Showing posts with label i call this poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label i call this poetry. Show all posts
Jul 21, 2017
Jun 13, 2012
Wise-crack
I gave him a stare, he didn't comprehend
Cracked in the head, is that what it is?
Languages meet, collide
Worried, he blurted,
"Crack jaise baatein mat karo!"
In a world that frequently trolls
"ha, ha! I told you SO!"
Blind lead the blind
Retweet, if you aren't bored?
Words de-constructed
"Arrey! Ye bahot toh lamba blog hai!"
Thoughts surrender
clicks are crisp, short and bold
But, you'll often hear a lament
"My lines! he STOLE my lines!"
A muse's biography
in an old e-world
screams from the cover
"Writer's lust"
Cracked in the head, is that what it is?
Languages meet, collide
Worried, he blurted,
"Crack jaise baatein mat karo!"
In a world that frequently trolls
"ha, ha! I told you SO!"
Blind lead the blind
Retweet, if you aren't bored?
Words de-constructed
"Arrey! Ye bahot toh lamba blog hai!"
Thoughts surrender
clicks are crisp, short and bold
But, you'll often hear a lament
"My lines! he STOLE my lines!"
A muse's biography
in an old e-world
screams from the cover
"Writer's lust"
Jan 3, 2012
The workaholic
Perhaps the pen is stifling you
Don't roll it inside your mouth
Not as if a less exotic gesture
might fail to create the impression
of a workaholic.
Don't dance around so much
it is what it is
your enthusiasm
mangles up your concentration
or some such
don't dangle around the desk
it's not a park, missy
collect your gaze, not your hair
to the perennial shapeshifters
in a workplace
the fork comes out soon enough
while noon has begun settling in
the shades carry a dull shine
don't mock his penchant
because it eventually works out
Every evening, when you step out
he greets you with a ritualistic smile
Like a monk in a new role
same fervour, new clothes
The miscellaneous little froth, and ice
a glint, and a lemon squeeze
the intuitive organiser
a workaholic.
Don't roll it inside your mouth
Not as if a less exotic gesture
might fail to create the impression
of a workaholic.
Don't dance around so much
it is what it is
your enthusiasm
mangles up your concentration
or some such
don't dangle around the desk
it's not a park, missy
collect your gaze, not your hair
to the perennial shapeshifters
in a workplace
the fork comes out soon enough
while noon has begun settling in
the shades carry a dull shine
don't mock his penchant
because it eventually works out
Every evening, when you step out
he greets you with a ritualistic smile
Like a monk in a new role
same fervour, new clothes
The miscellaneous little froth, and ice
a glint, and a lemon squeeze
the intuitive organiser
a workaholic.
Jun 25, 2011
To beloved M..and our memorable holiday together
in a blue moment
is a lit shell
its fire quietly echoes
our desires
in a mad chorus of
silence
playful, your words
in sand, and a myriad noon
laughter
shy and whimsical
in belief and trust
mortal love
yet again.
is a lit shell
its fire quietly echoes
our desires
in a mad chorus of
silence
playful, your words
in sand, and a myriad noon
laughter
shy and whimsical
in belief and trust
mortal love
yet again.
May 25, 2011
in-scribe-d
what is it that your pen says
nothing to be breaking the tip over
for truth be it big or just true
needs quill or voice
for much darker waters have flown
bringing down or not
showing mirrors or not
breaking those or not
may just be celebration
of ink, or not.
nothing to be breaking the tip over
for truth be it big or just true
needs quill or voice
for much darker waters have flown
bringing down or not
showing mirrors or not
breaking those or not
may just be celebration
of ink, or not.
Dec 3, 2010
To me, my half
For it is us,
isn't it?
you use the word happier
you use it again
it makes me think
it makes me wonder
let's meet at click
when the growing silence
is laid to sleep
let's meet again here
happier than last
like two digits
in between seconds
me meet
feathered n dusted
in thoughts n dreams
isn't it?
you use the word happier
you use it again
it makes me think
it makes me wonder
let's meet at click
when the growing silence
is laid to sleep
let's meet again here
happier than last
like two digits
in between seconds
me meet
feathered n dusted
in thoughts n dreams
Theatre of Dreams
She, broken night, a convex layer of reality, deflects my gaze. I can't stand blinded by her rage.
Her fair hand touches my chin, she calls me by my name.
Me? I am a plural, like two bodies hanging out like petals with an unknown fragrant centre. She says she hadn't left and for her, I embrace my yesterdays. She promises a bleak half dawn, but leaves soon again.
For her sake and mine, we both interchange, she agrees, me, afraid. Afraid? She laughs and my shadow moves closer. Afraid? This cannot be a wedlock neither is it solace. She sighs and moves away. I ask for her name. I wish I were elsewhere, and I wish she were me.
She soon returns, my mock fate. Ah, so I have lost again. She slips in and soon the chorus dies down. My knocked down fate handed over to me, and the shadow moves away from my palm, the light comes in closely behind, my eyes open. or do they?
Her fair hand touches my chin, she calls me by my name.
Me? I am a plural, like two bodies hanging out like petals with an unknown fragrant centre. She says she hadn't left and for her, I embrace my yesterdays. She promises a bleak half dawn, but leaves soon again.
For her sake and mine, we both interchange, she agrees, me, afraid. Afraid? She laughs and my shadow moves closer. Afraid? This cannot be a wedlock neither is it solace. She sighs and moves away. I ask for her name. I wish I were elsewhere, and I wish she were me.
She soon returns, my mock fate. Ah, so I have lost again. She slips in and soon the chorus dies down. My knocked down fate handed over to me, and the shadow moves away from my palm, the light comes in closely behind, my eyes open. or do they?
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