Falling in love

If I had one more heart

I would readily give it to you

And to you and perhaps to you too!

But you see, the one I had

Is already taken.

Yet everyday, I keep falling in love

For my senses are so easily quite enraptured

I fall in love with your sunrise

I fall in love with my dusk

I fall in love with traditional cooking

When the heady aromas envelop

As well as I romance baking

For it brings a smile on my kids’ faces

And my home smells heavenly.

I fall in love with the angelic tangle of arms and legs now asleep

Whose sibling rivalry and revelry fill my home

I fall in love with your words, your turn of phrase

What you say and what you leave unsaid

I fall in love with the verses that reach out to me,

The stories that only your mind can create

Your unique experience that you kindly share

I fall in love with the pictures of blooms and pets you send

I fall in love with the magic of movies

And their world of wondrous make- believe

I fall in love with many a books

Their life like characters and their authors

And the belief and conviction that they portray.

I fall in love with the music I listen to,

The singer, the writer and the musician

I fall in love with the raindrops falling

The overcast skies and the crescent moon

I fall in love hopelessly and completely everyday

And as my whimsical heart waxes and wanes in love

The one who captured my heart many moons ago

Sits in a corner looking indulgently

At the shenanigans of my wayward heart

He draws me close and holds my hand and says

” Your heart is not my captive, let it love and love freely

As long as I have a place in your heart

Accommodate as many loves as you can”

Thus, in freeing my heart, he captures it again.



He deliberately started softly,

Then gradually gained momentum

His baritone filled the hall

With its deep resonance

He had chosen the soliloquy carefully

Bringing forth all the nuanced emotions

The stage was where he belonged

He had worked so hard for this chance

Everything had been orchestrated to perfection

It was do or die for him

For his selection depended on this performance

As he delivered the last loaded line

The gathered audience remained quiet

Taken aback, he fell on the floor

Only to be stunned by the thunderous standing ovation.

Forgot !

When he returned home early that evening

The atmosphere was arctic to say the least!

Her icy gaze caused him to

Freeze in his tracks and scratch his head

He wondered if the chill he felt

Was because of the chemical reactions in his brain

As a result of the medicines

Or because his wife was looking daggers at him

But how could he tell her

That her surprise birthday party would start at eight!


What does it take

To quench the flames

That burn so bright

In a heart so young

On the cusp of adulthood

Dreaming always of love!

No amount of reason

Or castigation

Can dull the shine

Of that first flush

Nor deviate them from

The path that leads

To nothing, but heartbreak!

It is easy to parody

Those fledgling feelings

But the young heart

Knows nothing else

And refuses to learn

From someone

Else’s example

Thus preferring

The route of self-destruction!

Standing the test of time


I have often wrung my hands

As various poems I have scanned.

What exactly is a poem?

Is what I write truly a poem?

Should it have a lyrical cadence

Or a staccato chopping style will hold credence?

Is iambic pentameter the best

Or free verse better than the rest?

Lines that rhyme are a must

Or should words be strung so, just.

What about the meaning it carries,

What if art with activism marries?

Bombastic and fancy words to bamboozle the reader

Or simple words to make it easier.

Should an earth shattering message be couched,

Or an everyday epiphany espoused?

What about prosody and poetic devices?

At the altar of creativity, rules one sacrifices!

Should a poem take a month or years to perfect,

Or a poem or two per day is correct?

What will really engage the reader,

Pandering to trends, will I be considered a ceder?

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My Son

His giggles are infectious

His guffaws, genuine and guileless

Two years short of teenage

Unabashedly romps around in nakedness

Lacking in social finesse

Abounds in curiosity and inquisitiveness

Scattered interest in everything

He astounds with his advanced inventiveness

Voracious but selective reader

Getting scolded for apparent inattentiveness

Squirrels away nuggets of information

But ridiculed by peers for cleverness

My son, my pride

Fills me with eternal gratefulness.