite

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 

Bluntly romantic

It’s as simple as that.
I love you.
With every iota of breath
that I have.

That I heart
all your smiles
and all your flaws.
That you are
perfect
in all your imperfections.

Forgive me,
I know no poetry,
to say this
any more artistically.

Linking with 

This is just to say

The secrets floating
in your
deep hazel eyes
speaking silently

and urge
to unravel stories,
slowly
translating them

Forgive me
I fell headlong,
completely enamored,
totally consumed .

Linking with 

Susurrations of love

The evening hangs on branches.
Dusk. Dust. Quietude.
Rustling of leaves.
Whispers of yesterdays.
Beautiful slideshow.

Long time!
And I yearn to steal,
from the scrapbook of life,
pages, where we had inked
our togetherness.

Forgive me, I hear your voice,
and forget to breathe.
The susurrations of syllables,
leave sultry goosebumps, on my soul.
Still. After all this while. Everytime. Always.

Linking with 

Welfare unto all
Rab rakha 🤗 🤗 🤗 

Welcome the clown

The prompt word is clown. And I am delving into descriptive poetic form called Cinquain. The sheer joy that the whitefaced clown spreads, an image so vividly inscripted in our minds. Who knows what he feels behind his mask, it is the laughter that he can elicit from his audience that matters.
And as the wise say, it is healthy to be a clown for a little while in this circus of life.
For that brave spirit, I ink my words...


Jester.
Comic. Clumsy.
Juggling. Joking. Joshing.
Silly escapades. Sublime smiles.
Buffoon.

Linking with

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 🤗 🤗 🤗 

On the edge

In the last fortnight, there have been incidents when the air quality of our national capital has deteriorated alarmingly. It is the wake up sign.. If not us then who, if not now then when... The mother nature is waiting for some answers...

The thick shroud of smog;
goodbye whisper of autumn,
stuck in hazy dusk;
the raging echo of our callousness;
dismal glower of Nature;
looming question of doom!

Linking with 

Welfare unto all
Rab rakha 🤗 🤗 🤗 

Meandrous

Over the river and through deep dark woods, 

yonder the city skyline, 

spread of winding roadways.

Linking with RonovanWrites : River and Path

Linking with yeahwrite.me weekly poetry challenge

Welfare unto all
Rab rakha 🤗 🤗 🤗 

Candle

"Don't strain your eyes in dark".
So I lit one bulb.
Exasperated with my carelessness,  he switched on the tube light.
His "I love you" .
Then he left.
And on his side of the bed,  candle weeps silently.

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

Monsoon mayhem

"It will keep drizzling as long as you keep snuggling".
"Let's wreck havoc then!", she said as she cozied against him.
Outside, the drizzle turned to torrents.

Timeless

She dashed out for group studies.
He meticulously finished her homework
while she talked her heart out with him.

She rushed out for her
college group dance preparations,
matching her dance moves
only with his heart beats.

He told them he was working late again,
while relishing tubs of vanilla with her,
their daily trysts in office-canteen.

She went shopping with friends.
Though all she shopped was memories,
of their discreet meetings before nuptials.

The phone buzzed consistently.
Client, told them,
while replying to her message.

Young hearts beating in tandem,
with young lifestyles.
Love unchanged,
from letters to whatsapp.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: letter

Symphony

Your ringing laughter
seeps down to my core.
And like a therapeutic elixir,
it brings me back from fading.
Like a hundred windchimes
vibrating in bliss,
and weaving a pious symphony,
it resonates in my heart
and I am healed of all toils.
And when I hear you speak
of the day bygone,
your stories tumbling and toppling,
some making sense, some not so much,
my heart is mended.
Your trembling voice
is a beautiful reassurance
like a psalm,
I could listen to forever,
and never be wearied.
You echo around me,
like the soothing, salvaging monsoon winds
and I stretch out my arms to feel you,
draw you in a crushing embrace.
But no, I dare not say
that I love you,
words that sit precariously on my tongue,
ready to slide off any minute.
I let them pulsate violently,
struggling to break free.
Deliberately, I hold them off,
silently, hoping you will hear them.
And deep down I know you too feel
these whispers of love.

Day-begin

Deliberately she wipes the clothesline,
with a dusting cloth,
to remove the specks of dust that might have gathered
on the thin iron wires
drawn taut and tight between three angeled iron holders.
But sitting in my balcony and leafing through case file,
I sense her anxiety.
Her daughter has been standing at the corner of road,
for over 15 minutes now
and that rickety yellow school bus has not picked her up yet.
The girl's school bag is sagging with the weight of curriculum
and shoulders, perhaps with the weight of expectations.
She sneaks another look at her daughter,
her hands pausing for a moment
and then she returns inside,
probably to attend to her laundry,
only to come back in less than a minute
and peep again.
Her visit this time is synchronized
with a screeching halt of Tata Winger.
Her daughter boards the bus,
just as she hangs the first cloth to dry,
grey skirt from her daughter's school uniform.

A waking dream

Just before the sky breaks,
in to the riotous shades of blue,
clear and unclouded,
I breathe myself against your chest,
and I can feel that subtle rise and fall of your diaphragm,
too soft to hear, too close to experience.
In those godly hours,
I breathe you like oxygen,
vital and indispensable.
I memorize you like sermons,
every single contour.
And I drink you like ocean,
quenched, yet unsatiated.
And then with daylight,
when I think of you,
I hear you or I feel your presence,
I scribble you frantically, my love.
But I don't dream of you,
for you are a constant companion,
a thought that never goes away.
And I hope you don't trust me when I say,
I don't dream at night,
for my endless dreaming begins with dawning,
when I imagine you stirring lazily on disarrrayed bedclothes.
No, I don't dream of you at all.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.