Safety Pin


I see plenty of saviors

who are always the clasps

to form the loops

to fasten

sharp-pin-poison words

whenever applied to any heart

to protect—

just as Walter Hunt* did

with a safety pin

for the first time…




*American mechanic Walter Hunt is regarded as the inventor of the safety pins.


 Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Invention @ Poets United




Can you see anything, it says-

no, nothing, only darkness-

open your eyes-

it’s open-

What do you see?

A thick mist, like white darkness-

what’s there in front of you?

A blank space of nothingness-

look closer, what’s it?

Seems like a thin mist-


A shadowy sun-

time is vision, isn’t it?

May be, may be not, but who are you?

I am you-


Posted for my prompt Vision @ Poets United Midweek Motif



I watch the mother crow

feed its babies (one even might be a cuckoo kid, who knows),

jostling in a nest (if you could call that a nest-

with all those whatever prodding out,

hmmm….totally unlovely home décor-

I once discovered a spoon in a broken crow-nest,

thief-y bird!!)

she is very much plain, you know

to the extent of unsightly-

sporting grey, white and black


What’s there to watch?


isn’t it godly to see love pouring out

in the shape of a worm or whatever

(purely putrid to us)

tenderly put

into a trembling pink tunnel

that spirals down

where lives perpetual hunger-

from a mother

whatever color she has

whatever shape

whatever class?


Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif  Colour / Color @ Poets United



In the mirror

I often meet this woman

bearing a secret scream-


to do that-

yet she’s bearing-

her sweetness is a heavy sigh-

her words….masks-

she stands there in the mirror-

indifferent to the world-

her every cell’s lit up, burning-

scream gyrating-

throat, lips tightly closed

and she’s bearing-


Posted for my prompt Scream @ Poets United Midweek Motif



It’s a little room of your own

that shelters you or gives you company

in time of stress-

It’s a close friend

who is yet to traverse

on the path of waywardness-

it’s this much; no more no less-

you’ll be lost in a palace-

rooms after rooms

will consume you like fire-

camaraderie of a wild kind

will land you

in the shore of the soulless-

even as meager an amount

of thirty pieces of silver

sent someone to the abyss once…..


Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Money @ Poets United


My inner voice is a male Asian Koel,

always unseen, always hidden

in heaps of leafy, nonsense thoughts—


I don’t often get to hear its mellifluous note,

as those gibberish leaves rustle and nod

making me caw, rattle and click—


I cannot be happy with the subsong I make,

with words of hoarse alphabets and voice

while all the while there’s a Koel within me—


I have seen those moonlit moments too,

when within a span of darkness and light

all leaves are still, all alphabets sleep—


peeps the blackish Koel holding in its beak

a rapturous joy I often dream to speak.

Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Voice @ Poets United