Ode to my handmaiden

Pic my own

As tears unbidden from my poor eyes fall
I wipe them surreptitiously with your help
sobs, suppressed smiles, snot; you have seen ’em all
your wee bit does effortlessly emotions schlep
from covering heads to wiping sweat
from the Grecian times to the Victorian and the present
an integral part of dressing you have been
ne’er minding the grime or being wet
luxuriating being doused in a heady scent
often carrying billet-doux unseen!

O dear handkerchief, often your ends I have knotted
to not forget a knotty affair
and when I was foolishly besotted
I did drop you with discreet flair
sometimes it led to utterly dubious assumptions
sometimes I received the response I craved
sometimes you lay in oblivion in the dirt
I rescued you then with chicanery and gumption
my attempts at coquetry you valiantly braved
keeping you close to bosom helped whenever I was hurt

This generation knows only how to use and throw
upstart paper napkins and tissues scarce can take your place
they may be fancy and pricey and convenient on the go
your embroidered and laced appearance embodies class and grace
from being neatly tucked in my school uniform pocket
to your now delicately perfumed presence in my purse
dear handkerchief, I cannot tell you what you mean to me
whenever I leave home, you, I do not forget
through thick and thin and better and worse
you have been my companion, my best buddy.

Written for Eugi’s moonwashed weekly prompt and David’s W3 to Mich’s prompt to write an ode to our handkerchief.

Sharing at dVerse OLN.


And you touched me

Our words met by happenstance
in a space without physical boundaries
happy to make nodding acquaintance
forming bridges in the ether with skeins of camaraderie
gradually warming to each other; a veteran and a novice
sharing thoughts and emotions cheek by jowl
your words were incisive and insightful
the words you left for me were encouraging and thoughtful

I knew you not beyond the realm of shared words
but shared love of poetry bound us in a bond
a little corner of my heart is empty with your passing away
as you journey beyond the veil and board the bullet train
may your words, that you have left behind
continue to live and touch lives
as they touched me.

Written for dVerse OLN. At dVerse today, we are remembering Glenn; a long time contributor and a force to reckon with. You can read Lillian’s beautiful, moving tribute here.

Cycle of life

(From Unsplash)

At the promise of spring
the schooner is finally set to sail
’tis better not to kvetch

Soul sisters share stories at night
doing mother’s will
Winning battles our way

With me, you better tread with caution
as passion often incites treason
bubbling and frothing to putrid death

I do have a yen for the luxury of anonymity
with appreciation, this heart does beam
keeping me warm and safe

As life transits towards the end
it makes my staid life a mural of flavours
and in my dreams the lullaby carries me home.

The first four stanzas were put together for the MTB at dVerse last week. Both Jane and Merril mentioned that it would be a cadralor if I added one more stanza. So I went back to my poems and picked three more end lines. Is it a cadralor now, do tell!

Sharing at dVerse OLN.

Giving thanks

Winter’s indulgence
indulgence of life’s transience
transient tastes triumph

triumphant nature
nature’s gifts reaped together
to gather to toast

toast, waffles and jam
jampacked is family do
doing mother’s will

Written for Sadje’s wdys, Eugi’s moonwashed musings weekly prompt and David’s W3 (a chain verse of at least 3 haiku including the word mother, by Aishwarya). Sharing at dVerse OLN.

Happy Thanksgiving to all those who celebrate.

Will, would, who knows!

From Shutterstock

Will my words sit timidly
on the threshold of life forever
hesitant, directionless and self-deprecating
or like restless vagabonds
traverse the unlikeliest of places
wandering on the lips of strangers unknown

What determines the life of a song
is it the number of times it is sung
or when its relevance surpasses time
to flow into eternity
morsels of soul wrapped in metaphors
do they satiate other souls
or meet disdain and curl up and wither
trampled by indifference

From these tattered, stitched up verses
would anyone try to piece my lies
or would they lie gathering dust
under a stash of showy strophes
would some wise eye espy the thread
of truth discreetly running through
or would they be dismissed as trite tedious tropes

Spring-like these words gurgle on their own
they know not what they want
except that they want to flow
my pen gives them the spotlight that they crave
though I crave not the spotlight
a mystery, an enigma I claim not to be
I do have a yen for the luxury of anonymity.

Written for David’s W3 where POW Larry has asked us to incorporate chiasmus in our poem, for Eugi’s moonwashed weekly challenge.

Sharing at dVerse OLN.

Autumnal musings


Warm ochre and orange blooms
vibrant hued festivities
season of sweetness overload.


Yellowed leaves gently falling
providing warmth to the earth
from the oncoming chilly winter.


Smog chokes ragged breaths
descending greyness
settles cozily in the lungs.


Hot, spiced pumpkin latte
welcoming the darker half
a spook fest on the cards.


Autumn’s celestial bodies
cast a golden mellow glow
rites and rituals and fruitfulness.

Written for Sadje’s wdys, David’s W3 to Sylvia’s prompt (a cadralor on autumn) and Eugi’s moonwashed weekly challenge.

Sharing it at dVerse OLN.

Bubbling to death

From Istock

Stay on the back-burner for a while
I pleaded with my passion
let me play other roles for now
you have to learn some patience

I could see it floundering
in a rush to be ahead of others
flailing and falling helplessly
so it needed to feel before flourishing

Stepping back would help it ferment
and then foment with excitement
slowly stewing steeped in its juices
to effervesce with vigour and vivacity

alas! I let it be for too long
it started feeding on its fetid self
my passion that was raring to go
bubbled and frothed to putrid death.

Written for dVerse poetics. Li had asked us to write on fermentation. Since I am late, I am sharing it at OLN.

Hangover (revisited)

The half empty bottle of vitriol

that you left on my shelf

when you moved on

I take a sip from it everyday

the days, as a result, become palatable

but the nights need

something stronger

so I drink a cocktail of vitriol and torment

sometimes I add a dash of despair

and always garnish it with self-pity

but sadly it is still not potent enough

to knock me out completely

the hangover always leaves me

crying out your name in anguish.

Sharing it with dVerse OLN.

That heavy feeling

The grainy texture of hazy memories
evokes myriad long forgotten tastes
some ambrosial, some miasmic
some that leave me pasty faced.

suspended in the half light of living
an unnamed bird flutters haplessly
singing no song of eternal hope
yet it can’t stop whirring its wings endlessly.

tonight the moon’s forehead is lined with worries
the fragrant skies will smolder throughout the night
heaving under the haze of monochromatic thoughts
the sun’s endeavour to slight the moon may never come to light.

time fades bit by bit bleeding every second
hunger throbs voraciously in my aching bones
tears gather drop by drop in the hollow of my neck
I brace myself for the colossal shadows of unknowns.

Sharing with dVerse OLN.