A Story
Story of the tiny flame
Is over-
It’s an untimely demise-
No one knows if she was steady
Or wavering
In the face of the insolent, hungry wind-
I don’t believe she gave in
Without the slightest stir-
Everything looks so calm and tranquil
As if nothing had happened-
Posted for Sunday Muse #195 hosted by Carrie
Glasses
Glass world
Hangs precariously
On time’s twig
In the sun, in rains, in snow-
We are aware-
Yet
We never miss
A dance-chance
With our aura of brokenness-
Posted for Sunday Muse #194 hosted by Carrie
Muse
Word is darkness
Figures devouring each other
Love delights in break up
And becomes a poem
Poem is light
Images lapping up images
Thoughts delight in birth
And becomes a word
Posted for Carrie’s picture prompt @ The Sunday Muse #175
“Sound is sea: pattern lapping pattern… Matter delights in music, and became Bach,” the poet Ronald Johnson wrote as he contemplated matter, music and the mind. The given picture prompt and Ronald Johnson’s words triggered my poem today.

Wings

It’s always good
to exist-
to breathe-
even when Life
dances in the rhythm
of black and white-
the wild woman
never forgets
her wings-
Posted for Sunday Muse #153 hosted by Carrie
Fall
My Foxtrot Words
My foxtrot-words
in a fitful frenzy leaped
into a frosty dizziness-
they would have been there
sans hues of life forever
had they not fallen
on the lap
of daffodil memories-
I feel them there gestating-
here I am marking time
for their ‘fractal flight’ home**-
** art print of Maria Popova
Posted for Sunday Muse #151 hosted by Carrie
Protest
I am shut up
in a room of fear-
I sit with a muted howl-
should I choose
a deadly cyclone
to be the soul
of my words-
or should I be the silent witness
and watch
how this fake human world
glass-breaks on its own-
Posted for earthweal weekly challenge : PROTEST IN A TIME OF PANDEMIC hosted by Sherry
Love Was Our Home Once
Neither you nor I can escape
this nightmare of sinking love-
haven’t our moon words turned
charcoal-gray long ago?
we had grown crevices in them
with faithful self-love without the least
thought of the solace of light-
dreams that once were, are now
headstones of hills-
we are no more homesick-
it’s time to
rest in peace-
Posted for Carrie’s picture prompt @ Sunday Muse #94
Spring
In between glum sky
And dewy eyed, listless Earth
My tulip dreams spread-
Grief is the shadowy hill
The sole silent onlooker-