wiring

under that table
you see wires, a terrible mess
dust laden, no end at sight
wires stringed together
unsightly, ugly

wireless or wired
connectors of the world
from one end to other
lurching into one another
shamelessly embracing

"then why am I left un-moored,
stuck to a wall?
If only I was a bubble gum"

rising onto the sky

she holds fairy dust in her hands
pressurised into a triangular glass
it cuts into her palm
that redness matches her blood
which she will collect in a glass tumbler
her body disappeared into the earth
only her hands are visible
like two peas in a pod
someone etched her anguish into a sculpture

I again sprinkle fairy dust
the depths of its blackness sparkles on me.   

etching into the epidermis

"if I could pull her out of the earth

I would have shared the sparkles"

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

Two lines in the second stanza aren't mine. I thank Rey-mundo for those. I know he will read it.

gunned down

metallic sheen of that dart
fuses into a dubious scar
ruins send me into an exile
my rebellion streak saves me
your petulant smile revolts me
I hide behind billows of dust
latch of that trap door opens up for me
I fall down listening to staccato of guns

if there is a lesson in all this
I can't see it
it isn't a case of sour grapes
it is more like I lost my grip

"I am caught in the quagmire of war-
of words or bullets, I know not"

opposites

hidden by the fog
I walked blindly
chasing the road as if in a blind alley
sounds of chilly wind chased me
silence of my chilled heart propelled me
I stumbled in the cobbled path
fell down on my knees,
compelled to kiss the frosted earth

when I reached home
I didn't see the light at first
but seeing you sleeping so peacefully
I jumped on our bed
kissed the roof with glee
cool surface drove away my guilt
innocence of your love merged into me

"when you wake up
I will make up
until then I am going to figure out
how to stand upside down"

squiggles

Red Spot II, Wallisy Kandinsky

frozen in time
the squiggles are the cause of anguish for the earth
red splotch startles the serenity
electrifying field absorbs shocks
permeable pigments scatter randomly
why are there fresh prints of invisible feet?
in the pattern
lines encircle tapestry of dots

a flame is born out of blank canvas,
is it wrong to assume otherwise?

the road

it hurts to traverse that road
in my mind's eye
it is a straight path
but your machinations stop me
I find pieces of glass embedded under my shoes
left all alone in that labyrinth
I need a knife to cut the path

"why do my boots stop me
from following what my heart desires?"

escape

under that tree I kept it hidden
the sheen of your sweat
which had flowed for me in desire.
who dug it out,
along with my sensuality
which I had  packed inside a bubble?
the air evokes you for me,
moving in a lumber way-
now it blows too fast
leaving a wreck behind.

"I will again create a bridge and reach out for you"


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


Writing another keepsake poem was tough. I don't think I succeeded. Thanks We Write Poem for using my prompt for this week