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

barefaced life

A morbid longing has been compelling me to plumb the depth of marshes, and morass settled in the sand of time. A glimpse of the lass eking out living under the corrugated tin roof. That seamstress worsted by despair whose husband lives in another town, with another woman. Presumably, she is trying to keep the

a feminine pen

A woman’s pen must be sheepishly compliant, subjugated and enslaved. She must duck and dive when it comes to writing Junoesque, voluptuous words. She must never bare them by putting her hard-earned dignity at stake and never ever ever use blood-red ink because in her untold herstory the gender of her words is invariably feminine.

reading…

Things take turn for better or for worse but reading always brings its own rewards. You don’t just write stories and dramas, you learn and grow with it and it grows on you. You learn to be grateful for small mercies yet you don’t take things lying down. You don’t get carried away by things

infatuation

inevitable

The unheralded sojourn of blooms and silky pollen dust, the accomplice, ever so often tugging along with your thoughts, tiptoed from beckoning byways of a distant past and moved to my quiet forsaken nights. Life had issued an edict ordering your permanent tenancy in my heart. A hushed song poking through blossoming bougainvillaea hanging across

homecoming

Fall is unduly tanned and it goes against the grain to truss up its bronzed limbs when they wiggle gracefully in an easy-breezy manner as though seasons have a skinful, gliding in the crisp, parched air, rampaging past me, stumbling and scrambling up to their homes. Photo courtesy: Pinterest

his grace

The spectacle of unseemly fuchsia gowns obversely thawing in soft pastel towns And that scraggly-beard looking for sex Who tagged me in his post to vex, slaving to put a hex While I am having my nose in books And give it a dirty look Placidly putting my feet up Filling my idyllic cup These