patches in snatches

patches of sunlight
I try to gather
in my palm locking all in my fingers

I also gather beads
thread them with wires of sunlight
enclosing the warmth

those snatches of wind
(fancy those!)
I collect in my hand towel

in the upcoming days of drought
I will take all of these out
and fill my emptiness

"can anyone hold transient nostalgia?

a legend

his stature carries through centuries
not a legacy of one country,
transcends boundary
yet I find
"Abraham Lincoln was a lot shorter than I thought he would be"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Abraham Lincoln was a lot shorter than I thought he would be..." is from Saturday Centus...

a postcard

in today's world of emailing
I send you a postcard
my e-words are tactile
but I send more concrete
as you are aware
words do get lost in the cyber world
but my postcard you can touch,
savour or even inhale

those crooked words speak
(if you read between the lines),
of my recondite emotions

tablet of time

a tablet of time 
broken-
no one can break the aeons
they move so fast
in a blink.
here the tablet lies in debris
the moments already passed
into eternity
I see the dates
(a day of masquerades?)

I bury myself under the tablet, 
into the debris, 
fall asleep, with time
I don't need any other lover

corners

corners I have covered
with statues which stand tall
a flower vase with a fragile flower
looks soulfully at me
I never had noticed its rampant growth
I touch it gently
feels its tremors
the photo frame from the shelf
falls on the floor

the wooden corners are chipped

I pick the pieces from the floor
set back the photo frame on the shelf
tremors are gone now
my gentleness soothes the flower
its rampant growth is stopped
it still touches my soul
the fragile vase will hold it  still
statues will watch indulgently
I will still have my corners covered

thoughts of that perching scarecrow

hanging from the poles
scarecrow wants the silver shoes
a random wish
to walk on the yellow bricks
holding hands with the giant head

not that he can do much
in his precarious state
tired he falls asleep 
chasing a kitten in his dreams
even though he is in love with that witch

when she melts away
he promises himself 
that he will take revenge
now the perching is of his own choice
it reminds him of his vow

biding his time, still biding his time

numbers go nutty while I watch

all those numbers run around
I catch them
put them in different slots
but they escape again
curious to know each other

I like the picture
logical numbers
going nuts over each other
squares and cubes
climb exponentially

trigonometry breaks
into geometry
they giggle like a kid
and suddenly embrace,
break away guiltily

precalculus is the silent one
it has too much in its pocket
number system spouts euclid's lemma
roots of quadratic are always paired
but you know, it is all statistics

each portion of math says this
If I should die, think only this of me-
how to resurrect those numbers again

an ode

the contours
the grace
yet you will burn me
moisture escapes from your orifice
snakes of steam hiss out of you
I am in awe of you

"indulge me, pressure cooker"

perception

I swipe the floor twice
still curdled smell of milk persists
I also wipe the tears from her eyes

what if her dress is smeared with dirt
her hair is a ghastly sight
I gently untangle it with my fingers

she wipes her nose in my neck
I smile slightly and kiss her eyes
lead her to her favourite place-

she settles with a bowl of crispies
thumbing her book once in a while
I watch serene smile return to her face

knowing her, if you say
this is the scariest story I've ever heard...
I will totally disagree, as I know

she found clouds in the spilt milk
dragons fought for her,
while unicorns held her hand

now she sits here replete
with another dream in the making
I wonder, what would I find the next moment?

"in that brief moment nirvana emerges out of nowhere"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I couldn't think of any other title for this. Suggestions are welcome.

caricatures of vultures

staircase trembles
under glassy clouds

when paddock falls apart
settled dust rises

mother comes out of nowhere
untangles her daughter from floor

lets both their tears mingle
powder of dust mistily coating them

her daughter has to be kept hidden
her secret to be guarded

"as long as caricatures of those mighty vultures are outside" 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*I thought I will not explain but I will write about vultures. They are much maligned but they do clean our environment. However, there are certain section of people who think that they have to cleanse the society. And they are the caricatures here. 

mirror at crossroads

immense resolutions
shimmer in the cauldron
steam arises out of it

I say I want to grow young with you
never old, exploring
everything new that we can

not just each other, but beyond-
the crossroads are my destinations
intersections are yours

with my finger tips
I trace out the steam off the mirror
while you watch the effect of it on me

"are you not pleased that we are both children in that image?"

totality

in stillness of night
if you persist
in being that close to me;

I will have to find
a way to plunge myself
into your luminous soul

I only believe in totality

sombre sobriquets

I pick that piece of paper
smooth it over my thighs
my palms leave sweaty marks
smudging the words
I shift the superfluous sentences
a semblance of sombre sobriquets jumps 
out. as I reach out to strike out more
I hear a voice say out of nowhere-

"don't cut it slack for slickness and sleekness"

I pause. the paper tears,
I watch the words fly away
they will gather from the clouds
hoard it all for me
they are champions
for my impatience.
if there's one thing I have learned

"sleekness with slickness can't let to be slack"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I credit the sentence don't cut me slack for my slickness and sleekness to, well, he knows who! I simply edited it a bit. 

within the pages

in the pages of my poetry book
I find you pressed to love poems
when I untangle you, you resist
I too lie down beside you
submerging myself into the pages
the press of you into me
unleashes my hinges
the musty smell of poetry
embraces us both
I close the book enclosing us, 
open into you impusively
lost in the mazes of the pages

Trick or treat!" they shouted as the door opened...
within the book we were both a treat, no tricks

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Saturday Centus: Trick or treat!" they shouted as the door opened...

extraction

I sit on the staircase

sew drooping eyes on that doll

her glossy frock is now muddy

I drop purple kisses on her head

I forget about that hook I lost,

that gourd which turned bitter;

the duck I plucked before

now my fingers extract love

"plant it so that mind and matter merge together"

fortune tellers

I climb out of the window
in the middle of the day
to get a grip on the clouds

my gold fish has escaped
riding that yellow kite
I hover at the opening

the trees make fun of me
I could never nudge the trunks
but they allowed fortune tellers

my fortune flies in the sky
floating with that fish
I fan myself, latching the window

"I am too agitated to breathe"

eternal enemies

slithering smoky snake
suspended to strike
slips and spins over
smooth surface-
self-respect in shreds

massive mongoose
with malicious eyes-
materializes
out of nowhere;
meanders towards

the hissing snake
to strike that huge
reptilian head.
eternal enemies from
eons gauge each other.

mongoose pauses
with a ridicule
gaze, turns around
to go the other way
leaving snake alone.

absolved now,
reptile breathes easy
closes its eyes, relieved.
just as the mind eases
mongoose strikes for kill

"lesson of survival, be on your toes always"

that hammer

If I had a hammer, I would smash it
on your pumpkin patch, think it is your head
all blood and gore, a pulp, beauty to behold.

*************
a nail, essential in the centre of that wall
for your photo to be displayed for all
If I had a hammer, I would hit hard

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AppleHouse Poetry Workshop: 10/10/10: 3 lines, 10 syllables each
Saturday Centus: If I had a hammer

Haibun: death vibes

Was she dead? It did not matter, if she was. More important, was he dead? Her eyes opened for a sec.

death vibes-
she sent those to him,
he, blemish to society

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Why don't you try something in 160 characters? Space included!

dad, farther and farther away

in the closet
I catch a whiff
I rummage it again 
in the dark,

standing first on one foot
then another-
I can still see you
in the back of my eyes

my closet encloses 
all I hold dear
encircling too
my lonely thoughts

missing you suddenly
after eight years
I can hear you call me-
you reach me with your hug

"you were my centre, I am still the circumference"

leafy tales

"the vibrancy gone forever
it is what you assume.
but I embrace the ground
as this is what will renew me- 
brave. heroes. forgotten."
whispers the leaf to me.

I ponder over the words
chew them with wisdom
think, of my bent  form
in my twilight years
dying with as much dignity
I get out of curiosity of pains

"whithered physical shape of leaves
teach me spirituality"

a subtle hint

that sheen I see

on their skins-

a hint of hard work

those play of muscles

on their forearms-

a hint of hard work

the beat of hammer

on the hot iron-

a hint of hard work

we are beautiful people

we only lust for your love

a hint of sadness

they get up to dance-

with masks, and swelling chants- 

a hint of abandon

"they are the salt of earth, and I couldn't agree more"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three Word Wednesday provided these three words: hint, lust, sheen. Working around those was not easy as I did not wish to go the obvious way. Hope what I did works well.

I have taken a line or two from Ka'Ba by Imamu Amiri Baraka. Those lines are we are beautiful people and dance- with masks, and swelling chants. I have somewhat edited the second line. Do read the full poem clicking on the poet's name. To know more about the poet, check out the following link:

http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/imamu_amiri_baraka/biography

ecstasies

a miniscule particle 
I drift in airlessness
almost weightless

a metaphor for what
has there to be an explanation-
I think not

ecstasies of nothingness
beats the joys of perfection
exception being love

shape is not defined
yet so welcome
giving me the freedom

to be what I like
just a shadow
take any form

as mundane as a bowl of soup,
a plate of colourful salad
even scrambled eggs

drift into space
pulled up by the stars.
or into a black hole

"fall into an abyss or disappear into a black hole, nirvana is never afar"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Have you visited One Shot Wednesday? If not do it now!

bring on the cawing

they sit on my window sill
cawing creates a cacophony
I try to shoo them away
they don't budge an inch
black crows on my window sill

what tales they carry
of this world or the nether one
I try to shoo them away
they keep themselves fixated
black crows on the terrace floor

the cawing gets worse
they fight for supremacy
I try to shoo them away
they stare at me unblinking
black crows simply jumping around

a sudden quiet, no one is there
I look heavenwards
I try to bring them back
Where did they go in a jiffy
blacks crows possess magical powers

"my dad used to say, no other bird brought you news about your ancestors"

is it a love poetry or missing muse or nothing?

I hunt for it
not finding it anywhere
where are thou muse-
where have you hidden
when I need you the most

randomly distributed
I gather that in my thoughts
rejoicing again
in the word painting
on my palette  of emotions

cracked surface of the earth
laughs at my naïveté
soar is getting sour
curdled milk is better
at least you make cottage cheese

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

....5 lines where the middle line acts as a pivot, i.e. it can be read in conjunction with the first two lines, or it can be read as the line that leads into the final two. I have tried to do that in each stanza of this verse. Hope it works!

patched flashback

appliques on my quilt
are a tapestry
my mom has written a story or more in patches
I have tried to unthread it
the needle pierced my thumb
mom gloated over it

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Why don't you try something in 160 characters? Space included!

Haibun in 55 words!

A piece of white cloth I had bought, to paint on it, turned out to be a bigger project than I had anticipated. Now the shape on it hurts me no end. Blindly I seek you to ask where I placed it.

you were present here
what abyss propelled you in
shroud wraps around you

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Not all I write is a personal reflection. Please do bear that in mind while reading and commenting. Remember, poets/writers have very vivid imaginations and have the insight for empathy too. You will agree with that if you are either or both. However, many a times we forget the distinction and presume and assume.