Wednesday, 26 July 2017

White Desert















salt exploded to a blanket;
desert meditates;

alabaster sheet reflects
you, your shadows stare,
recognize;
emptiness of white fills
every angle of your sight;
salt flicks tear-tasted wind,
close it or open, your eyes will swim;
let it catch right reflections…

salt exploded to a blanket;
desert meditates;
meditate in white.























Visit dVerse Poets Pub for Poetics -- Flexing your verbs
Visit Imaginary Garden with Real Toads for Tuesday Platform

Thursday, 20 July 2017

transitions


























Google Image


at the window i untied yesterdays
and searched for words outside
 hanging heavy with rain drops
on trees and plants; puddles full,
reflected grey sky and streaks of sun;
heavy, drenched words with streaks of sun

i am dry, dried out paints of the canvass,
yesterday’s canvass of an abstract;
it’s the hesitation to touch wet words,
to get wet; the window bridges,
it bridges the wet and the dry,
it’s the hesitation to cross over to the rain,
for I have my own masks

i mask my scorching thoughts with smiles
i save my rain on brushes and paints
it dries up so quick;
it’s the hesitation to cross over to the rain,
for I have my own masks

at the window i untie my masks
for a while to decide on hesitations….





Thursday, 13 July 2017

Movement!























this morning isn’t sunny nor rainy;
just walk the streets the whole day moody,
dump, dump, dump, dump the thoughts
with every step weary;
neither the hills and nor the trees yours,
there are plans for every grain from rulers
and neither you are your own perception---
you are perceived on IDs,
the ten digit telecom numbers
and which belief system you were born into;
you are just a stamped document
and the face of a certain belief,
the one belief from among many sprouted
sprouted out of what, we forgot,
what was it, what was it that made them sprout
and to add, you are born out of a fragile body,
a body that has nothing more to add to the identity
than the textile mill’s different cut out clothes
and the curves and flesh and nothing more

so you are nothing more;
your neighbor,  your friend or anyone may,
yes, they may judge you for every turn of your body,
for every step you put on earth and those not put,
for you maybe, for them, imposing your belief,
don’t call your sibling the name your mother put,
yes, for that may reveal your intention of imposing,
imposing beliefs others may not find familiar;
it’s a crime, it’s a crime to open your mouth
or live the only way you were taught to live
and where ever you sit, anybody, anytime
yes, anytime they will infiltrate your abode
through your ten digit numbers and IDs
you are fragile, vulnerable and confused


this morning isn’t sunny nor rainy;
just walk the streets the whole day moody,
dump, dump, dump, dump the thoughts
with every step weary;
some roots are calling,
roots that are spread under the sand
that run close to the earth’s heart,
to hear the hum, hum, hum, hum reverberating;
back to tree bark from branded nonsense,
back to river-side meaningfulness from cutting-edge technologies
and even for this you may be labelled,
labelled as backward, foolish pessimist;
the irony of intellectualism reigns
and you as a person dumped…

this morning isn’t sunny nor rainy;
just walk the streets the whole day moody,
dump, dump, dump, dump the thoughts
with every step weary;
some roots are calling,
roots that are spread under sand,
that run close to the earth’s heart
to hear the hum, hum, hum, hum reverberating


Visit Poets United for Movement!





Wednesday, 12 July 2017

My little friend!

































she talks to me at times,
my little friend at the window---
“there is none of my clan anywhere near,
where are the big saints of my world?”
ah my little friend, when they make
match-box homes for us to stay
they never share space,
your big saints don’t stay here,
sorry….
but I’ll tell you stories of your saints,
about those extended souls of mine;
you don’t whither,
stay happy
and connect me with the truth;
stay here…



Visit IGWRT for Tuesday platform!


Friday, 7 July 2017

summer tales, monsoon rhythm

















Google Image




they just float,
the days, when
the sun is to meet the rain;
the heat and sweat, corny;
those clouds cuddle, then
the days slowly shed light and
those bright patches turn dusky;
it’s rain in the dusk and
 all the stories held up are passed,
summer whispers them to monsoon;
she is  thunderous and chiming at times,
she writes them on the sand, sings them to the birds;
monsoon, the poet, she fills the land with stories and rhythm

and i huddle in the window seat listening to her phenomenal music 




Visit IGWRT for Get Listed-July (Word list--- heat, bird, easy, fling, pass, sweat, corn, float, ice cream (that's considered one), bright, cricket, dusk)

Thursday, 6 July 2017

An enigma
















Google Image



between
words gurgling through tongue
and
how much to curtail
and
how much to spill
lies a world of independence


between
boundaries made and unmade
and
where to cross
and
where to stop
lies possibilities of independence


between
thoughts of amassing
and
thoughts of sharing
lies probabilities of independence

it’s a choice made
and it’s the scapegoat  sacrificed
when all the possibilities and probabilities hang
on imbalanced decisions made

and there is an enormous possibility
in death; if in the afterlife there is no possibility
of flesh…


Visit Poets United for Midweek Motif--- Independence 


Wednesday, 5 July 2017

Lemon-spilled thoughts





















Google Image




pickled lemon,
salty sourness;
sunshine yellow bottled
as muddy reddish hot-lick;
i wander back,
a lemon plant summons
 outside kitchen window, fullness---
skirt rustling over leaves
pushed back by thorns,
wild button flowers beaming,
juicy-grass bed kissing,
huge trees greeting---
days of lemon-fresh laughter,
i picked the lemons from the past;
lemon-fresh soul,
pickled lemon in bottles---
tickling taste reviving memories

existence spread over time and space
notes on a musical thread with no end
flow and flow as rhyming waves



Linking this poem with IGWRT - Tuesday Platform.

Friday, 30 June 2017

Chaos around!





















Some pollen-dreams of a mystical body
Scattered across from infinity
The soil beholds ditches and fields
Gutters and streams
Where will they fall?
Do they have a choice?
Do they have vibes?
Fall will them, and
Will gulp in the first drops
Will take on the soil they fall
Do they have a choice?
 Do they have vibes?
Smelly fungi
Parasitic worms
Venom spitting slither-ers 
Vainglorious, buzzing deadly mosquitoes
Dirty flies
And then the monk-like trees
Flowers and fragrance
Well, I am tired of listing
The world is a weird box of mismatching blocks

The wisdom of silence, endurance and acceptance

Spread the syllables of truth, of love and smiles
Let the pathogens dry out and die out…




Visit dVerse Poets Pub for OLN


Wednesday, 28 June 2017

Everything within reflects
















Google image



Sky clouds in my heart
Rains with memories
Rains with blessings
Brimming, spilling bliss

When love is not echoed
When friendship is not understood
May you find the inner bliss

When health is not that pink rose
And the days are not symphonies
May you find the inner healing

When wealth is not your cake
And things fall apart
May you find the inner richness

There is none in the world other than you
Who can love with a brimming heart
There is none in the world other than you
Who can find consciousness back and heal the world
There is none in the world other than you
Who can find the inner potential to make the world rich
As it is just you, from within whom you can perceive the world
As the world exists for you just in your consciousness
May you bring the most beautiful world out for you and me and all

For...

Sky clouds in my heart
Rains with memories
Rains with blessings
Brimming, spilling bliss...
As maybe yours
And may it be so!



Visit dVerse Poets Pub for "Blessings"


Monday, 12 June 2017

Search....

    

























the space between words
and  the border between colors
     and of confusions, being secure and insecure
and the half wakefulness of sleepy eyes,
      yearning to rise, lost
 between decision and indecision,
        between willingness and unwillingness
 to rise;

    the not-so formed wild path
or the nothingness of sky
    or a wisp of cloud
or a whiff of sand;
         maybe
a time-bound illusion
    of 3-dimensional perceptions;
the consciousness in make
     between breaths

let me find
what soul am I


Visit IGWRT for "I am made of..."