A Conversation

Courtesy: A Dash Of Sunny


“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 – [42] 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,

each bloom,

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


A Suburban Poem

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

I wonder.

The spiffy squirrel

scurrying up

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


Looking Through Your Eyes


You wipe the mist

the heart gathers.

I wonder

who lives in the depth

of your placid eyes

that never ripple,

let alone wave

even in the strongest storm.

A spade is a spade to you

but never did your lips part

to grind others

with truth-y hammer.

What are you made of?

Grace and Honey.

Mercy and Zephyr.

How vices transmute

in that furnace heart!

I remember

how I used to gorge

with a hungry soul

your luminous words

in my dark days.

There can never be

an era of post truth

even if the fools longed for it.

For you are the Truth.

You are the Path

and the Portal

to Life. I live,

because Thou Art

my breath.





Posted for Sanaa’s Prompt Nights ~ On Popular Demand – Through the eyes of my friend [12] over @ A Dash Of Sunny




Shared with Poetry Pantry #341@ Poets United


Love is the Crown of Thorn



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: A Dash Of Sunny

You are the jasmine night

And dew filled dawn

Of a babe cheek morn


I am always the thorn

To shield thy rose heart

From wormy word


Your banyan shade

Gives me rest

On a scorching day of distress


I long for that moonbeam smile

That’s buried under

Grief’s stormy clouds




Posted for Sanaa’s Prompt Nights – Love’s a night-song sweet sung by the tender strokes of wind – Valentine’s Day Special over @ A Dash Of Sunny


Shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United