Lose golden grains of sand,
slipping from my fingers,
Time is running out again!
Category: Uncategorized
Dear Kitty
Kitty oh Kitty!
It’s your abode,
I don’t claim a right,
for I know I’ve no
chance against those
silver paws and
the conniving furs .
But if for today you let
me trod on once which
was your great aunt’s
abode, I shall close my
lid and step past your
peacock throne without
a hitch or a frown.
( the poem is dedicated the stray cat 🐈 named: Laila in my neighborhood who doesn’t let anyone pass through her territory. Laila is notorious for being lazy and arrogant )
Us
If I’am you,
you are me
and that’s all
than
we are us.
I Am A Sucker!
Yes life hurls stones and pebbles
fate bombards proxies, follies
phonies but hold on….
I am a sucker for one more!
I devour failure like a hungry
homeless for I’ve nothing to eat
so I gulp every failure down my
parched throat till the-bitter liquid
of failure syncs-with the juices in
my emaciated stomach…
Oh! It churns, it widens but I ask
for more, I ask for more! I am a
sucker for all the losings humans
are capable of! I tasted sweet
success this morning when I took
that hard stone on my heart,
laughed at one more lie, swallowed
one more bitter pill, devoured
one more failure down my throat!
I am a sucker!
RESURRECTION
In the darkest pits
of soul lingers a
little flame kept alive by
the rays of purity.
A perpetual fire,
illuminating the grim
core, burning the
edges of stale
misfortunes…..
A lone flame standing
its ground against
cruel winds of fate…..
Assuring that heaven
is right there with-in us,
surrounded by our own hells,
and in the end resurrection
will take place out of the
ashes of that tiny
inferno….
Search
While you were searching
my whereabouts,I was standing
next to an oak tree…
when all the leaves came out
of deep slumber and the wintery
dusk descended, it was about
time for me to lurk beneath
those ancient roots and search
in raven labyrinths, the meaning
of icy darkness that possesses
you and me and hibernate with
-in them till eternity…
Nostalgia
Am I nostalgic?
For the sinful youthful
gone by, the momentary
bubbles of champagne
burs-ted vanished into thin
airs.
Am I nostalgic?
Of the elusive lovers
lost in the abysses of spiral
times.
Am I nostalgic?
Of the silent tears and
melancholia heart
of my youth!
Am I nostalgic?
Of my fleeting vanity
and the pride sunken deep in
rustic old mud
Long Route
I might again take a long route tonight!
Yes, yes I’ve some chores to do, few words
to keep but no harm if I just walk around.
With lovers abound I feel some kisses are
rightfully mine. Let me gulp down a barrel
of good old whiskey of Papa’s broken-brewery,
I too deserve some cheers to be alive.
Miracles happen post midnight after tik-toks
of the vodka shots when a toothless tramp
appears to be a heavenly vision of Michelangelo’s
chiseled David erected way tall.
Really no hurry if I match few steps with my
homeless prince to flip a coin in famed Trevi
fountain in site ,once again to check on our
fates as we both have no one to keep us
warm tonight!
Pain
Pain often reclines at
the back of my parched throat
on other occasions it
runs smoothly uninterrupted
in green veins, free-flowing,
as it is always the case love
is conditional, whereas pain
fills up the thirsty eyes,
morphing into tiny tender
crystals cascading down
the gaunt cheeks
without a bang or a crackle
so quietly, so gently…
Metamorphosis
I grew up beyond the grey walls….
Walls that changed hues under varied spells,
mama would strictly keep me inside.
The thick silver parapets adorned tiny holes,
black ashen specks from where I marveled
at the cruel oddity of the world.
A faded sepia of Papa hung at a crooked
angle-tilted towards outside,shadowing
other picture-frames.
The grim monsoons brought spree of life
stamping on foundations of boundless
hedge, spreading its tentacles…
Vile serpentine vines of bougainvillea invaded
sacred space, by keeping me in restraints
stealthily crawling into me.
I see scaly lizards licking the swollen damp
crusts of the walls, that now turned
purplish hue, squeaking hushly;
“papa zedes, papa zedes
papa zedes, papa zedes”
Terrified of clicking sounds,every monsoon
I meticulously filled up fissures with
Papa’s old black and whites.
Once smacked across the sugar face smiling,
I always beamed when I sobbed inside,
tongue at loss of words….
I covered the last fissure with the only picture
I had of Papa.
Forever barricading myself with-in walls, I
metamorphosed into silver, a mass of
cemented blood in concrete limbs.
Fortifying myself of the lingering echoes…
“papa zedes, papa zedes
papa zedes, papa zedes”