twisted into shape

Figure Eight, 1952, by Franz Kline

a sorry sketch of figure eight
a caricatured horse
twisted into oblivion
who cut into sharp edges
would it not endanger?

"meaningless madness is a hazard
not some misshapen metal
-a treasure for an artist"

planted ruminations

with all humility
the plant defied gravity
sprouting upside down
from a crack in the roof
when a plant relishes a spray of water
on its leaves
it sheds the dry feeling
it does claim a calmness
a plant can feel chained to ground
standing at one place
for a long long time
death being a trigger for another place
from that upside down position
it swells with pride
no one will grittle it
a fate deserved only for grounded plants

maybe someday,
it might be sooner than later
it will watch action-laden plant flicks
when it might say rain rain go away

between the parallel lines

artwork by Jack Vettriano

the netted curtain veils her
the way she looks at that far away window
nothing is visible
yet she can see in her mind's eye
a room filled with all her longings
a limitless imagination holds her in her time of need
a loyal friend who never lets her down

in the other corner of that room
he sits watching her stillness
his impatience is deeply hidden.
in her silhouette
he finds his solace
a feat almost impossible to achieve

that falling lock of hair
snakes into both.
hits at one-
while the other seems complacent 

clouded into obscurity

Chilmark Hay, 1951 by Thomas Hart Benton

that horse wants hay
and that clown pushes him away
in those coloured clouds
raindrops sway
when trees turn to be dragons
can the horse be far behind?
elongating his neck
he refuses to move
the mounds interest him
yet the horse talks to the ground
everybody hurts sometimes
be it man or horse

"you take the circular path
I will trudge the river in a straight line"

yellowed with age

Ophelia by Odilion Redon 

here I listen to the silence
lying on that floor
my eyes are closed
my mind open to your every nuance
you bring me flowers
I hold those to me
I am in no mood to inhale the scent
as I am saturated with you
my soul flew to you
as an un-moored kite
you pushed me hard
I fell in a thud on that stretch of ground
where someone had painted the manhole cover, blue

"I will slip into the underground
deep into soulful sleep
you climb every mountain
as high as my sigh"

sharp edges

Puddle, 1952, M. C. Escher

in that tapestry
I see a pattern
asymmetry of nature
unadorned in a drab canvass
footprints leads one to parents
the universal one, mother earth
she cushions the sharp edges
zigzag branches imprison the light on the ground
track marks are inevitable
to roll into invisible something

"pour water over me
let the fine details embed into me
I will draw circles
do thumb painting"

under the surface

Changla: Photo stolen from Suchismita's FB page!!

is there anybody there

not a trace I see

in the cracks of subliminal temper

such a racket

who hid the strings

where is the spare

buried in the snow

my chest saves the draft

such a temper

what did it latch to?

I stop myself from a refrain

can't anyone see me me blend in

does it not strike to someone

all that waiting might have killed me?

has it really been a decade

in my current state?

"I will come out anytime

hit back hard upside down-

those big stones helping me"