Sweet indulgence

Thine alabaster skin makes me sigh
Thine alluring rotundity is oh so sly
A flowery tale more sweeter than thou
I pen to proclaim my abiding love and how!

Thou oozy overload of tastiness
Thou sisterhood of lusciousness and sweetness
Soaking sweetly in a bath of sugary syrup
Thou makes my knees go weak and heart rate climb up!

Ah! Delirious do I feel as I bite
The pillowy softness, airy and so light
As juices invade my mouth gushing forth
My eyes close in ecstasy untold!

The gustatory gratification that you generate
The cavalcade of sweetness I venerate
Your chilled demeanour satiates my sweet tooth
Dear rasgulla*, you’re my favourite dessert is the truth!

*rasgulla: Rasgulla, also known in Rosogolla, Rasagola, or Rosogola is a South Asian syrupy dessert popular in the Indian subcontinent and regions with South Asian diaspora. It is made from ball-shaped dumplings of chhena (an Indian cottage cheese) and cooked in light sugar syrup made of sugar. This is done until the syrup permeates the dumplings. Should be had chilled.

Written for dVerse poetics. Today’s guest host, Misky, says: So here’s the plan. Let’s play with our food. Our favourite food. Or treat. Breakfast? Lunch? If this was your last meal – what would you want on your plate. Is there a plate? Maybe it’s finger food. So instead of counting syllables on your fingers, let’s lick our fingers, and write some food poetry.

P.S. I have changed the image because the previous image (which I am sharing below) seemed like boiled eggs to many! 😅

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Call of duty

He was not supposed to leave. He had promised to be my side after his last call of duty. And he kept his word. It was an idyllic life, filled with music, books, food and long walks. I was happily busy, he was contentedly lazy, what else could one desire!

Then a phone call changed everything. I cried, I pleaded, I sulked but his set jaw told me his mind was made .
“I cannot refuse to go”, he said flatly. “You know what the situation is like. And once its over, I’ll be back.”
Through clenched teeth I asked, ” For how can I be sure?”
“I shall see again the world on the first of May”, he promised grimly, a steely glint in his eyes.

I live on tenterhooks, waiting anxiously for April to end.

Written for dVerse. Today’s host, Merril, says: Write a piece of flash fiction or other prose of up to or exactly 144 words, including the given line.

“For how can I be sure
I shall see again
The world on the first of May”
–From “May Day” by Sara Teasdale

The tree’s threnody

Naked and bent here I stand all alone, save
for the efflorescent rocks and the parched grass
you ruin me, making mother earth my grave
your rapacious, pillaging ways so crass
one day for my brethren’s shade you’ll crave
scorched earth and rivers will be muddy morass
unsullied skies continue celestial dance
heavenly bodies shine and meteors prance!

Written for Sadje’s what do you see and Val’s scavanger hunt (ottava rima).

Flitting thoughts

Dewdrop fall on the paper in rhymes
a shower of feelings from moon-addled mind
interlacing agonies and joys sublime.

words are bridges connecting many a heart
the poem’s room lit with love’s glittering shards
the fingers clicking music; stop and start

the sun burns fiercely in the poet’s empty gut
speaking in a tongue no long sequestered
misty eyes read words not stuck in a rut

glowworm ideas shine with all their might
from dusk to dawn they twinkle bright
inspiration lies in the cobalt skies of starry nights

Butterflies releasing stories everywhere
prismatic rainbow glitters with flair
verses spun from gloom bloom sans despair.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers whether you celebrate today or not! Mere tokenism it may seem to many, but enjoy the pampering that comes with it. Some moms may not have been ideal, let’s break the mould then as mothers. And as for the moms who may no longer be amidst us, they have a permanent residence in our hearts.

Maia

Lily of the valley

Blooms dance
waving their arms
embracing the sunshine
no care in the world to stop them
it seems

it seems
all they do is
unfurl their prettiness
their struggle to survive remains
unseen

unseen
toiling hard roots
working behind the scenes
silently strengthening network
of dreams

of dreams,
realities
tangled in a mess
still life stops not, moves constantly,
ceaseless

ceaseless
movement may not
be true living. Sometimes
living is to make others smile;
blooms dance.

Written for dVerse MTB. Today’s host, Laura, says : given today’s double whammy of the 5th of the fifth month, our challenge today will be:

Either the cinq-cinquain,

a series of 5 [entire] Crapsey Cinquains, 25 lines total

syllabic count: 2-4-6-8-2 in each stanza

written with or without breaks between stanzas

 OR the cinquain chain/crown cinquain.

a series of 5 [entire] Crapsey Cinquains, 25 lines total

syllabic count: 2-4-6-8-2 in each stanza

written with a break between each stanza

last line of the previous cinquain repeated as first line of the next cinquain

Note: The final line of the last cinquain does not have to equal the first line of the first cinquain, but it is an option.

Excitement

a vast expanse of experiences
of old ending and new beginnings
beckons with promises afresh
shiny table, squeaky chair
welcoming coworkers
dedication same
trepidation
but also
aflame
hope

A reverse etheree in response to David’s first W3. You can read about it here and respond here.

The most dangerous

It does not feel good when made fun of
to take all the insults,
meted out by those in a better position, quietly

to never call out a bully
to know you are right and still not assert self
to never raise your voice against injustice
all these are really, really bad

It is not the worst thing to lose the race to top
It is also not the worst thing to have your heart broken

To be cheated of your hard-earned money is certainly not the worst
nor is being beaten blue and black by the upper caste people

To be leered at and groped is very bad
to be abused, sexually or otherwise can almost kill, still it is not the worst!

to be put behind the bars for having a mind
to have no one at your side
to bow to the tyranny of a tyrant
are surely signs of a deeper malaise

It is quite bad knowing
that what is being done to the environment is not good
yet shrugging your shoulders thinking
how can one person change things

Deriding others on the basis of religion is terrible
as is on the basis of gender
yet it is not the worst

The worst is being so burdened
by the humdrum existence of your life
that nothing ignites your passion nor boils your blood
to be the living dead, to just exist
to be indifferent to all that is happening around
is undoubtedly the worst curse of all

carrying the corpse of a throbbing heart and a thinking mind
is the worst crime and the most dangerous of all.

Written for dVerse poetics. Today’s host, Li, says: Today’s challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to choose one or more of Kubler-Ross’ stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance) to write about, in relation to your, or another’s, current state of being. Or maybe you aren’t in any of these stages at all. Write about that. There will be few restrictions on the writing challenge today.

Frustration ( a quadrille)

Long before
the advent of
free WhatsApp calls or emails
communication
with seafaring spouse
was limited
to snail mail
which at times was delivered a month later
or short, steep, static satellite calls
where a mere “hello”
could rob one
of a few dollars!

Written for dVerse. Today’s host, Mish, says: Write a 44 word poem sans title including the word “static” and post it on your blog or website.

Unreal dream

He sits there alone
longing burning bright in his eyes
the cool breeze a balm to his fevered soul

gazing intently into the gloaming
he espies a solitary figure yonder
is it the one he has been waiting for

the one who would make him feel alive
make butterflies sing and the moon blush
or is it just a will-o’-the-wisp

enticing, elusive and ephemeral
a heartbreaking but beautiful dream
that leaves shards of longing he bleeds upon!

Written for Sadje.