is it an illusion?

it is the same pearl
I lost in your mouth
you rolled it in your tongue
made it disappear
I did not see it until today

you keep it safe,
I only want your tongue

singular thoughts

Photo Credit: Flickr

why did he not see my  shoe,
I had worn that for this photo shoot
he only took one,
I had taken hours to get ready
I borrowed your coat
shirt from my son,
sweater from a street dweller
what was he thinking
about my perfectly placed hat?
my gnarled hands show my character
that stick now my sustenance
in that war I fought for freedom
when landmine took away my limb

"I had wished for all to see my shoe, 
my only shoe, on that foot I still carry
in the evening of my life"

scooch before you throw a janky conniption fit

I had a conniption fit
what words, what words these?
slangs are not my forte
I felt so janky
suppose it is better than being cranky
I will persist
why should I resist
that challenge thrown to poets
zany words suit me fine
just as the normal ones do

"ok, you scooch, ok, you scooch"

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conniption; noun: a bad tantrum. One has a conniption or conniption fit.
janky; adjective: broken or functioning poorly or improperly; messed up.
scooch; verb: to move over, or to scoot.

zeroing into the arrow

who erased that arrow-
the one which lead me to dawn
now I am perpetually hanging in the night
where I dream of light,
the path laid with trees
flames in their branches 
fire my passionate heart
night is not just symbolic of darkness
it is the bridge between luminosity and ignorance
choice lies on me, to which I wake up

"I will pass that coffee, and let the rays of sun permeate me"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I might have wanted a break from poetry, but poetry had other ideas. It insisted to get out of my mind. So here I am. I have not edited or polished it. Maybe someday I will get around doing that. Or maybe not.
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BTW, Monday Poetry Train has not stopped. It is still running in full steam, well, I use electricity now. Go post your poetry URLs in the there!

celestial playground

walking on the quagmire
I hold on to the sky.
I am afraid to fall down
but moon lets me hold its hand
and stars play with me

"eternity is much too soon for me"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Update on 24th Jan, 2011: I wasn't aware that what I wrote here is in a way, is some sort of sign for me. I seem to be in an emotionally/mentally exhausted state. So closing my poetry for now. Dunno when I will get back. It might be after one day, three days, few weeks, a month or months. But I will be back. Renewal is the key. As always. Please bear with me if I am unable to visit you.

nutty nuts

almonds

pistachios and cashews

I look at you with longing

macadamia I thought was a country

until I tasted it

my heckles rise with hazelnuts 

walnuts are my brain food

pecans I tasted only once

peanuts are ubiquitous

pine nuts I have by the handful

apricots are appropriate sweetners

"dreamy, creamy, yummy drive me nuts"

I lost that map

I lost that map
I had put red dots on the places
my books are scattered
my papers so smudgy
and I lost that map
In my quest for it
I find this photograph
in between some old books
not related to anyone I know
so surreal that I find it now
just when I lost that map
at some strange sound
I look out of my window
watch the snow descent
I look at that photograph again
now I try to decipher the symbolism
all the while trying to kill my imagination

"one map I lost, and I found an old world, 
one I don't recognize, but I will keep" 

cadence

when I wandered into your street
I searched for that yellow patch
it was the sun on hay
i had tried to pick up that golden powder
you had laughed at my naiveness
you too did not understand the carnival. 
the celebration of little things
the way one needs courage to embrace that

"silver light of the morning turns to gold, 
and then at night we are sprinkled with diamonds"

Thigh story (25 words, 160 characters)

His single kidney split into two.
Hissing.
Flowed on his thighs.
Yellowed.
Dried, his thighs look like the lottery ticket.
Don't eat your pretzels from it.

a raw rant

a recurring rant
rendered raw,
railing in there
my rank is rather low
rut created by you set in deep
why can't you remember
I am not my brothers
I am the daughter
you  never understood
somewhere down the line,
you stopped me from rotating

"yet you rallied for me
when I wrecked my heart"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sorry for this rant, but I needed to get it out. The "R"s helped and so did the limit of 55 words! More than enough, I would think!


Update: When I posted it, I was rather very angry. Not any more. So I interchanged couple of sentences. And it is no longer a rant. I could have taken it off. But am letting it stay. As a reminder to myself to control my anger.

a singing note

a speck I see afar
my eyes don't waver
nor do I move
moist surroundings still me
I see the dot getting bigger
a dog yelps somewhere
a harmless sound
yet I jump
symphony of my tapping feet
reach my eyes shutting them
when I open again
the speck is gone

"my song, your music, they dance together"

refresh the page

she stood watching the biscuit dipped in tea, 
her thoughts took her to that shapeless amoeba 
in her school biology book so long ago.

a noise broke into her reverie, 
for a miniscule moment, scaring her out of wits, 
her thoughts revolving like falcons preying. 

that lonely helicopter acted 
like a screeching tyres of a skidded car.
at the sound of deep dark silence, a top stopped spinning.
. 
with mixed feeling, 
she heard  pebbles hitting water, 
ripples of her heart going round and round. 

"maybe cheese of life melted that biscuit"

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I rewrote one of my previous works, changing the meaning completely. I edited large parts of it. Do check that out here.

wire mesh

In the pockets of her jacket

I find a button, also

piece of yellowed paper, blank.

I button it again, a blue one.

a star formed in her pocket when he got lost

destined destination

I sit by the side of that highway
in a gloomy, dark day
an occasional car passes by
a few stop too,
going their way on my un-response
what I doing on that lonely road-
I see questions in their stance
yet I sit there, unmindful
I look at that orange tree
which is some way from where I am
in that drab day
it seems to be the only bright thing
but I know I will get what I seek
when it gets dark,
I know night is not far away
when trucks start arriving,
it gladdens me much.
you are still driving one out there,
it has been years
but you will know me from far
this is where we first met

"truck is a journey, trucker is its pivot, I am the destination"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wrote a series of trucker poems, the one before this was written one year ago. This one is a continuation. I have always wanted to go back. Do read those too along with this. All are stand alone, yet connected.

I write footnotes here...

by riverside I sat with closed eyes

he was reading out to me

what he uttered barely registered

his voice flowed mellifluously

that was my anchor against stillness-

a stillness which frightened me

I felt his chin touch my shoulder

I turned towards him

when I opened my eyes

I saw the invisible abundance,

smelled the intersected air between us

"feet by feet, why do we have to measure distance?

curtain of pebbled path

in the shredded papers
plausible reason
churns willingly
silence shadows it

a curtain of pebbled path
leads me to the beach
seashells contain the ocean
in my palm I hold one

links of time taint it
shard of glass
tells me a story
a past, or a future

"matter mixes with surreal to make sense"
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55 words.Exactly 55 words. For more in 55 words, click on G-Man! You too can join in the fun! 

musical whirlwind

she, whosoever she may be,
has raised the fire,
called the whirlwind.
yet he remained still,
standing, filling his spirit
with deep silence to absorb the sound.
here was a decision of some weight
it pumped his lungs
and burst forth into his eyes,
it set his head aflame with light
and seethed into the outer air.
she reached for it,
and her hand slithered across the matted wet fur robe
lying upon his still body

"musician, are you?" he finally grunted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is a found poem. In the literal sense. The sentences have been taken randomly from Magical Tales by R. J. Stewart. You can read the full sentences which end in fullstops.

a wheel barrow

I hold hands
we turn into a wheel
its like carrying a cart

a person has to unload it
the search for a place
becomes a project

that number on the wall
who will carry that?

regressive progress

progress gets regressed
but I digress
not one iota from pages
I could decipher.
writing with invisible ink
you coded it too
much precautions
totally useless

under the shadow of a pine tree

she plants love
waits for the roots to go deep down
when a bud shoots up
she searches for more

she digs deeper
finds her crumpled up list.
of resolutions that she had made long time ago
she can't talk much.

tiny leaves from that seeds of love
might right her flawed patience
she appears calmed on the surface
but a typhoon goes on and on

under the shadow of a pine tree, 
her love can be nurtured
with an embrace painted with feeling
while she watches her transient feet

"winds cannot blow anything away if roots are firm"

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Wish you all a very Happy New Year. May your muse be always kind and let your words flow and spill over!!