She Sings Her Monsoon Song



It’s a pleasure when the frowning sun quits

Heaps of inky clouds frolic in the sky

Into the realm of verse she lunges and flits


With the rainy balm her tawny skin’s lit

I read her verdant lines in jasmine rhyme

It’s a pleasure when the frowning sun quits


Her voice jingles ditty in busy bee feet

That peacock dance meter spellbinds the eye

Into the realm of verse she lunges and flits


With an eddy of breeze love odes she knits

Her passions in streams brim over and lie

It’s a pleasure when the frowning sun quits


The rumbling clouds, the lightening in a fit

Delights her for her words will no more be dry

Into the realm of verse she lunges and flits


Her cantos will flow on in litchis sweet

Rhythms will pitter patter on leaves high

It’s a pleasure when the frowning sun quits

Into the realms of verse she lunges and flits


Posted for dVerse MTB — How to Write a Villanelle hosted by Frank Hubeny



This poem is inspired by W.H. Davies’ poem LEISURE



I was heading towards soul destruction

in a mad rush,

heaven knows for what reason

while every grass was green

the sky blue,

rivers and stream meandering

in a lively dance.

All on a sudden I had to stop

for a little squirrel intending to hide its groundnut

got on my way.

I had to stop as the little nut grew into a ‘Stop’ sign.

The nut was originally a key

to the treasure trove of Nature.

Oh what wealth She had!

I was Ali Baba.

and the work place, like the forty thieves

dissolved into nothingness.

No it’s not a dream.

It did happen to me.




Posted for dVerse Poetics: And the sign said…..hosted by Mish from mishunderstood

Yoga / Union

“Yoga is the practice of quieting the mind”— Patanjali


I saw how my world one day

crumbled into dust;

my sky lost all its glitter;

I had no ground to stand on;

Time like boulders

rolled down on me in torrents.

I saw the mind crush and smash.

I looked in vain

for the shelter of kindness.

Caught up in the whirlwind of chaos

I lost all my breath.

While I was sinking in the dark numbness

I caught hold of a voice

that rose from within, whispering

‘Pause; Breathe’.

I gasped at first

then took a deep breath

that slowly took me to a landscape within.

It was my first yoga;

my union, with my inner world.

Here the wounded mind heals;

the worn out heart finds rest;

here the day is not sunless;

neither the night starless.


Posted for my Midweek Motif ~ Yoga @ Poets United

Spring Joys

All over, joys spring

Everyone grips sun

Love of warmth spreads

Blooms and bees dream together

Honey-talk Begins

Flowers buzzing

Life burgeoning

Zephyr sings softly

Gaily clad Nature


Nature gaily clad

Softly sings zephyr

Burgeoning life

Buzzing flowers

Begin honey-talk

Together dream bees and blooms

Spread warmth of love

Sun grips everyone

Spring joys all over



Posted for Poetry Pantry #358 @ Poets United. It’s an old poem I’m sharing today.




Courtesy: Google Image

No day is ordinary for me.

I sit by the night shore

of each day watching them

Intently. Memory waves rise

and crash on my mind crags.

What beauty they bring!

Shell, starfish, oyster moments

show me the path to futurity.

Now I’m in the middle of Wednesday

on my sail boat of poetry.

The rhythmic sun has risen,

all distance will melt in its warmth

while I slowly move towards the shore

where I’ll meet you all.

There will be a grand fair,

a gala show of words.

Oh my life is

E x t r a o r d i n a i r e !!

So is yours!


Posted for my Midweek Motif ~ Seeking The Extraordinary In The Ordinary @ Poets United


Dark Sun


We see the full eclipse

of this baby sun at dawn.

So many decades across

how do we know now

why she was alone,

lost, in the wilderness

of unknown city streets.

What we saw was

how the soft pink light

sank slowly into the dark!

I wonder

what vile moon cast its shadow on her.

Was she a diamond ring

or diamond beads in a string

when she came out

of the dark chamber

of long bars?



Posted for dVerse Poetics ~ Mugging for the Camera hosted by Lillian



Courtesy: Google Image


In school I thought I had deer feet. So every year in annual sports-meet I would line up with others in short blue skirts, white shirt, white cades shoes without spikes; with ears sharp to three words that would shoot at two feet: get, set, go. All I could see was the big red ribbon held across by two teachers which I had to touch first. I know during the run I would shut all my sense organs except vision. I believed I did really fly. Yet there were taller feet, stronger and faster. I always ended up among the first four or five. However the victory stand gave space to only three. That shiny golden cup with the brown base where your name, class, section, date and the sports –  event written on a white card were pasted always eluded me. Always.

Twinkling lights of night

Lies beyond reality

Wish star falls on ground




Posted for dVerse Haibun Monday – Sport hosted by Bjorn


Shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United


The Lady


Google Image


A dignified lady

often visits me.

She’s about six, fatherless

and has a flair for words.

She dislikes her ‘letter life’

roaming about

in coaches, boxes and pockets

all the time.

She’s a storm at home

(her mother’s version)

though at my place

she flows like a gentle breeze

carrying fragrance

of fresh enlivening words

with the jingle of a child’s voice.

I suspect

a poet is in the making.




Posted for Poetry Pantry #357 @ Poets United