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Poems – Pink Feathers Of The Dawn, Little Things, One day

November 5, 2017 by admin Leave a Comment

Poems - Pink Feathers Of The Dawn, Little Things, One day

Poem: Pink Feathers Of The Dawn

The pink feathers of the early dawn,
creeping up stealthily to sleeping forms,
entering the ken through shadows of dreams,
cheating dark visions through rays of hope

Pink feathers, the phoenix, of the dying dark,
pink feathers slowly etching the new days mark,
giving more heart to the fires of hope,
lighting meager joys with specks and sparks

Pink feathers, oh! pink feathers how quietly you grow,
among blue bodies, through green sows,
beneath creamy lids of the eyes of beings,
alighting the dark onto warm glowing wings

Slow and sluggish, as the feathers get lost,
the pink of its hue, growing wise and hot,
wanton promises of dark to flowering day,
to be born again, the aurora fades away!

Poem: Little Things

Everything’s just fine
It’s a Saturday morning
Everyone’s back to work

Havin’ a cup o’ tea
Newspaper in my hands
Birds chirping and all

But there’s an emptiness
In my mind
Hollow …..the air I take in
Echo in my walls

It seems just fine
I am set to work
My fingers moving
Diligently

But there’s a mist in my room
That no one else
Seems to notice

I checked my ttd* list
I have a long day to plan
So much to do

But why do I ?
Feel like a rewind
Going back into my quilt
And wake  up last night

It feels like
A wind; stuck in a tree
A lump; in my throat

Its like I missed
A heartbeat
For we did not talk
Last night.

little things..

Poem: One day

You see me going away….
Farther every moment
Its not me ,
But the earth which is moving
Only to bring me back to you, again

One day…….

You would want to tell me things
But I wouldn’t be around
Only to listen to them as stories
On a long afternoon, once the
Winds carry me home, again

One day………..

You would think of me
And not find me by your side
Let your thoughts fly,then
So that I can trace my way back
traveling in your thoughts
to you ..again

One day….

You will see the glory of the
Mountains
and the depths of the sea
I will not be there holding your hands
But my hands would be held
In prayer

One day…

So that when you come back
You come back to me
Because then it will be your choice
Not mine
For once
I will be at your dispense

One day…

You can treat me right
By not even considering me
Worthy of recognition
For all my notorious escapades
Into never lands

One day…

For even then you’d know
That if you don’t let me in
I will lie at your doorstep
Till I die
And if you do
I’ll find the first open window
And fly away…

Filed Under: Poems Tagged With: alone, emotional, Emotions, emptiness, escapade, feelings, female, Girl, girls, heart, heartbeat, hollow, hope, joy, loneliness, lonely, missing, missing you, Mountains, poems for her, poet, poetry, promises, prose, recognition, sea, sparks, think, thinking, Thoughts, verse, verses, woman, Women

Cobbled Stones And Streets: Emotions And Thoughts Of A Woman

June 17, 2017 by admin Leave a Comment

Cobbled Stones And Streets Emotions And Thoughts Of A Woman

Cobbled streets ignite extreme interest in my head. Interest that is a direct reflection of how they are. Cobbled. It’s funny, how disparate sections of usually igneous material are laid down in a jagged manner to arrive at something that is smooth. Smooth for us to walk on. Very similar to our personalities; as jagged as they might be, someone still walks all over it. And then comes the cold. The chill that runs down your spine when you step on these stones barefooted. It’s like it torments you. Laughs at you. And all you can do is tip toe. Try to avoid touching your entire sole on it. The same stones. The ones that you “walk on” – now numb you. But you still walk on it, don’t you? Donning your soft and padded shoes, you set out. The stones are now quiet. It’s in your hands. The game. Or so you think.

You use objects to keep the cold stone from touching your feet. Objects that represent pretention. Faux. Phony. Inorganic. Much like our emotions. In times of testing. How we pretend to smile. Pretend to not care. Pretend that everything is going to be all right. Pretend. Pretend. Pretend. But will it really?

Cobbled stones. They bear so much. Yet with each bearing they strain unto themselves, they only become smoother. Less jagged. More rounded. But ladies and gentlemen. We think we’ve cornered them. Won our battles. Alas, we forget what they now become. They fight their battles with wit. With a naive sophistication. A frowning smile. Next time we step on them. No, they’re not jagged. We, have made them smooth. Alas! Too smooth for our liking. We slip. We fall to the ground. This time the cold hits, not only our bare soles but also our hands, our body, our face. They laugh again. Immortal they might be. They are much more potent. Stationary – yet brimming with such mobility. And we question our own potential. Or blame the faux shoes. For the manufacturer of their sole needs to relook his materials. And we continue to walk our way. On the cold cobbled street. Till we arrive at the lamppost. That gleams yellow in our eyes but fails to intensify the dark cobbled stones. The sharp light that blinds us; shatters and dissolves when it hits the ground. That’s how potent cobbled stones are. They suck even the light. So we breathe. In the cold air we let out momentary wasps of vapor. Momentary. Just like us. Just like everything we do. Transient.

So we cross the road on the green signal. Like a herd of sheep being hit on their loins. We walk mechanized. Toddling on the black and white stripes. With chunks of metal flashing yellow into our faces from either sides. Momentary isn’t it? What would happen if we just stand there in the middle? Suspended like a pendulum that’s caught in its oscillation. On one side is the cobbled ground. On the other side, the cemented road that leads us to our destination. Below are the two colors that provide a hue unmatched. All around us light. The light for us now turns red. And thus rises searing din – of honks and abuses caught in their own symphony. Yet you stand there. With the cobbled street on your left. On your right your kin are waiting for you. Transfixed. Looking at you with a de-cyrptive glance. Not understanding why you’re there. But the cobbled stones know. And so you turn around and go back to them. Walking all over them. But this time you laugh with them. Because in that one moment of transience. In that one moment of rooting yourself to the ground. – you become what they have been for the past many years. Jagged. Walked on. Unimportant.

Or so you always believed …

Filed Under: Thoughts Tagged With: Cobbled, cold air, destination, Emotions, life, light, mechanized, Momentary, oscillation, personalities, Stones, Streets, Thoughts, Transient, woman

Love Notes, Paragraphs: Most Romantic Love Letters For Her

June 2, 2017 by admin Leave a Comment

Love Notes, Paragraphs: Most Romantic Love Letters For Her

He wouldn’t look at me. The vestige of the body he found so alluring, once, has become a grody apparition-dreaded and vapid. So like a crumb of bread, jilted and forgotten for weeks on end, beneath the table. I move and stand behind him, sometimes beside him and then stymed and frantic, in front-in his ambit of vision. He turns away ,and quite suddenly finds a divination in the astral heavens, the leaves start metamorphosing for his sole revelry ,apparently  thriving on his very  attention. My heart begins filling with despair, my mind with impudence and flout. Nobody dares ignore “Tanmayee”. The beauty, he had me believe in, is. The eyes that idolized him are the same, adulation and all. Even the mind filled with the same rubble of ruminations and quaint ideas, which were so enthralling to him, time was.

I stand there, stock-still, benumbed into inertia, anguished into silence. The will to accost or beckon him, seeping out of me costively. I feel like a balloon languidly deflating into nothingness, into zilch or a timber slowly dwindling into ashes-to be blown about  wantonly  by the wind. Mind insensate, tongue obtund, i watch him swagger about, rosy and complacent, in the comfort of his sphere. I whirl about and retrace my steps back to my house, and well-nigh collapse on finding myself standing before his door. I bolt from there, scorched. All the memories of love-soused moments, cascading behind my eyes, drenching my face wet. I wish I could wipe away, with a brush of my hand all the recalls, dreams ,hopes and expectations-both tangible and conjured; wipe away the slate of my heart clean and start over, but if only life were that facile!

The night that followed was squandered jactating, like ever so many of its predecessors. Peace was elusive, repose even more so. Sleep fickle.

Rays of hope filtered through my window next morn, as I catch a glimpse of his blinds pulled back, but an epoch later, all is sable in my heart again. I see him not.

I see him not for days on end. Emotions of any kind appear extraneous to me. I drift through life, like an automaton, drowned in perennial silent despair. Lost. A quarter of a month passed, and fate was  up to its snares again. As i stand in my balcony, staring into oblivion, I hear a cadence of resonant laughter – familiar in ring, enchanting in content. My hopes revive. I skirt to the door and on opening it espy a woman, beautiful, wispy and effervescent walking away with her arms entwined with….with…..

Threshold of my grit had been breached. I stand rooted, mind screeching denial, consciousness hounded, pressured, conniving for escape. I slid back mutely, lay down, mind still incessantly darting about, looking for a route of extrication.. Aeons seems to have passed, cosmos work around the clock, without halt, uncaring. The twin cycle of night and day, day and night over and over again, right before my unblinking eyes. The being inside my body convulsed, as it reached finally, for a sterile ‘strip’ of atonement and sleep. The pills felt ligneous in my parched, “famined” mouth…..
The doorbell seemed to cry out, ever and anon and soon it thundered with stoic determination. So much chaos, too much bedlam inside my head. I lug my body to the door to put an end to the deafening din and through the clink see him standing, gazing at me with a soft inquisitiveness, then fluster, then horror. Soon after I get an impression of being cosseted rather avidly and i double as waves of nausea wash over me, ending eventually in churning out little pebbles of arid achromic affliction. I feel myself being held, winnowed and hoisted inside as a voice as honeyed as church carillons pour into my ears and my eyes find their salvation in his tears.

A gossamer smile is born to our lips. All is whole again, in this part of the world!

Filed Under: Thoughts Tagged With: beautiful, best, Emotions, Love Letters, Love Notes, loving you, message, Most Romantic, musings, paragraphs, poem, story, Thoughts, wispy, woman, writing

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