“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period,…”— Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
The best of time is in your voice.
Worst? In the despot’s whisper
that slowly rises into a cyclone
bringing debris of faith in human kind.
Age of wisdom is in your eyes,
my haven. Foolishness?
In the resolve to extol self
while disparaging all to nothingness.
I dwell in your heart, my epoch of belief.
Incredulity? In springtime motifs
that’s etched in the lip service
of post-truth humans in power.
Your veracity is my season of light.
Darkness? It’s in the abyss of fury
where Lucifer is cloned in thousands
in the hands of the liars and abusers.
You are the spring of hope.
I’ve left the broad highway
to enter through your narrow gate
towards the bliss of your words.
Posted for Sanaa’s Prompt Nights – Come chase oh fleeting thoughts of the moment –  over @ A Dash Of Sunny
Shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United
My road to the past
is not yet blocked
so reminiscing feels
like a walk into a mansion
with countless rooms;
through their casement
streaming sunlight warms
my chilled bones.
Each grass blade of a day
in the luxurious sprawling lawn,
is so familiar.
I love to wrap me up
with the tapestry of the night
woven with silver and diamond;
warm, fragrant, breezy and safe.
I long for them and do have them
in my heart core
for the path is not yet blocked,
there’s still the scent of light
though I hear
a hoot or two of forgetfulness
in ruffled feathers
the twilight sky is spotted
with a bat or a star
to remind me of the approaching dark.
Posted for Sumana’s Midweek Motif ~ Nostalgia @ Poets United
I count my blessings
as I watch the bulbul swinging
from a twig
letting its joy out
in sharp twittering song.
In a time
when eternal hunger
of the lowly humans
lap up ponds, trees and lands
why this mango grove is spared
along with a few others
The spiffy squirrel
the tall slender palm
beside the pond,
where in the night
fishes play with the moon
in rippling water,
and prefer depth in day
to keep the herons
and kingfishers at bay,
almost picked a quarrel
with a red capped woodpecker
the other day.
The trees conspire
With their blooms
to trap the bumblebees.
I am the lone watcher.
I do count my blessings
for such godly sights
even these days.
Posted for Poetics – suburb poetry over @ dVerse
Courtesy: Google Image
“And love is a thing that can never go wrong;”…Dorothy Parker
Love is the Crown of Thorn,
and the sky
where nestle dark matter and light.
Love is the trickling blood
dripping from the Cross, or
from a saint’s decapitated head
in this worldful of traitor.
Love is the twine,
a melting tune
flowing from a Flute
played by the little Butter-Thief*
to tether us to Thee.
*refers to Krishna, a Hindu deity: Krishna is often depicted wearing a silk golden yellow dhoti, and a peacock feather crown. Common depictions show him as a little boy playing the flute. Other depictions show him as a bundle of mischief, stealing butter from neighboring houses in the form of Gopkrishna and other childhood exploits. [Source: Wikipedia]
Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Love @ Poets United
Courtesy: Google Image
Their eyes tell me
You would have been complete
But for that missing piece
Posted for Sumana’s Midweek Motif ~ Space @ Poets United
Faith of mine is a Forget-me-Not,
A perennial wildflower.
It knows its soil, season, and sun.
Tolerance of shade is its virtue.
Happily it lives and spreads in streambeds of love.
Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Faith @ Poets United