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.

The doormat

feet pound
and scrape
I gather dust
and debris
see stolen kisses
hear secrets, become
accumlator of waste
then flogged
sometimes scrubbed
frayed edges
more frayed and edgy
next day; the same
am meant to be
trampled upon
lying silently
always an outlier.

Today’s challenge is to write a poem in the style of Kay Ryan, whose poems tend to be short and snappy – with a lot of rhyme and soundplay. They also have a deceptive simplicity about them, like proverbs or aphorisms. Once you’ve read a few, you’ll see what I mean. Here’s her “Token Loss,” “Blue China Doorknob,” “Houdini,” and “Crustacean Island.”


P.S : The answer to yesterday’s riddle is tea.

The untold stories of trees

The inimitable trees stand tall and regal
autumn was not kind to them
brushing away their golden leaves imperiously
as if trying to hide
the message of trees they carried

in the starless darkness of night
snow descended swiftly and silently
covering the remnants of the fallen foliage
as if burying deep an evil secret

a path meanders aimlessly through the forest
the log cottage offers solace to achy feet
the trees wait patiently to bloom
fingers of sunshine might awaken the answers
that were drowned in the hum of the city.



Journeying in a linear line
her life was wholesome and carefree
unhampered by the hard edges of living
embraced with passionate gusto.

Before her plane intersected with that of other people
she was just another pebble on the beach;
shorn of rhetoric, steeped in reality
skipping under the shady trees.

She could not run parallel with expectations
the geometry of life required fresh perspective
armed with nothing but her skills
she tried to hush the rising panic.

Feeling boxed and suffocated by toxic relationships
(beguiled though she was by them once)
she realised, ever changing dimensions of existing
needed to be tackled with enhanced tools every day.



His gaze skims the rim of the glass
to settle on her pensive face
a faraway look in her eyes
her glass stands neglected
the stretched band of silence quivers between them.

they sit across each other
in disconcerting quietness
both desperately seeking appropriate words
waiting for the other to say something, anything
as seconds tick into taut minutes.

She raises her hand as if to gesture
but picks the flowers he had brought
he raises his hand and gesticulates
apparently to draw the waiter’s attention
their throats constricted ever more.

Another slender opportunity lost
another day without any outcome
what’s there deep in their hearts
scarce reaches their lips
unable also, both, to read each other’s eyes.


Making better

The sleepy-sloppy ones in the morning
The hurried ones before rushing to school
The tired ones on return in the afternoon
The unexpected ones melting my heart
The warm snuggles at bedtime

The tight ones
The forced ones
The perfunctory ones
The rolling eyes ones
The light as gossamer ones
The making up ones
The ‘love you’ ones

The days when doubts plague
Disenchantment lingers and heart’s fragile
My kids’ hugs make better those days
Simple pleasures that light up my life
Making everything seem so worthwhile.

Stains are good!

I frown one more time and some more
as I find the tablecloth stained and askew
“Now out both of you double quick,
I’ll hear no excuses any more!”

This feigned  tirade is nothing new
my kids giggle as is their wont
every single day on this stage
this act is repeated without fail anew!

As I stifle a smile, I very well know
time is fleeting by oh so fast
all this will be a thing of past
I’ll miss this when they grow up and go.

The warp and weft of memories made
more precious than anything
the cloth will one day wear and tear
the joy their sloppiness gives, I will not trade.

So I allow the clutter to pile on this askew tablecloth
let me savour this moment of untidy mess
when my home is a desolate empty nest I’ll fix then the mess as well as this beloved tablecloth!

Apprehension in the air

Trouble brews afresh
turning the blue skies red
sun sidles behind
the diaphanous haze
of disquietude
scared songbirds scatter
schizophrenically; portents of quietus
democracy and disease
stalk life. Angsty but dejected
youth look out for
a messiah to deliver
unaware of the saviour within.

In India omicron has been given a carte blanche with the decision to hold elections in five states in February and March. The virus is, as it is, going dizzy with delirium here because 1.38 billion people live cheek by jowl. We are a happy hunting ground for the Virona!


Light me a lamp

Light me a lamp, dear one!
not just when the nights are dark
but even on the brightest of days
sometimes the sun blinded by
its own luminescence
needs light to be able to shine light

Light me a lamp, dear one!
when one by one each hope is plucked
to be bruised like petals
by the hands of childish fate
soothing light is the salve most needed then

Light me a lamp, dear one!
the scented secrets shining in the eyes
have lost their sheen
the incessant flow of tears curtains the luminosity
let the flame reflect in them

Light me a lamp, dear one
truth cowers in the opacity of lies
unsure and unsung, sinking into oblivion
all it needs is a glimmer
to come into its own once again

Light me a lamp, dear one
untold miseries may rain on me
life may carry distress in its reticule
this tremulous, flickering light
holds a promise of tomorrow

Light me a lamp, dear one
let me uncoil the mysteries of life
wrapped in brittle, yellowing paper
the twists and turns of labyrinthine
life I will navigate stoically
gift me the light of friendship
to guide me onwards always.


I hope 2022 is better for all of us. May we all continue to look out for each other, hold each others hand in the blogosphere and have the resilience to ride the rough times. A very Happy New Year. Stay you, stay safe.