the possibility

I cupped my hands and

gently plouted in the pellucid creek

It swamped my empty hands

With water and damp leaves

I coveted to hold with the possibility

of life in its moist kiss

and the cues in the narratives

of gazumped pelagic swimmers.

Written in response to dVerse prompt: Possibility

daily battles

The immediate environment is constant drama at each sway of leaves slithering, stalking in the dark corners, sending out the signals as though your happiness and bliss is a slave to the buzz. It hollers “Buzz is bliss!”. Why harken back the familiar texture of thick dun soup even when it’s sitting by you that makes your stomach turn? The puerile dramas and oafish show bullishly endeavours to clip off the peace. The constant buzz makes an impassioned plea –“include me”. Inclusion is always where we are. ” Sometimes it’s difficult to raise your vibration and be included when you lack cohesion. I laugh quietly and bust out my stems towards the Sun divorced from the immediate thick soup. Year after year adept at rising, we write copiously.


bird’s-eye view

As they say, this goat had silenced the lion with a mere glance.

Even though the story seems slightly far-fetched, goats without common sense are few and far between. I have seen them sitting on the fence, bleating a lot of sense. And they don’t take the piss out of their teachers.

This goat on the trot climbed up the pile of gravels. Now it’s safe. Last year a truck took the innards out of a goat and the sight was not for the squeamish.

When I asked the goat what is it doing there, it said

” If they fly into a rage and throw tantrums and stamp their feet when you are simply stating what you don’t allow, there is something terribly terribly wrong and I am trying to figure out how deep goes the shit…”

Goes to Photo challenge #339

Picture saved from

a fatuous reply

Photo by cottonbro on

The merchant was a wag who not only dealt in commodities they cultivated in their farms but also kept them warm and cheerful.

It was the kind of nice that the seller didn’t want to keep, that the merchant fondly purchased off him.

A fellow voyager asked him why he purchased it when he could take a pick from other sellers. He cast a glance at the seller who, now, had taken his glove off to tidy his place. On meeting the gaze the seller smiled at him and waved him goodbye. Merchant’s face crinkled into a smile and he waved back to the seller.

Then he turned to the voyager and replied that the seller was his pal who had a penchant for collecting nice merchandises and it was the kind of nice he didn’t want to keep.

Such a fatuous reply!

under arrest

” People can only meet you as deeply as they have met themselves.” said John and sprinted off to take a slash…


I stole a furtive glance at Tommy. I’ll wager his woofing would hardly score in the WordPress popularity stakes as John’s quote would undoubtedly do. I surely didn’t want to draw his attention anyway.

Last time the gatekeeper in a blue dress threw him out of the gate while trying to get rid of the riff-raff. Poor baby!

But Tommy lept by me on the sofa, wagging his tail and started licking my cheeks. John was right, I surmised. I placed my hand over his glistening ebony back and put him under my arrest.

Maybe he was whispering that your appetite for proving anything has never been my training or I may have heard it wrong but I truly hope one day he will begin to contemplate the need to assert himself. The flawed one can be used as Stepney by then.

 Fandango’s One Word Challenge (FOWC)arrest


My eyes alighted on scalawags and street urchins slithering, sussing out the worst in the Gods of people, of mine, their sweets and then fawning the worst. What happens when light yields to gloom? I lived in a kitschy squalid alley. But there is a hope that light splutters into life. Tearing the night asunder the city of the Sun sprawled across the horizons. The sky slathered with buttery gobbets of clouds burgeoning into the garden of hope. The tide turned and the day embarks on a newer voyage. A new awareness asserted itself – light is never at odds with the dark. Nights are not nefarious. They dispense the largesse, the bounties of shelter and rest as these essentials are procured by making a clean break with the vision and leaving it all in the hands of nature. To be one with the frailties steers us towards strength. Surrender and it will take care of itself.


a leisurely day

Silence, a celebration and a song

Yields an undefeated day that I long

Leisurely humming about an old tune

Hoick up my skirt to dance with loons

The sea of calm and serenity

Today’s benison and magnanimity

Thrumming like a pellucid stream

A gentle nudge of my cherished dream

Goes to Photo Challenge #340 hosted by Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie

Photo courtesy: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie

evil eye

Her eyes were evil. As the ominous shadow of her stygian heart, dark as an artless night of December, something I loved to hate, tiptoed inside my untainted, unpolluted ambience, I shuddered with the apprehension. A sense of foreboding washed over me and a stifled squeal left my lips as my grip over camera tightened. Having peed my pants, I tried to judge it like a dream…a nightmare of the hoi polloi…



Tree Huggers

I think that I shall never see,

A poem lovely as a tree,

A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed

Against the earth’s sweet flowing breasts

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray

A tree that may in summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair

Upon whose bosom snow has lain

Who intimately lives with rain

Poems are made by fools like me

But only God can make a tree.

~ Joyce Kilmer