desire mightier
life, Nature, Obituary, poetry

The Dying River

I stole a kiss from the crimson Sun,

an embrace from the sickly tree,

a smile from the fading flower,

humility from the burdened Earth.

A spoon-full of water from that dying,

river, its gentle waters relaxing one last

time and taking a deepest sigh!

I leaned in my insatiable greed knowing

that it’s spirit just departed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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man
Inspiration, life, poetry, Uncategorized

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!

Great Land
History, Inspiration, Legend, Literature, Love, Nature, poetry

The Great Land

Standing in the land of the great Apaches

Midst blooming wild poppies

and the mammoth elephant grasses,

thinking of the dream that once Martin Luther had.

May be the days of  chivalric Camelot are over,

as I heaved reclining on the grand arm chair;

vicious winds from the North gushed 

echoing footsteps of a massive feet

opening a narrow pass for the

grim shadow of Lincoln to flicker by,

leaving behind trails of the Fallen Soldiers

on the path once trodden by the

fierce Indian Tribes.

Gypsy
life, satire

Performance

Appearances kept to disguise

the gaunt silhouette 

inside, mindless words

uttered to subdue

million cacophonies of shrunken

brains, smiles and more smiles to

contain the pools of burgundy

pain, plastic tulips 

silver cutleries and the glorious 

dead shrimp lying in bed of frozen

sprouts while giving away

the performances 

of life-time. 

 

Mysterious melody
poetry, satire, sensual, woman

Madam Neverhurry’s Mysterious Malady

Madame Neverhurry cousin

of  Gustav Flaubert’s

Mrs Bovary,awoke at past 12

Suffering from a malady

Known as melancholy,

Casts her glance on the

Day’s chore, bored puts

The blinds back on, deciding

To have some high tea,

Summons, mischievous elves

On fire wings impatient

Yells “to get lost and bring

Forth aromatic mint tea with

Hazel nuts three or four”

On first command the elves

Disappeared, conjuring

A mysterious tea in glasses

Of crystal while the Madame

Put powders and billows,

adorning her buffet with

One Exquisite Ostrich feather

competing with the slopes

of Alps, all while thinking of

day’s chores and bitchy gossips

to be done which caviar to

be served with what exotic wine

at customary evening suppers

while discussing a mysterious

malady  possessing modern ladies

known  something as depression

so much work to do all 

in a day, madam fainted

at 1 while still in satin beds

Personal elves hurried worried

Bellowing some wind trying

to revive with peacock

fans, “oh poor madam,

suffering pangs of

melancholy once again”

 

( Dedicated to all my beautiful women who loves to get up past noon)

 

leaves
Literature, Love, Nature, poetry

Psalms

When I was young, I believed in

emerald elves & golden goblins,

they lived in tranquilly behind

the tall elephant grasses, a glee

takes over my face when I see

vision of the whispering cloud

A raven grim hovering around

murmuring secrets of azure skies

I can overhear the gentle cries

of sullen crickets in intricate colonies

Unlike man there are no phonies

tremendous peace and calm

prevails amidst melody of nature’s

Scared Psalms !

 

Misfortune
poetry, Soldier

The Soldier

Every time a son fails to return home, 

when the grim raven dusk descends;

A shooting star trails over the northern

horizon, leaving  behind million sparkling

diamonds, a hero is fallen in the battlefield,

my heart makes a shrieking sound, simply

breaking into two halves, his ground beneath

me stands still,birds in the brain stop chirping,

My boy hasn’t arrived home yet…. 

( Poem is dedicated to the brave IAF Officer Abhinandan Vartham, pray for his swift homecoming)

Persian Laila
Humour, Literature, Love, Nature, poetry, satire, wit,

The Persian Laila

Having feasted past-midnight, PersianLaila got up lazily at the stroke of twelve. Wearing her sparkling tiara, she rose with a numbing headache resultant of a hangover,

Caused by the left-over French champagne that she drank greedily from the China glass of her Benevolent master.

Her master’s darling she occupied a special place in his cozy lap and abhorred the site of her pot-bellied mistress,

For Laila considered her as a staunch-competitor and purred when ever she dared come near especially at long intervals of midnight drinks .

She would adorn herself on the left thigh of master and lick heavenly nectar only from the corner his pinkish wrinkled hands.

A site to behold midst bubblingchampagne and the smoke of expensive Cuban cigars. Her blue eyes drunk with envy and rage, she fought hard and with everyone for her master’s attention.

On rare occasions of evening strolls, she would walk with snobbish air and displeased countenance on the cobbled streets of rustic New York

Looking down with disdain on all other pussies in the town as she deemed them to be too causal and boring in the appearance,

For Laila came from the Persian peninsula from the house of the grand pasha of Azerbaijan, her great-grandmother the dark-eyed Hoorie was a favorite of the sultan-Suleiman

And what a cherished presence on all matters important of every concern but was slain on one moonless night by the jealous ladies of Sultan’s Harem,

All were fine, till troubles started to brew, for master was a man of excess and one Persian damsel was not enough and yearned for another beauty to occupy the vacant right thigh!

So brought a petite French this time, Annabella who had a legacy of her own, for she came-from the family of Master pastry chef, Monsuier Jean Paul employed in the house of King Louis XII

Both pussycats couldn’t look each other in the eye for both was endowed with looks and style to charm any.

One fine day while the master was away, in a brawl with each other both got their tails entangled, the mistress had enough and decided to sail one of them away…

And who better than the Persian Laila, for she was never in her good books. Hence a plan was hatched and poor Laila was swiftly hurried off to live with an old woman in quite a corner

Of the town and master was told a tale of how she eloped with neighbor’s Valentino who had-no history to boast of. 

Annabella now the reigning queen while Laila spent her time remembering the days of glory gone by.