Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Angels hark

An invisible hand hovers,
Over my troubled head,
My thoughts then recover,
As though back from dead.
My sheltered existence,
Seemed to be threatened,
Required of me was penance,
For the unrest to amend.

Let down

You are the one I call my own,
But you treated me with a frown,
Horrible days, then followed,
Your pride, you never swallowed.
Listlessly, dejected I went about,
Uncaringly, your day, you tout.
Moody, of me, you dismiss,
While you went on with your tryst.
Pieces, I picked up, one by one,
Propped or prodded, I was by none.
Alone, I decided, is the way to go,
With you, there is only sorrow.

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

To flourish while fading


I will fade away, into recognition
The seasons maybe any
I will wilt and wither here,
Possibly Thursday, the day in spring.
I decide on Thursday, because I was
Born on that day,
I pen these lines in fear,
In dread of diminishing,
The end is terrifying.
There will an emptiness
No one to recollect my days,
Truly I will vanish
Into dust, in the woods,
On a rainy sunny day.
And now for today’s (optional, as always!) prompt. Today, let’s rewrite a famous poem, giving it our own spin. While any famous poem will do, if you haven’t already got one in mind, why not try your own version of Cesar Vallejo’s Black Stone Lying on a White Stone? If you’re not exactly sure how such a poem could be “re-written,” check out this recent poem by Stephen Burt, which riffs on Vallejo’s. Happy writing!

Lurid quietude

Plagued by nightmares,
My life takes a turn,
Blood and gore don’t fare,
Still makes my heart churn.
Waking up in cold sweat,
There are visions, that stay,
Tragedies that torment,
Life turns into gray.
Like dementors to my soul,
Gnawing away the calm,
Smells so acrid and foul,
Seem to all over, embalm.
Knee jerk tears flow,
Swaying in the anguish,
Nothing stems the throes,
In desolation, I languish.
Respite, there isn’t at all,
From the infinite agony,
Ordeals continue to whirl,
Dissipating all harmony.

Monday, April 7, 2014

Captivated by doohickey

Not a day goes by,
When I don’t fondle you,
With all my undying love,
Your praises, I spew.
Your bright response,
To my first look,
Continuing from where left off,
Taken line, sinker and hook.
I caress your behind,
As I hold you tight,
We both settle down
Under the covers each night,
The lights turn off,
You grip me with your glow,
Spending hours together,
No fatigue, you seem to show.
As sleep plays on me,
My dear, I let you go,
Until the next time to play.
My iPad, I adore you so.


I sit to paint a picture,
Of me, in my element,
Long gaping at the canvas,
No ideas seem to cement.
A female, I am, I conclude,
Do I owe me any props?
Is there the ideal mix,
Of the gains and the flops?
Successful, I decide to add,
Generous all the way,
Intangibles, I list many,
But, how do I portray?
A briefcase, do I depict
Or money illustrate?
Kids and husband in tow,
Joy, does it demonstrate?
While I ponder over these,
The blankness stares back,
In the nothingness, I settle
I am an unfinished abstract.
*A play on introspect


Thursday, April 3, 2014

Note to self


I am my biggest foe,
I reap whatever I sow,
Dejected I feel at slight,
And, on it I focus my might.
Frustrations show me raw,
Discontents  begin to gnaw,
Discouragement, a self blow,
I am then forced to lie low.
With all these within me,
Who needs an enemy,
For me, I should root,
My own horn, to toot.

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Withering sight

Emaciated, he looked gaunt,
His past continued to haunt,
His vile deeds of the yore,
Gnawed at his innermost core.
Decomposing his life gone by,
He awaited his verdict with a sigh,
His few remaining days on earth,
Of love, there was a dearth.
Repentance, it crossed his mind,
‘Too little, too late’, he resigned,
No one else will ever come to know,
To the grave, he will take his woes.

Lost in fantasy

Like the proverbial Alice,
I have entered the mythical land,
Of Fujins and Thors, Odin too,
The Gods of Wind and Power,
I am sufficiently entranced,
Perplexed overly.
Eleves and dwarves scurry about,
While Gozu and Mezu guard,
I don’t make any sense,
I stay entrenched, deep
Escape my real world.
A realm beyond my conscious
I have descended into.
I make my own stories
History is fiction
Characters my figment
Blurry with sensory illusion.

Tuesday, April 1, 2014


I rake my brains hard,
To name something blue,
I have been duly dared,
That it cannot be “you”
While on my thoughts, I chew,
And, think of the ocean,
As I try to not eschew,
The skies of the blue notion.
As I ponder over more,
There is the Hindu God,
Devotedly followed by scores,
Who are humbly awed.
I think of joyous beauty,
And the peacock comes to mind,
To spread its splendor is its duty,
Just when the gray skies descend.
Or it could be the Nav’i tribe,
In the mystical Avatar space,
That’s all I am able to  scribe,
Of Blues there are no other trace.

Then there was the beginning

Then there was the beginning,
The fidgety wait for the day to arrive,
The apprehension made it exciting,
The nervous energy on which I thrive.
Then there was the beginning,
Or am I looking at it wrong,
Am I walking in circles,
And, is it to be the swan song?
Like the ticking time piece,
The sundial that never stops,
Or the hourglass with sand,
The incessant cuckoo’s squawks.
Can time be boxed in , at all?
Is there ever a finishing line?
With the incessant succession,
Life certainly got on quite fine.