Little things

Little things bless me everyday
a teen chest moving rhythmically
throughout the night
a sleepyhead’s scowl brightening my morn
a quick, warm cuddle before I leave the bed
dawn’s fingers caressing me with warmth
the sound of temple bells*, gurbani** and adhan*** co-mingling
fresh aroma of tea brewing filling my senses
the pride with which this lil tomato makes my heart swell
usual chores that keep me busy all day
a phone call that confirms mom is alright
light banter with friends through messaging apps
kind words left by accomplished poets
on my homely verses
blessed is my day when at dusk
I watch birds flocking back to their nests
clear nights fill me with gratitude
when with my namesake
I sit in companionable silence
’tis always the little things
that brighten my day and bring joy
big knock-me-down good news
don’t knock at my door any more.

Written for dVerse MTB. Today’s host, Grace says: write a response poem to David Whyte’s Blessing for Light and Blessing for Sound poems.

*temple bells: the sound of the bell is considered auspicious which welcomes divinity and dispels evil. The sound of the bell is said to disengage mind from ongoing thoughts thus making the mind more receptive. Bell ringing during prayer is said to help in controlling the ever wandering mind and focusing on the deity.

**gurbani: it is a Sikh term, very commonly used by Sikhs to refer to various compositions by the Sikh Gurus and other writers of Guru Granth Sahib, their holy book.

***adhan: the Arabic word adhan means “to listen.” It is the call for prayer which is used to notify the muslims about prayer time. The five compulsory prayers which are supposed to be observed by every muslim, everyday, form the second pillar of Islam.



The year-end hobbles
bloodied and tired
walking on the shards of omnishambles
we are blundering from one disaster to another
the resultant kenopsia is so overwhelming
I have never felt so starlorn.

Protector/guardian angel,
where were you that night
when I was keening helplessly!
petrified by my tears and questions
you dared not clothe
the nakedness of randomness of nature
in platitudinous karma!

craxis has made me stoic
colours don’t please me
melancholy looks becoming in monochrome.

Written for Sadje and dVerse. Today’s host, Linda says: select one or more of ten specifically assigned words from ‘The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows’ to write a poem.

You can find those ten words here.

Silver strands (a quadrille)

I can see disbelief
hear un-exhaled exclamation
I can feel words forming
in your brain
but fumbling on your tongue!

I don’t care for your opinion
I don’t give a damn
I am quite proud of tinsel
glittering in my dark mane!

Written for dVerse. Today’s host, Mish says: Write a poem of exactly 44 words (excluding the title) including the word “tinsel” and post your poem to your blog or website.


Sometimes an idea flits across
like a butterfly
in my hurry to capture it
I end up damaging its ethereal wings

sometimes in the middle of a chore
the ubiquitous bulb lights up
I drop everything
as I grab my phone

sometimes during my walk
I hear a susurration,
a slight whisper
I chant it feverishly
afraid to lose it

sometimes a tune is
like an earworm
playing on and on
till I release it
on a clean sheet of paper

sometimes worry furrows my forehead
at such a time
writing is the balm
that can smoothen my brow

sometimes words gush out of my pen
as if a floodgate has been breached
refusing to be contained

sometimes I have to use
all my persuasive powers to plead
with the elusive expression
which wallows in wilderness

sometimes a thought
hits like a sledgehammer
leaving me dazed
with its forcefulness

sometimes a spoken word, a written phrase
triggers a barrage of outpouring
difficult to stem

sometimes injustice does not let me sleep
till bloodshot eyes have wept
crimson words of regret

sometimes blood and gore
leave me shaking and shivering
and the shaky handwriting
steadies my wobbly world

sometimes seething white hot anger
shapes each word with precision
picking correct expressions just so

sometimes a gurgle
of innocent laughter or a genuine smile
brightens my day
and it is there for all to see

sometimes a forgotten memory
nudges the fingers
to reclaim its place
to be recorded for posterity

sometimes a conversation
sparks creativity
which is so original
yet mundane

sometimes sitting still
in a pocket of peace
an idea takes birth
that has to be celebrated

sometimes a night of passion
seeps a bit into the open
despite my inept effort
to keep it under wraps

sometimes what could be
fills me with wistful longing
daydreaming that distant dream

oh well! each baby is different
and decides to be born in her own way!

Reworked an old poem for dVerse OLN.

To love!?

Pristine white marble
sculpted immaculately
one of the wonders of the world
symbol of eternal love
…or is it?

What if
it was not love but guilt
that drove the emperor to proclaim
his consort was the best
and create a tomb so grand
as penance and
not out of adoration!

What conspiracies and collusions
marked those halcyon days
was there jealousy or deviousness
do these sun dappled arches hold some secrets?

As he lay in the fort
watching his labour of love
did these walls record his regret
were his lovelorn sighs heard by the steps
what went through his mind
in the cloistered solitude,
while plotting and planning went behind his back!

The young third wife bore
fourteen children in twenty years
was there a design behind it!
did her beauty and cleverness
lead to jealousy and scheming
coming in the way of her longevity!

Now they lie cold side by side
under the cold marble
the palace intrigues
and machinations
lie quietly buried too.

All that the world can see
is a monument of love
as lovers visit and sigh at the beauty
on full moon lights
holding hands and pledging lifelong fealty;
is it to love or to the idea of love!

Written for dVerse and Sadje. Today’s host, Merril says: You may write about any object—a family heirloom, a museum piece, a monument, or a palace. The choice is yours, but there must be some link to history and the past. (Or to current controversies over some artifacts held in museums.)There is no length or style requirement.


Reblogging this old poem, especially for my young readers from the Indian subcontinent.


In India it is a common phenomenon to be called ‘aunty’ or ‘uncle’ by complete strangers. As soon as a young woman gets married, she is elevated to this stage. For here, it is disrespectful to call anyone older by the first name and the concept of calling someone Mr./Mrs. X has still not caught on. So you are aunty to a toddler, a teen, a college grad, a vegetable vendor, a doorstep salesman et al.

This poem is inspired by Duke of York’s speech from Richard ll.

(So here goes, with due apologies to the dear departed Shakespeare.)

Aunty me no aunty, nor behenji* me no behenji*

I am no upstart’s aunty; and that word ‘aunty’!

In a relatively unknown’s mouth, is but profane!

Why have these strangers’ mouths

Dar’d to forge a relation?

But then more ‘why?’ Why have they dar’d to

So many times address unsuspecting women,

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Fragmented Life

(From Pexel)

1. The familiar faces, the tentative hugs
smiles radiating brilliantly through masks
words tumble out in a hurry
trying to make up lost time
perhaps I am alive again

2. Words clamour to skip on paper
to showcase and receive applause
I quell them forcefully
sometimes ordinary conversations
steal the limelight of meticulously crafted words
taking centre stage surreptitiously

3. Snatches of tête a tête, whispered gossip
I turn hearing my name
wiping guilt from his face, he smiles
I smile back
he carries baggage from the past
which has no place in my future

4. We know not when the next opportunity will arise
ominous “you know who” is spreading tentacles
I had stepped into the reality of living
only to be snatched back from the brink
to the unreal life of real fears.

Written for dVerse. Today’s host, Laura says: So for this prompt we are to write a Modernist/Post-Modernist Fragment poem ~by that I mean

a  poem of several  numbered stanzas. Each being complete in itself and having only a passing relationship to each other, if at all
a poem of disjointed images (like listening to conversation in passing, repetitively switching between radio/tv station, random images across a screen, or paintings/photos seen in a gallery)

Your poem should NOT conform to any rhyme scheme
Your poem MUST include Fragment(s) somewhere  in the title.

We took a road trip recently to attend the wedding of a classmate’s daughter. Meeting school friends after a gap of two years was unreal but magical.