ring
feminine, life, Love

The Wedding Ring

The wedding ring

lay heavy on the

third finger, as my

finger ages, it sunkens

and digs deep. The

wedding ring never

ages, its tiny diamonds

still sparkles, it glows

like a pale moon…

A woe, a misery it

has tight grip around

my swollen finger like

metal shackles…

It’s glorious sheen

encircles my timid heart

As I finish my odd chores

I look at my wedding-ring

It never ages!

I threw it once down the

stairs, had a toast to

myself but a well-wisher

left it in my porch.

I lamented!

My finger has aged but

the wedding ring never

ages!!

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autumn, feminine, food

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….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Madam Giselle
feminine, Literature, poetry, satire

Madam Giselle’s Tragedy

“Makeupum Divina lipstickum 

Hail Oh, scentum , perfumee lios

Goddess Stilettum que sara sara”

 

Madam Giselle woke up to one glorious afternoon,

and damn those long-long lashes stretching little

over than the river Nile. Sparkling stilettos towering 

way above the heights of the leaning Towers of Pisa!

Having Insight 24 inches waist Madam stretched her back,

skillfully squeezed her belly to adorn golden Victorian 

corset, but it wasn’t to be easy for Gods have conspired and

were hell bent to bring down the penniless heiress from the

25 floor Ivory Castle.

As madam painted her face white with crushed powders of

corals from the far-off Gulfs in the fashions of Japanese Geisha

Fluttered fake lashes, ostentatious snobbish smiles extending

little more than her chiseled jaws, heavily armored with

 French powder and perfumes.

All the effort to slay any man who dare to passed by, hurriedly made

her way through the narrow allies of apartment suit in a

perpendicular fashion to avoid crushing her precious creases.

Oh so much pride, such high vanity, but she is indeed a beauty!

Tragedy fell upon! A loud thunder as heavens roared

heels cracked the sparkling Stilettos fell apart before her careful

gaze giving way to the bare ankles. It was to be the

first omen,

Acrimonious beings floating  fluttering in air laughing,

giggling; a loud thunder & descended million unwelcome

tiny crystal droplets, soaking the kohl smudged eyes

cascading into pools of black waters….

“Why it had to happen to me” ,cried Madam Giselle

Was my crime to be in vain or was it just a naive disdain?

But a little pride is not bad for a woman of my type!

mamma
feminine, life, Love, Nature, poetry

Mamma (Mother)

(This poem is a tribute to my mamma ( as I call her) for being an amazing mother, for raising two children single, working hard to put food in our hungry bellies, for loving us so much, for setting us free and fad away)

 

Carried in warm waters of her womb

for 280 days ,raising two children along

with abuses of father who existed in

his absence.

 

Ran from pillar to pillar, shore to shore

in scorching heats and icy colds to put

a loaf of bread on that severed table

brutal reminder of wedding that

once too  place. 

 

The sheer poise in her demeanor will 

guard her children from, the evil that

dwells in this world,that assuring smile

would blanket her little ones from the

coldness that only humans are capable of.

 

And when the time came she walked

two steps behind waning and waxing

like the aged moon,for sons who were

once lovers turned blind, feebly tamed 

by the shrewd ways.

 

What she achieved was extraordinary

no bills or coins of worth but the 

glorious grace to stand on her own, 

A lesson  learnt since she a woman 

came into the world.

 

It didn’t matter there was a beautiful

symmetry in her fragile body, the 

enthralling rhythm in her walk and

that charm, a rare one that some 

poets celebrate…

 

She was to be a vision which shines

without rays of cruel Sun, she was to

guard her place of work, learn to be

loved without a man on her side.

 

From the high cliff now that I see, this will be

be the world of some father and sons,

of few dimes and family names but I’ll

always be my mamma’s little girl!

 

 

Ecstasy
feminine, Love, Nature, poetry

A Woman

Hour my body was crafted, it was-not a skilled

goldsmith or the master strokes of  Vinci’s or

Raphael’s nor was ever any

Michael Angelo .

 

But a humble iron-smith who did the menial

job,  took his rusted hammer and a dagger

carrying stains of dried blood  to chisel  

me-over the  blazing flames.

 

For I as woman were to be tried and tested , my

smiles were to be  scrutinized from every angle

 like dumb Mona-Lisa gilded in golden

frames of Parisian museums

 

My walks were to be controlled like those ugly

dolls with small feet, and pangs of thirsts  

denied  with lack of cascading wines.

 

Silent  saline tears shed on altars of the suffering 

suffering were to be shrouded with blackest

mascaras, and locked away in the folds

of satin pillowcases! 

 

A sense of doom of a cruel persecution always

hovered, dreams were kept in check,secret

lovers were sailed away so far on those 

dilapidated boats..

 

Prim and proper, a society lady I glided  on the  

white marble halls of my castle of gloom , swiftly

learnt to smile with cockiness at trivialities

while serving teas with burnt hands ..

 

From the golden window I envied the lives of few

lucky concubines , goddesses  of their carnal 

brothels, they kept their freedom by bartering 

their rounded Alps and whiffs Of fertile

Amazonian gorges.

 

Envious I wandered why my freedom was sold for

few dinners and fake smiles,while  scars on their 

manhandled bodies seemed to glow my  mutilated

heart was to be a forever mystery, hiddden safely

behind a giant sapphire.

 

While those  unknown harlots  burnt out by making

out with thousand lovers  , I a godly woman simply

faded  polishing a giant sapphire,

day in and out…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

feminine, Love, Nature, poetry

Those Charms & Glows

I’ve possessed my bitter sorrows long back,

Adorned and wore it as part of my flesh ,

Pains which gushes as streams of scarlet blood

through blue veins, raging as river Nile 

Like whiffs of cheap psychedelic drugs, I 

consumed every bit and angle of my grief 

For a woman doesn’t become a woman until

she gleefully begins to possess and wear her  

pains, she transforms into a woman the moment

she glows while drowning in the lyres of pain 

Those sickly bossoms turn fuller and rounder

gracefully carrying the heavy burdens of heart

and the faces emanate those rare effervescent

charms about whom blind poets often write and

Trembling painters paint perfectly with  angular

strokes of  nylon brush. those charms and glows

as streams of scarlet bloods pumped from the  

aching hearts, gushing forth in blue veins.  

 

 

 

 

 

autumn, feminine, Love, Nature, poetry

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….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ecstasy
autumn, feminine, Love, Nature, poetry

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…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

bagpipers
feminine, Love, Nature, poetry, woman

Swaying To Notes of Thousand

Swaying to the 

notes of thousand 

bagpipers…

dropping all shames

twirling round round,

like darvesh in 

wild wild forest.

Whatever happens 

will happen!

It’s all god’s will

why interfere

why despair?

Some days are bad

like today,

I am rollin rollin

going spiral down 

free falling..

Thought to bounce

swaying just pounce

dropping shames…

Whatever happens

will happen.

It’s all God’s will

why interfere?

why despair? 

All I can do

is to just brew

drink or flew

some champagne

bubbles …

You can hold

my hands behold

catch me when I am

free-falling..

kiss me or

miss me…

When swaying

with me swaying

to the notes of

thousand bagpipers