Ode to dead ends

From Unsplash

It is time to hail the dead end
the closed doors and lack of opportunities
It is time to accept that a dead end often points to another path
sometimes more scenic and fulfilling than
the one you had set your heart on

detours; forced or voluntary
open windows into the unknown
it may  or may not happen serendipitously
but there is no accompanying drama
of thunderstorm, lightning or celestial prophecy
it happens unobtrusively,  quite quietly

pushed willy-nilly into teaching high schoolers
was like being thrown into the cage of a hungry lion
except that they were a bunch of forty antsy teenagers
and I, the object of their curiosity
I became the lion in the enclosure
to be watched and poked at

after those initial days of hiccups
we did grow together; the teacher and the taught
learning as I began teaching
being enriched while enriching lives
and the job that I never wanted
changed my life forever
and continues to define me even after I quit
enfolding me in a warm embrace of fuzziness

dead ends are not full stops; they are but semi colons
not glaring red but flickering  soft green
which you may miss if you blink
next time you are up against a wall
pause, don’t give up and look around
believe me you will find a chink.

Written for Sadje’s wdys, David’s W3 to Deepthy’s prompt and Eugi’s moonwashed weekly challenge.

Also sharing at dVerse OLN.



From Pinterest

The tussle in me is eternal and timeless
I am Ram as well as Raavan,
most times Ram triumphs,
but Raavan has his days too
the serpents of temptations abound all around
beguiling with promises of the unattainable
goodness has no rewards, only a few paeans sung in its praise
evil entices with edgy entrancing ecstasy

I  do earnestly want to be Ram all the time,
alas my flesh is weak and lets me down
when Raavan awakens in me,
that feeling of power  
makes me giddy with my own invincibility
later ashamed of myself, I burn down Raavan inside me

But since my Ram is not fair always
Raavan oft times rears his heads
the shortcomings of Ram plague me
the lofty mind of Raavan dazzles me
this grappling between the two
embodies the choices we are given
Ram and Raavan cannot coexist peacefully together
one will win, the other lose
every year Dusshera reminds us who should triumph.

Written for dVerse poetics. I am the host today and we are writing about the good and the evil in us.

Myriad moods of marriage

to meet to assess if there’s something
over similar tastes and sweet nothings

from beneath the lashes, wondering if there’s reason to reject
eyes entangled, hearts somersault did effect

at first sight;  is it even real?
with every detail, however trivial!

isn’t it actually lust after a fashion?
how can a mere touch ignite fiery passion!

to remain faithful to each other forever
each other in this lifetime and ever

together as a team whatever the times
to not disagree on parenting paradigms

the nuances of what is left unsaid
the boundaries that are never set

not your voice, temper the temper
not each other but anger’s ember

the differences that make one who they are
adjust, not complain nor needlessly spar

should not dim the zeal nor the fervour
hearts always beating in tandem with ardour.

Written for dVerse MTB. Today’s host, Laura, says; today’s poetry prompt it’s all about couples, twos, in other words couplets!

The poetic form I have used, as suggested by Laura, is the côte.

Mulling spices

From Istock

Honeyed mellifluous words tinged with paprika
drip from your crushed cinnamon coloured lips
your vanilla skin with a touch of sea salt and saffron
is reminiscent of the theatrics of the Tuscan sunset
like a swollen river undulating through verdant vales
the need for you flows recklessly through my veins
sometimes you are zatar, at others garam masala
making my staid life a mural of flavours.

Written for dVerse poetics. Today’s host, Merril, has asked us to get spicy. Read about it here.

Also for moonwashed weekly challenge.

Face it! (a quadrille)

From Guardian

Little man, wipe that smile
don’t look as pleased as punch
victories are often short-lived
on this thought, do munch
you have thrown enough lame punches
now hear the music of bone crunch
winter is around the corner,
just wait. You’ll get sucker punched!

Written for dVerse. Today’s host, De, has asked us to pack a punch ie use Punch in our quadrille.

Mother’s embrace

Her mellifluous melody was mesmerising

though the tongue was indistinct and unknown

as the young mother crooned softly

cuddling her cranky bundle of joy

it reawakened so many bittersweet memories

I curled myself into a fetal ball

letting her melody wash over me

her sweet voice reminiscent of the warm embrace of mother

and her gentle hand on my brow

cleansing my battered body and my tattered soul

yearning as I was for a healing touch

I could feel tears course down my cheeks

her universal berceuse gradually rocked me to deep slumber

cradling my fragile self tenderly

and in my dreams the lullaby carried me home.

Written for Sadje’s wdys.

Dream binary (a pantoum)

Trapped within the binary of a frangible dream
I ride to the skies on butterfly wings
guided by a stray, aglimmer moonbeam
the rainbow a divine ditty hums and sings

I ride to the skies on butterfly wings
bedazzled by the zillion glittering stars
the rainbow a divine ditty hums and sings
the zephyrs strum along on the guitars

bedazzled by the zillion glittering stars
floating on the cushiony, candyfloss clouds
the zephyrs strum along on the guitars
but before I can pluck a star, mist shrouds!

Floating on the cushiony, candyfloss clouds
guided by a stray, aglimmer moonbeam
before I can pluck a star, mist shrouds
I am trapped within the binary of a frangible dream.

Written for Sadje’s wdys, Eugi’s moonwashed weekly challange and David’s W3 for Aditi’s prompt.