It is the dead of night,
humanity is still,
phone vibrates pitch darkness,
he,remorseful, recompenses
the message of love and
lost connection, at sixty,
wrong calls, at wrong times.
To earn her bread, English classics,
a masters in the subject paved the way,
but she realized, to be somebody special, something else is required,
She being in identity crisis.
The hermaphrodite was least concerned for his predicament,
on the contrary he delighted to be so, for the government has extended
some concessions for the peculiar clan, for happy life.
If you pour only undue curses,
What for those blessings and benedictions?
She muses, speechless, aghast,
for the ashes in the urn, the corner,
her loved one, makes her sober.
Stumbling blocks stir up experiences
Of conundrums, yet, those fallen petals,
Of mixed emotions,
Mock at my predilections,
You cling to your Avatar, diligence,
Your blood , children, hope and rejuvenation.
As a beauty conscious mother,
She preferred dancing then,
Child’s crying she construed
a detestable noise, abhorred
rocking cradle, child bearing
a burden, now God silenced
her womb , her abode.
The poison in the woman’s form
deep seated, deadly with the
Seductive seeds of venom paired,
in the garden of his heart,
smug, colourful, roses of divinity,
serve as antidote.
The village was inundated with floods,
two years ago, now no rains,
drought, scorching sun ,not a drop
of water, new taps , shower dry,
parched , fields, wandering livestock,
stealthy cry.
She is violet, dancer,
a hard life,
fishing, preserving salted
fish , making nets, wine,
toils by the kitchen,
makes wafer, tends
sick uncle, sweats
flute making , bamboo works
writing satire.
It was the much hugged bottle,
it was the beer which made him the addict,
it was the same which made inroads
into his life,
deprived his warmth, his wife.
In the unhealthy winter of
this , wet and grass intertwine,
I view frogs croak in rings
of prolonged beat, I sing my
summer , not chariot,
girl with a jolly ride.
She reads , verbatim, every
page of her book of life,
voluminous, doubts and
misgivings, sweet memories
backlashes, why to hug another
heavy, The Book of Doubts?
she Ponders, pities shelf.
Karma or destiny synonymous
with a dog’s watchfulness,
fidelity. Merry or morose,
Struggle or surrender, karma,
like espoused saint or shadow,
chases you to the end.
My dog my Karma.
Leeches in pearl shells,
wrong place to dwell,
if the devil stops thinking evil,
if angels fail to descend,
if leeches don’t suck blood,
greatest conundrums
incredible in the world.
The wordy duel between them
which came first,
chicken or egg,
or the egg or chicken,
the debate took drastic turn,
no more eggs in the house,
only radishes ,turnips.
God the Magician, the Maker, UNMaker,
looks through His crystal glass,
Doing and Undoing, His routine rhythm,
We see miracles , mirages,
Yet, think devious,
Interpret more, Misinterpret
more and more.
She, prudish, became suddenly
European, addict to French wine,
frilled , smacking frock on
her perfumed skin, western
notes in Anglophile villa,
Turkish Cigarettes,
But her children remind
their Indian Father.
In the stillness of night,
Eyes search for special in the
Picture of aquarium tub, he
Revives his dream, passion
for, Swimming, diving, his mouth
waters, tastes spiced, fish fry.
My son comes from school,
Removes his tight shoes ,
heaves sigh, a stringent measure of
school discipline of blisters,
I see pearly
smiles in his face, I abrogate
such rules .
As man’s meticulous plans,
Almighty’s decisions mismatch,
I started with poem of thirty words,
ended up with narration of hundred
lines, began with my tale, ended
in her confounding story.
