what did you choose?

There are some basic ethics that we observe around

That add a little beauty to the life we all surround

Some choose art, some poetry some literature or humour

But there’re slanging matches and spreading of rumours

A shitty person is covered and doing shit comes forth

Oh, the hotness of the widow is like assy chicken broth

’tis the story of their environment and the life they must lead

Find an excuse if they come along to show you their breed

P.S: The post is written in response to Fandango’s One-Word Challenge .

Calling all Female Indian Poets!! — I Write Her

Any Indian Female Poet interested in Candice Louisa Daquin’s upcoming Anthology may contact her to have her work published.

I’m thrilled to share this news from my friend, Candice Louisa Daquin! She has made me aware that she has the pleasure of working with a new publishing company who will be publishing an anthology of Indian Female Poets writing in English beginning later this year. This is in response to the powerful movement toward […]

Calling all Female Indian Poets!! — I Write Her

chit-chat

She: “What are you cooking?”

Me: “eh…erm...”

She: “Ok-ok so how long are you cooking and whom are you cooking for?”

Me: “..erm..d’oh..” Head slap

She: “Does anyone know about what you’re cooking?“

Me: “er… ho-hum..?”

“We need elaborate guidelines for small talk ethics.” Methinks..or just get the hell outta here! 😂

impact of the moon

The scented season of love abides at the vanguard

Of the enthralling journey that continues apace

In your hands perfumed with clay and cornbread

The accented bliss impregnating each interstice

Of the the apocalyptic night

Of tardy convalesce and quietus

When the breath is held captive

To the glancing mention of beloved

Underneath the piercing impact of the powerful moon

Obliterating every trace of existence

The post is written in response to worlds 471 hosted by The Sunday Whirl

Scent
Vanguard
Cornbread
Glancing
Accent
Journey
Power
Breath
Love
Moon
Impact
Captive

beloved inamorata

Sometimes, I passed the time of the day with you,

But you, silently, slipped inside your home;

Somehow my impatient heart, still, got it through,

A sweet longing made my thirsty eyes roam;

This unrequited love with a token of gratitude,

Day and night, sneaking in my soul’s loam;

The post is written in response to ‘Thursday photo prompt – Token’ Hosted by Sue Vincent

the long forgotten vale

Nunez lent his ears to the commotion coming from underneath the parochial shells. The vale, separated and long forgotten by the world at large, was tainted by arbitrary passe. Visual impairment sprung to pervasive inane ramblings. There were traces of nefarious activities behind the rampancy. Fifteen generations went without eyes. Usually the rambling was latched on each and every damn commodity already visible. The sanctity of life was solely contingent on prattling — to spark a distinct feeling and there was little leeway to really find something worthwhile to do that adds to the experience called life. It tickled his fancy for sure, all the same, nothing really enjoyable or meaningful to him. Further, it grimly called their reliability into question but there was more to come…

After throwing the last glance he made his way up the hills.