my moon bow

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…

let me lie

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.

 

morning hues

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.

shameless

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…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

gone are the days

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.

 

Roots

While my wings flap
Clipped they hang around
My roots grope
For more ground
Around my feet
I listen to the songs of future
Filtering through the crevices

My fingers have forgotten to write
They hammer on the keyboard
Frozen words
trapped
Within liquid emotions.