Mores - the more the merrier

A farce, he says, it is
But pretense, when done right
can lead to permanency
Leading to days that are bright.

Holidays and traditions.
are there for just this
while, of transient nature
It does bring with it, bliss.

There is the need for push
A slight nudge to get going
Once the lights are out
The winds of joy come blowing.

Transgressing in progression

Life and death, the cycles
A fluttering garment
rewinds to days past
Now spent in solitude
awaiting the final knell.
The laughter haunts in
its absence, the years
pass in silence, in anger
An empty soul of the person
that once was. Hollowed.
Photographs are reminders
creating a painful present
Nostalgia is a whiff of
the masalas, of the talcum,
of the detergent clinging
The fertile way of living
that once was

has bitten the dust.

The verse

Wow, a verse can rhyme

or flow like a river

Have no effect and be wasted

or send, down the spine, a shiver.

String up a cluster of words

Flit over ideas like a bee

From vague and abstract,

To concrete objectives maybe.

A love expression, it could exist.

Or a strong action of protest

which, the ones who peruse it,

might very well detest.

None are short of classics

Many are masterpieces

Every one of them, but carry.

Of the writer, some slices.