wind's tale
life, Nature, poetry

Myopia

Once again spiraling down

the bottomless pits of

all-consuming thoughts.

Is it the high tides in the sea

or simply a patch of dark clouds?

May be it’s the Northern winds

curled up by silent thoughts.

May be the dystopic reality or

my aging myopia from whose

prism , I can faintly view the

blurring horizon at whose

mid-point, saffron daylight

ceases into the kohl

darkness of night.

Misfortune
life, Literature, poetry

Midnight Poet

A midnight poet,

I sneak into raven

nights when they

give in to bottomless

slumbers , I see what

they turn a blind eye.

I endure much more than

what fall in my share.

I burn midnight oil to

weave sepia colored

webs of words in the

sooty corners of my

imaginary castles .

An undertaker I dig up

the icy pains from my

grey gravish heart.

You accuse me of taking

imaginary flights but

my only fault lies in the

annoying habit to feel more and

understand a little.

Yes I am emaciated and cold,

so I sew every night the cozy

blanket of my words to keep me

warm, the characters I

embroider stay awake to

keep the loneliness at bay

I am the midnight poet.

feminine, life, Love, poetry, woman

Hungry

I swayed and soared

in the clatter of pots

and pans, as the

sultry aromas of spices

aroused in me some

hidden desires.

Though I am the

cook and the Gardner,

such is my plight

that I am not offered

even a single bite.

Knowing there is no

respite, I scrapped the

waste morsels off

the site, you wished

a mild good night then

closed your eyes as

as I lay hungry on

your wild side with a

slight martyred pride.