So many words are not spoken,
some promises are not kept, but
sans complaints or regrets.
When all is done, we will
simply move on. You brought
a grim hue but it still formed
a rainbow in a clear sky.
Category: autumn
Trapped
Trapped in a fluid body,
tentacles of burgundy garbed
thoughts oozing out like
myriad snake heads. Sniffing
somberly, the dark melancholia
pervasive in the air and then
crawling back, melting again
with the red hues.
Parade
The regal parade continues to march on.
Many who exist in silent, will reach the end.
Few Spirited ones will depart near the next turn.
Corpses will be shoved by the strapping boots.
Blood stains will rust up on the parched land.
The glorious spectacle is a site to behold.
The regal parade continues to march on.
My Kitchen Empire
When my man is under the spell of elusive
raven nights, I carry in my bosom a long
-held secret, in glimmers of the faint
candle-light
I carefully lay my eyes upon the shelves of my
oriental kitchen, laden with my bridal
copper pots & pans, embellished of
emerald peacocks and exquisite
Mughal florets.
My majestic Indian Mortar, Earthen Moroccan
Tagine lay enthroned midst the spice
bazaar, magical herbs gilded like
jewels in the crown of my
Kitchen Empire .
As I stir heavenly liquids against thick walls of
ashen pots the mushroom fumes of blunt
peppers, topaz turmeric soar much high
raising the temperatures of cold
Connecticut nights.
Uncle Sage and Aunty Rosemary sit beside me
all night whispering to me the magic that
will unfold tonight, as I stir the curry
in circles with all my might I often
shed a tear- or so on
my plight ,
The divine basil fills up my senses and assures
that things will go alright, while the ruby
peppers keep raising the temperatures,
and tiny sparkling drops crawls through
neck much to my annoyance.
Lamenting lemon appears, splitting into a glorious
vision of two, infusing with the clear waters
of great American Land quenching my
thirsts with concoction of fabled
lemonade.
As the coterie of spices tinker in the pot, I realize
I need one more ploy and blow a puff of
aphrodisiac Fenugreek to stop the
ensuing battle tonight…
All this and more till oriental sun-rises on my imperial
Kitchen Durbar….
Let us you and I
Let us you and I once again
meet beneath the vast skies
hold hands and take long walks
In shadows of blushing trees of fall
on embellished carpets of florescent leaves
pour out the maladies of the souls
Listen in serenity few beats of our hearts
narrate to each other the ancient tales
of shooting-stars and broken hearts
Solitary nights and the bleeding cores
while taking youthful sips of scarlet
wines flowing from the goblets of deep-sighs
Your fingers engraved on my wrists
souls fusing with souls, hearts-
melting with hearts
Let us you and I once again
meet beneath the vast skies…
The Autumn Winds
You embraced my being like the fallen
withered leaves of the deceased autumn
Shrouded me from the chills and breezes
I leapt on to you for the tenders caresses
and fiesty cajolings, but then you went
away like the autumn winds, abandoning
me at a site where once stood an ancient
tree the siloutees of whose roots still lurks
in the muddy grounds like shadows of your
long embraces on my soul, the dry barren
heart like the decayed hollows of the dead
tree, I lingered on rootless through the
burial grounds wept and sobbed at the
passing of your warm kisses and gentle
touches just like the death of autumn of
winds….
Necklace of Pearls
Like beads of pearls
scattered on a polished
marble grounds, my
soul disintegrated into
thousand parts unknown,
scattered, knowing that
cancer of rage has spread,
the lumps of gloom are
growing, I a scavenger
picked on the left-over
carcasses once a
live breathing body
where blood flew like
streams of Tigris
now lay blue, cold
limpless, still pieces
have to be sorted-out
sown delicately like a
Necklace of pearls,
worn on dark evenings
to hide gaunt neckline
devoid of any bloods
of forefathers, where
once flew gushing
streams of Tigris….
Pure Ecstasy
The melodious fluttering
leaves twirling, swaying
wooing petals of the
withered flowers doing
belle on the softer
orchestras of the hollow
winds of majestic
autumns.
Shy veiled sun, playing
hide-seek from behind
the dark clouds, like
a coy bride with a
mischievous gleam,
trying to catch arousing
glances…
A lone bee hovering
on the left-over florets
suckling to the last
drops of heavenly
nectar for which many
virgins slained their
lives…
An ecstasy took over
as if intoxicated of rich
wines from the barrels
of ancient Greek Gods
drowsiness of thousand
opiums seized the
bodies.
My naked body scented
in the aromas of damp
Earth, handsome winter
softly draping me, coiling
me in his strong embraces
a passionate kiss of
morning dew on my
swelled lips,
Parched tongues asking
for more nectar, added
dew bites held tightly
against winter’s chest
sun coming out of veils
revealing its glory, dropping
all shames, layers…
drowsiness of thousand
opiums came upon
upon, pure ecstasy
of sheer release…
Lullaby of Bagpipers
On Celtic notes of bagpipers
on the vast green highlands
behind those infinite pastures,
swaying pristine cherry-blooms leaves
with the melodies of autumn
winds, sits a mother nightingale
delicately twining, weaving ashen
wigs to build a nest for land’s
cold harsh winters for her
five little fragile babies
on Celtic lullaby of
bagpipers.
” On this brave land of martyrs
dwells aching women
longing for their
wounded men
to come
home.”
One Thousand & One Deaths
I am ready for the one thousand and one death,
unhurried torturous and slow painful even to grotesque
death, which I’ve embraced multiple times without
any peevish complaints of my fate, trampled and
trodden in the jarring folds of hefty Earth.
Since my conception in the unfathomable wombs
of rusty mud I carried within my exposed heart
an aching fright of the howls of shrieking winds.
Today I lie decomposed a bleached carcass, a
bulbous mass of my former-self, insipid and pale.
The spectators can witness the mutilations of thousand
deaths incised on my bare veins as the raucous Earth
continues to compress me in her piercing buckles
grinding meat-loaf in an absurd Sisyphean procession
a futile, all a vain exercise, as I will rise again from
my frugal ashes, oozing out my aimless head born
from the vaginal tubes of the ashy soil, with a numbing
terror of the waling winds of sweeping autumn. Born
once again to die another one thousand and one deaths
just enough to cover a full circle.
.