granny’s song

You heard me and put a name to my songs. Clad in the sparkling azure attire, bedraggled with splodges of mud Hunting for witch hazel and at times ill at ease yet, I was your ilk. Who abode in a mangy mud house with her granny. There was a little room for a cat to

abysm

A breath of wind ruffled your hair and the blue gasp sounded ever so wilder Pronto you spun on your heel and the graceful whirl of my dainty hands flicked in your salty stares jousting with mine You chuckled, your feet treaded the soaked sand when cachinnating waves sluiced them out tucked away behind the

i won’t ride you

I stepped down the ball-girls place quickly and swathed my face with a dusty brown scarf. Running my eyes across I slinked past the market by making swift strides. On reaching home I removed the scarf and knocked on the door. Rat-a-tat-a-tat! But the door came unstuck abruptly as it was already open. The voice

telltale whiff

We got the rollicking for the telltale whiff Of the savory roar of our teenage dalliance In the liturgical hickeys that furl and flourishes behind the tattering piles of blossoms masterfully camouflaged behind the camera I’m yours… then I whispered at the nape of cold and satin-smooth pebbles knelt on the marshmallows Cloyingly sprawled across

i will meet you there

There is a field out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing. I’ll meet you there. ~ Rumi As the silver clouds which are swirling and running an errand across the flickering horizons augur auspiciously, I know you’re awaiting my arrival in the temple sited by the babbling river. Perched on the marble floor, I see you aflame like camphor and

a shadow in the evening

It took me a while to find my tongue. …Who are you? Staring in amazement I muttered under my breath. Wrapped in the evening blush a callow youth wet behind the ears, you were standing in the doorway. Holding the cup of non-dairy butter and cream I vegged out in the veranda. I could feel

my first anniversary

Warning! : Rotten Humour is injurious to health. The reader is requested to read at his/her peril. A close look-see exposed the news to my view. I’m a year old ( WordPress is lying! ) and 195 wisest people of the world chose to follow me without any noticeable regrets! And maybe I am just

in the forest

A detached calm and unabashed power branded his craggy visage. A lacuna would deputize for the stoic, the heartening splendours of humane spirit, the grit and glory of the gold dust but I will call him the brute. The scent of mossy soil mingled with that of wild plants and bustling creepers that carpeted the

vista

Incandescent peaks of halcyon hills seize your gaze in the evening when weary sun grazes those hilltops and sky simmers with crimson, vermilion, azure and milky white lights. Slowly a fiery red flush creeps over the valley and spills around the horizons sprinkling the sneaky woods with a soothing blush. Leisurely the dimming sky gathers

selling habits

It’s a desolate place to be where the finger of blame and suspicion falls. Sooner or later you return to your fold and let them embellish their hand-pumps to use as the tipping bin. You no longer make allowance for the heaviness of heart, the pitch-blend, dramas that devour your peace. Your flesh crawls and