Feb 11, 2014 | Creative Writing
If there were words
Meant to express
What i feel the need to say
If there were words
That could speak my mind
If there were words
That could cry my heart out
If there were words
Not uttered ever
I could fill my bosom with
Words that spelt
Presence in absence
With each single syllable.
Dec 14, 2013 | Creative Writing
A moon beam rides across my window
To fall straight ahead on the curve of the road
Night sings a lullaby and my feet skirt through thin air
The name written on my lips echoes through these plains
A story emerges out of my heart to claim fingers once again
This quiet rain tonight paints my very own moon bow…
Dec 11, 2013 | Creative Writing
I lie down with my arms around me
I claim my body to be mine alone
all the time listening to it’s every cell
ordering me to keep shut
to listen to a wail that sheds tears on my neat pillow
I slap my heart for violating me
caress my mind to bring it in line
I switch to dreams devoid of sleep
I lie to myself
every single day.
Nov 22, 2013 | Creative Writing
when the Sun shines through the morning clouds
I swipe my forehead off
all the nightmares of the night
with my hands folded
I stretch my core open in prayer
seek alms from the hours of sluggish turmoil
my bed made of fur
enables me to keep awake through those dreaming hours
to write tale after tale
of poetic justice done to my sunlit days
when it rains in my town
it gets drenched till the wee hours
the town opens eyes to washed greens
drying in shades of opulent rainbows
cars purr at breakneck throttles
reaching nowhere through those jams
that I prefer to call marmlades
and the mornings share their toasted bread
with jugs of split orange juice.
Nov 15, 2013 | Creative Writing
slogans of these triumphant lost battles
cry out aloud at my threshold
I sit typing my tears
and the peacocks strutter
in the garden filled bloomed with fantasies
rolls and rolls of freshly starched fabric
dance at their fingers
they chose the colors and the texture
to drape their fallen deformed shapes
ashamed of my naked staunch stupidity
I wonder how much more can I be amused
this forgery of intentions
the sheer apathy for those who walk by
nothing beats their enthusiasm…
Nov 5, 2013 | Creative Writing
they measure years in the grey of hair
tyres at the waisteline
dark circles under eyes
cut of the torusers
bulge at the bosom in blouse
they measure passion in
the colours brushed on cheeks
blued eyelashes
pencil kohled eyes
lined and filled lips
together they run amuck
in circles
to arrive nowhere
the post of their youth
that wishful fulfilled arrival has long passed
the passage to the valley of flowers
has passed
unannounced
untouched
and they run amuck causing wishful thinking
to count years
in dyed hair
hung over implants.
