Reign of rigor

Nature rules supreme,
Sovereign is her state,
Distinctions, there are none,
Her subjects for her are one.
Majestic she holds her fort,
Even in the autumn of life,
Supply, she does to all,
The sweet nectar of joy!
All creatures survive,
Under her just rules.
Additions there are a few,
Subtractions of late, many.
Men, her prized creation,
Caused her kingdom’s anarchy.
Nature, however rules supreme
And, sovereign is her state!

Who am I?

I am again measureless patterns,
I seek to know me and my verve,
Am I the undecipherable enigma?
Is there a purpose, here, I serve?

Whether I shall turn out to be,
The hero of my own life…
Will there be some happiness?
Or of conflicts, I will be rife?

How do I come to know me?
Am I really who I think I am?
Is there another side to me?Am I just a big ol’ sham?

Circus ruckus

On this October evening divine,
Plans for a trip are in the design,
Of all the places, where do we go?
Soon enough, you’ll come to know.

Off to see all the animals, there,
Something else that not many’d dare,
Acrobats and flamethrowers around,
So many things that do astound.

Ropes of the trapeze were strained,
Performers for hours had trained,
The clowns came out to give a pose,
Keeping the others, on their toes.

The ringmaster is the spine,
Majestic is his royal reign,
Other things add to the ruckus,
That was our trip to the circus!

Summer showers

Standing close to the foggy windows,
Watching the flashes and thunder,
The skies are opening and pouring out,
Monsoons are here and it soon shows.

The parched ground thus reawakens and grows,
Slowly, life creeps out from under,
Insects buzz on and crickets are out
Earth shall regenerate, it knows.


The streams are swelling and along flows,
Rousing earth’s hidden wonder,
Showers rage on, wiping out the drought,
Scenery in its brilliant pose.

Standing close to the foggy windows,
Watching the flashes and thunder,
The skies are opening and pouring out,
Monsoons are here and it soon shows.

Unscathed radiance

MondayMural

Magnolias in bloom,
in its full splendor,
Born to spread the joy,
its simplicity, its grandeur.

Strength in its frailty,
Lack of symmetry, its allure.
Exquisite in its elegance,
And, vagaries it'll endure.

Nestled amidst the lake,
Untouched by man,
Nature's magnificence,
Enjoy it, while you can.

Ars poetica

A poem should be sweet,
As chocolate replete,

Nice
As the clichéd sugar and spice,

Charming, as the fairy tale prince
In the garden of the flowering quince,

A poem should enchant
Like the magical polyjuice plant.


Inspired by Poefusion

Copycat is the greatest form of flattery.

Muddled

November is the most muddled month
Thence goes the allure of warmth,
Is the perch of the imminent winter,
Aside, the vivid colors of autumn linger

Puzzled perpetually people are,
Just out of the throbbing heat,
Lay submerged in the pool,
Descends upon them, this month,
Waking up the reverie, this frisson!

Recital

Diminished, she felt in stature,
Amidst the great poets present,
She held her breath and the rolled up poem,
And waited patiently for her turn.

Being introduced, as they did,
Was a blessing and a curse,
Striding up the stairs, there she was,
Out flew her courage and her notes.

Persevering, trudged up,
A deep breath and she began,
The outcome was dazzling,
She walked away with relief and the award!

Cliched

Image source: Poefusion

Love is seeking and finds,
Love is direct, at times winds,
Love is earnest as is flippant,
Love is reactive and is planned.

Love comes layered and in bulk,
Love makes you savor and sulk,
Love, in it, you stumble and regain,
Love is tender, with some pain.

Love is elusive and brazen,
Love can slow, or hasten,
Love brings tears and joy!
Love, sure is complex, oh! boy!

Obscure verse

In the sandy river bed,
Unseen by eye, undisturbed,
Soft and smooth pebbles abound,
Untouched and not yet found.

This vagrant piece of paper,
Words floating, almost vapor,
Creation born to remain unread,
And, no praise on it showered.

A rhyme - the best that was,
The only one with no flaws,
Perfection, if ever there's one,
But, Alas! A pity, seen by none.

Laud the torn tome!

Onto being shredded into tatters,
taking along with it, nothing that matters,
Selflessly giving away all that was,
Letting itself go for a noble cause.

This book in its heydays, imparted,
Forays into territories previously uncharted,
Many a hungry mind was satiated,
Setting foot where others, to tread, feared.

One of mankind's greatest discovery,
Aiding socities on their way to recovery,
A chronicle of countless past glories,
Manuscripts with scores of sorry stories.

Here's to the unassuming tome,
Patiently through it, as one does comb,
Every volume is a rousing find,
Stimulating indeed to the human mind.

Mind of mine

Listening to the color of my mind,
As I wind down, after the daily grind,
It speaks to me in colorful hues,
Sometimes, it acts as my muse.

My mind seems to have a mind of its own,
Over it, I don't reign, nor do I own,
Letting my imaginations run wild,
Taking care to not get it riled.

Listening to the color of my mind,
As I wind down, after the daily grind.

Tide a time...

Monday Mural







Are we in fact in a time warp?
"There is no time, we do harp?
Can we really distort time?
Is twisting time really a crime?

What do we make of it today?
For irreverence we do pay,
Any minute saved, is a gain,
Waste it and we will be in pain.

The wait for time is long drawn,
Its here now and now its gone,
Now is this moment, this instant,
Future is far away and distant.

Father time is growing old,
Branching out, we are told,
Time waits for not a soul,
Churning, it continues to roll!

Three men

"Three men", if I say, would suffice,
Like the three blind mice,
Or like the monkeys three,
Made of wood, that once was a tree.

A gasp, a frown and a smile,
All been there for a while,
They look hollowed out,
But, standing tall, without doubt.

Their faces show them to be 'wise'
Who, not long ago, were held in a vice,
They, with their bodes, mis-formed,
Portray a sense of being informed.

As they silently keep watch,
Of the envious glances, they catch,
With legs that hold them stable,
To have the last laugh, they are able.

This sculpture, this piece of art,
Among other things, does impart,
Albeit being little and small,
It does have the quality to enthrall.

Creative exercise

Unless I keep writing, my skills will molder,
Especially since, now I am getting older,
Writing is a passion, creativity my motive,
April is a month to pen, to keep up my votive.
Distractions everywhere, I have to manage
If I do focus, I can create many a page,
The key is to sort ideas, maybe splinter
To keep on writing, without any linger
Onto a catchy title, edit and punctuate,
That is all to it, something for me to create!

Eerie!

A light breeze, across the field blows,
Life is standstill as the day slows,
Dusk begins to creep in above,
Spreading a dull gray all below!
Alone, perched there, is a black crow
and the umbrella sways, twisted like a bow
Trying to stay steady, facing a task uphill
the picture, frozen in time, sends a chill!

A tall tale

Aboard the caprussule they left
Back into time, they would mozzle
At maneuvering it, they were adept
In outer space, cozily they nuzzle

Soon, they reached centuries back
Worried that on them, others would prey
They huddled together, with their cack
All they wanted was to find their skrey

Once they had what they came for
Off they went, traveling eons
A tale of adventure from yore
Of creatures known as glureons!

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Mural

Source
Inspiration


I
Purple hues,
Fiery red eyes, a stolen glance

II
Birds of a feather,
Hanging in mid-air, together

III
A dance in rhythm,
In perfect harmony, they perform

IV
Fumes of fury,
Or love passion – a peacock’s poetry

V
A subtle spectator
Veiled in the violets watches

VI
Tints of dye,
Colors are tertiary, complex to eye

VII
Two birds,
And a beauty, the eye is tricked

VIII
Toned and graded,
Lilacs, lavenders, indigoes and reds

IX
Charm of abstraction,
It enthralls, its bewitching

X
Mottled rainbow,
Colored and intertwined like a Rangoli

XI
Mythical phoenix,
Its rebirth from the ashes, gray

XII
Fluttering freely,
An object of allure, as we see

XIII
A fresco, a frieze,
Vibrant, brilliant and captivating