Dear love

Under the panoply of pale stars

dear love, close your eyes,

hold my hand, to float fearlessly,

in the blue river of moonlight;

Soak the flames of the heat,

the heart that emits,

trailing the million love wishes,

that flash onto the skyline of our dreams;

Inhale, intensely, this reverie,

that my mind slowly dips in ,

who knows what tomorrow brings in,

for you and I ;

Dear love

Under the panoply of pale stars

dear love, close your eyes,

hold my hand, to float fearlessly,

in the blue river of moonlight;

Soak the flames of the heat,

the heart that emits,

trailing the million love wishes,

that flash onto the skyline of our dreams;

Inhale, intensely, this reverie,

that my mind slowly dips in ,

who knows what tomorrow brings in,

for you and I ;

November, be gentle

Do the bards sing praises

for brave November that smiles of life,

When birds fly,

to find home away from home,

to faraway land,

and the memory of last year,

migrates to celebrate this

year’s anticipated rain,

this season of dirge,

as they say,

and of mistletoe,

as prospects await,

of unparalleled beauty,

snow bathed,

and of the weary breeze,

winter caressed,

carrying a wreath to

decorate the mottled day,

and the mist of sadness,

a requiem of variegated

summer’s colour,

paled under season’s hubris.

canoodling, to the hope,

In a drop, of silence, it enters…

Good morning!

Hours of night spun away,

into a picturesque dawn,

a dream that was mouthed in the dark,

strutted into the reality,

in gleeful rhythm,

doubt, and every unasked questions

were packed away,

for the chirp hour celebrated

with trumpets, the kaleidoscope of hope !

Dear September

Dear September,

autumn’s sweetheart,

you are here, already,

with your autumnal revelries,

and old amber glow,

with background score of

rustling leaves,

and boisterous winds,

you set up a perfect tableau;

summer’s retreating footsteps,

muffle the noise

that fill the streets,

leaving behind emptiness of fall,

and broken sunshine’s promises;

with dreary day, shortening,

the moon muses the poesy,

for longer hours,

with a sheaf of vows,

wearing a wintery visage,

you herald the season of cuddles!!

Does love seek closure?

If letting go is love,

I let you go,

but I held close,

your aery passion,

in the poems you

mused me in;

If love is silence,

I have mastered it,

but I have pilfered

your meringue voice,

and breathed it

into my muted words;

If absence is your love,

then murmurous moments,

of you and I, is mine,

dyed in our love,

I have painted memoirs

into graffiti of verses.

Morning

The dawn dipped in crimson light, 

Ingress the morn, 

the dark tousled night struts away,

cracking the meditative silence 

into voices and noises 

of frantic tweets, footsteps of calloused feet, holy bells,

anxious beats, wind chimes,

and gentle breeze. 

It’s a panoramic view through the immortal street, 

through which the life in its grey streaks constantly walk, 

to reach the home called distant dream. 

Love is endless

This couldn’t be the end,

for love cannot be tamed by a period, 

carelessly  placed when the hearts leisured in a half stillness of a lonely siesta; 

Her eyes spoke of love, like his,

she expressed it with silence, 

he had no voice to lend,

but a passionate whisper of love 

that they both heard, remained unheard by those around them; 

 

Slow moving cloud, 

riding the gentle zephyr carrying the fragrance of sweetbrier,

ran through her quiet cheeks, 

but left his lips wet,

with a taste of her poems, 

blushing in red. 

That was the kind of love they lived.

Unknown, unsaid, quiet but heartfelt.

Distinct, infinite, placid but incomplete. 

Who says intense love seeks an end? 

Poem of soul

A  seamless poetry, 

Is an engaging conversation 

between a set of metaphors and 

untamed words, etched on virgin sheets.

A paradisiacal relationship,

Is an impeccable expression of 

silence and thoughts, put in a

conversation. 

A flawless love,

Is a quiet touch, with desires curling 

out a peaceful sigh and intimate affection between two souls, 

where words play no role. 

I am to you …

I lie here thinking of you everyday,

Less than Stanley’s crimson, to morning 

Less than the pathos of wind, to trees

Less the clouds decrepit, to rains

Less than the gossamer’s intricacy, to love

I am to you . 

I lie here thinking of you everyday,

More than dews on edge of leaf, to hope

More than birds perched on trees, to dusk,

More than busy boulevard, to spring

More than wet new wind, to rains. 

I am to you.