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 …
Behind those crooked smiles lie some grief, little pain… Those winning dimples, sunken deep in cheeks hollowed by cheap joints of gas-stations telling tales of murky betrayals. Ruby wines oozing of the pale veins in those abandoned cabarets. Love a Wasteland! She did bloom a Rose or a Tulip somewhere!
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. …
“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 …
(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 …
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 …
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 …
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 …
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 …
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 …