Thursday, September 29, 2011

Yes! it is endless


                                                       Yet, it is endless....                            
                                                      
                                            It is   summer’s end,
                                            Slow  breeze  as  hesitant
                                             as  the  unwilling,
                                           Whimpering of   this life,
                                            Morning   fresh  showers
                                           as  throbbing  as
                                          the   wake up  call,
                                           in my  chilled  room
                                           and   my  cosy  corner;
                                          the   fallen    leaves 
                                          as if dissociated  from
                                         their  no cognisant   stems
                                         search  a  haven on the  land;
                                         how  many  walk upon 
                                         merciless  on those
                                         deserted ,lonely, vagabonds,
                                        another   whiff of  autumnal
                                       force, the  heaps  are
                                        driven desperate  to a  corner.
                                     

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

A room of one's own


 A room of  one’s own

 Something   stares    back on me
as if  a    bamboozled,wandering ,
looking  at what?           
 The  murky   smell of dust,
Like  irreconcilable
Sediments, unswept layers
Of   deep-rooted , pain inflicting  
Cogitations thronging   those  many,
The  smell of  tea , otherwise aroma,
Puffs of smoke emanated  two days  ago
Scary  flies  today  mercilessly swarm,
The  broken pieces of ‘’Fa’’                          
Edge  the   shiny ,polished  table,
exotic   fragrance is dissipated,
pile of  uncollected ,multi  magazines
crave my  touch and glance  quick,
jasmine, breathless ,dethroned
from   their  stem,
my    being    away   for  two days,
it is not room of  my own.



                

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Her diary


 Her    diary.
Holding  a  diary  not  as slim
as  her,   walks,    entwined  with   her
bulk ,  tumbles  upon  a  stone,
moorings , usually  strengthening,
what ?   the Devil’s  deep seated  tent:
flamboyant   , wanton,
  questionings: they  are
the  deadwood   in front  of  her,
at the end of  the  day
  they   are  the  strangles ,
tightening ropes ,
sceptical  about  the  Universe ,                
her  diary  scribbled with 
perplexities , she  un mutes  her
hitherto silenced  voice, how 
long  to be  a  thrall  to this
gruelling  monster  within?
Scoffs   the   ruling  passion
Of  notes  in a  pond  nearby. 

Thursday, September 08, 2011

de language of kids (txtspk poetry)



    De  language of  kids.
De  language of kids is   play ,
Pranks,    assemble , 2   ensemble,                                        
a   release  of  their  word play
wth  imagination.         
De  language of  Gd’s   is  also
Divine ,ply ,                    
  apply    patience  
 release    wth   penetration.