zigzag thoughts

the lines turn to zigzag;
make a sad song
on my broken record
it plays on and on

if Adam had covered Eve
I wouldn't have existed
neither you, but we do

that leaf can vellicate our skins
but do we ever learn to save the bell?

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

Vellicate: 

• tickle: touch (a body part) lightly so as to excite the surface nerves and cause uneasiness, laughter, or spasmodic movements
• pinch: irritate as if by a nip, pinch, or tear; "smooth surfaces can vellicate the teeth"; "the pain is as if sharp points pinch your back"
  wordnetweb.princeton.edu/perl/webwn

days and days..

I would rather celebrate old stuff day
rather than panic day
why don't you celebrate check your batteries day
while I bake a circular pie on pie day
on the international day of asking questions
you can ask my how I do everything right
that is my birthday,
so I got to do everything right!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Check out Weird March Holidays for the above!

scattered with the wind

scattered in the landscape
the puzzles have been cut from the ground
these figures are symbolic
of the chaotic world in which whole become holes
the juicy bits of grass stick to the mud
stress queues up right in front
each puzzled hole gets a share

"rose tinted glasses can break, 
but not the whole holes"

captured memories

brother, I hold the empty bottle while you look afar
but I will look at you and the camera too
he needs to make memories, so do we.
you look not at him or me yet stand there for us
you might look forced but it isn't so
I engulf you, and that too you know
when we have found our chosen path
we will look back at this.
his proud face, he capturing us in the photo, this moment
for you and me to cherish, for him to hold.

"I will spin the bottle, make it timeless"

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

I dedicate this poem to all three who are alluded to.....here. Especially the one who captured the images....for us to see...

stepped up

I climb two steps on ladder
hang from there
sweet sorrow passes fleeting in my mind
slowly I gobble on food

you see, ruminating with a hungry belly is not done

a spinning tale, which makes no sense

I draw a line on the sand
and see a streak of light following it
an eerie light, that is so creepy
a premonition of something
I can't see the top,
the bottom is fathomless
yet I spin it
weaving a tale out of it
yes, I'd catch a grenade for you,
but I will not keep it.
I will throw it right back at you.

"after all , destruction is what you are best at"

the wind too is kind

in my pocket I want to carry your blink
just prior to your staring unblinking at me
I want to remember forever
those eyes smiling at me
that blink I would take it out on that occasion
when I am sitting with my solitude
when the wind too is kind enough to blow around me

thousand odd words

bloodied rays make it a red dawn

a lone hawk circles the fields

scoops low to catch that mole

in the coolness of the dawning day

I huddle near the window

a pen in my hand.

my journal has fallen on the ground

yet I am writing

my mind sees images 

and writes on the walls of thoughts

in that poetry book of mine

the blank pages speak thousand odd words
and create imaginary dragons

missing me

dust laden keyboard
will wait for my fingers
my laptop and my computer
won't blink again
journal of my life would be still
the streets won't see my feet again
banks will call and fall silent
in the closet
someone will find my hidden jewels
all my papers would be carefully scrutinized
but would I care,
would anyone care

hope someone misses my poetry,
and the reviews I write
but I know and you know,
nothing will change in this world
when I die 
that is what I wish-
no immortality after death.

demise

ball of yarn rolls into corner
tired and sad
it dislikes being drawn into patterns
against its will
in those it sees its demise
reflected in incandescent light

lined up...

that house,
with quaint windows beckons me
I peep inside.
wavering shadows hide something
outside sunshine enhances the depth of darkness inside
I rub the walls
the crumbled powder of blankness
engulfs me
I imagine a dog sitting at the door

"headhunters have placed the heads on the inners walls.
what ails them, I wonder?"

ransom

your green eyes beguile me
with a hint of a smile
vast sea behind you cannot diminish your aura

that mind stretches mine to limits
that voice pushes me beyond me
yet I only see that defined chin

my cerebral nature has turned verbal
intellectual into sensual
I seriously pretend to be casual

I pick up the sensitivity
gently hold it to me
let essence of senses take over me

"the mafia that is you holds me to ransom"

Let it grow big

with humility 
I watched in mirror
it was growing bigger by the minute
to contain my spilling brains
I wanted a bigger head

fill it with any amount of nonsense

sinning through the skin

totally relaxed, I cling to you

my arms creep around you

but you clutch me tight

knowing I need that aftermath

our heightened senses linger in the room

golden hue of fantasy has become a reality

I again touch your glistening skin

you steal away my shallow breath

"I stay alive breathing through your skin"

dead woman and her treasures

dead woman slept on a ground laden with read dust, abrasive to touch

abrasiveness smoothens her roughness, although she was least bothered

dead woman had a handful of belongings, one of which was a silken scarf

where did she pick it up, finely weaved silken shawl?

our dead woman, she lifted the stack of letters from the ancient chest

those letters collected over the years, none opened as yet.

dead woman opened one of those, letting lose those words

flying words had been goaled in the letter, wishing for freedom

dead woman threw some coins after the words, 

those coins which had weighed her down over the years

dead woman's loss was more than any could fathom

how does anyone know what a dead person's life is?

"a coin with no visage, I give to that dead woman, but where is she?"

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

Nothing like Dead Man's Poetry to make the poetic muse come alive....

uneven

In the cobbled stones

I let my dreams run riot
I think of flaky pastries
soft and melting 
may be a chocolate brownie too
sprinkled with nuts

is it paint that has coagulated

sticking to my shoes?
I prefer mud
which has your footprints
cemented in it

butter-papered biscuits

burnt in the oven

hardened to carbon

I am left with cobblestones

mortar to bind the

"if you want you can taste the ground"

tears of the sky fall to the ground

Photo Credits: Rey-Mundo

the sky was angry in the night
it fired onto me
it had the right
I had not asked to touch it
the space I took from the sky
it gave it back to me again
by cooling it with its tears
frozen though
I call it snow.
on the blade of one my branches,
some child will come
and pull at my hand
I will let it hold me
I will let him swing on me
tears of the sky will fall to the ground
mingling with the earth
and I will float to the sky
I patiently wait for that child 
and his friends in the orange light

"remote held by sky, I grind to ground"