Dusk pours her dregs of light on the weary bones draped in a corrugated yellow skin threading the silk suture
A melange of reverberations in the air-
a distinct chirp of hatchlings
calling it’s dame at prey,
the yellow tailed black cockatoo
spils it’s heart in gay.
while the nightingale sings it’s repertoire for the mind forsaken in love.
The bellowing of a rutting stag
triumphs the eve with pride.
And amidst this
the old man breathes
sewing plumes to the skin of a moose.
On the blood stained rug
rests the coffee mug, the black still as death- cold and glum.
Time is a lie, in this dingy labrynthine
since paralysis struck the clock in the spring of 1899.
The tale of the past speaks the cobwebs
aghast- making wings to soar up the sky
beyond the silver line.
A mind long sought,
to parley with Gods,
for foul conspiracy had coveted his sleeping child.
He limps through the woods at night
carrying a pole and a light.
Prowls around the roost and sets the straw ablaze,beats them to the ground and twists the birdies neck.
With a trail of blood
he retires forth,
a macabre hum echoing the tremoluos night.
He dumps them in the tub then chants an unholy prayer,
picks them by the leg
and dips them in the pail.
Pluming each with care,
his eyes a distant stare.
When the moon is smeared in blood
and the night shakes with ague.
The flowers wilt in grief
fireflies weave a wreath.
The winged souls sing the dirge
the cluttered mind, finally purged.
He wears his wings, head upright
ready to take his flight.

Stretch marks!

Like the beautiful pattern woven by nature on the crevices of the wall.

White lines run against the background of wheatish skin adorning my breasts,

Step leader embossed by Zeus.

A tawny lotus blossoms

Just above my pubes

A memoir of the life, behind it witnessed grew.

To you it must be offing

To see them on my calves

For you fancy silky skin

Not a dappled one with scars.

I do not paint em with colours

To hide them under layers

But just let it be!

I am more than the body

More than what you see.

© Wordpolitics

Things to do before you sleep tonight

Cup your hands in an inverted heart around the resilience that flickers in the night breeze.
Let the heavy robe of conformity slip off your bare shoulders with an ease.
Scrape off the layers of paint
that make you beautiful
the pallor looks equally alive.
Draw a bath with few drops of lavender
and immerse all your limiting beliefs
in the hot tub,
deep cleansing your pores of all dirt.
Pour a glass of Red and swirl it around,
gulp down the days criticism
with each sip.
Breathe!
exhale the clutter that’s been clogging your vision.
Pat your skin dry,
let the towel soak in the dregs of exhaustion.
Take a book and bury yourself
under the foliage
seeking refuge in the world of metaphors.
As the words work their magic
seeping through the irises
lulling your senses,
watch your wakefulness
melt in the quicksand of time.
Till the lady of the dark
pulls you over to the otherside.

© Wordpolitics

An Atheist in Love

A committed atheist,
I prowl the realm of mortals
wearing a robe of snobbery
sceptre of rationale
held close to heart,
head unbowed to any form of divinity.
Brandishing words
peering through the faces of ignorant fools,
smirked at their lugubrity.
Until one day,
sauntering down the path
strewn with cherry blossoms
I came across an old novitiate.
The beauty of the flower
still floating in my eyes,
my thoughts distracted
by the fairest maiden
I ever beheld.
‘divine’,
was the word that slipped my tongue.
Blasphemy!
Cursed be the lips that spake thus,
a fallen angel doesn’t speak of God.
A sudden force possessed me
clouding my reason
a discourse between my heart and mind.
Her eyes met mine,
which read of innocence
the sweetest rhyme.
She kissed the rosary,
and chanting her lords name
turned away.
Her black habit fading from my sight
helpless, I was left
in front of his might.

© Wordpolitics

Exotic

Exotic flora
hidden in the deep wilderness
sheathed from the prying eyes.
Diffusest sweet hypnotic fumes
enticing the eyes that pass by.
Caress her with the sight
but taint her not
for she’s a child of the dusk
nurtured by sharp winds
and dense fog,
often fatal to a mortal touch.

© Wordpolitics

Stardust and magic

He sprinkled stardust, moonshine and magical things in the rustic decanter
and filled my cup.
I, like an ignorant child
lulled by the bling of the fairy lights
lost in his eyes
sipped the red.
As the wine played it’s magic
he appeared more enigmatic
as I lay there, eyes rolled
ready for the sweet surrender.
His fingers worked through my body
each stroke like soft breeze
carrying April showers.
He held me close
like a thing divine
searching for the rings of Saturn
within my eyes.
The dulcet flow of his voice
close to my ear, seeped through my skin
tingling my bones.
Love or lust?
Don’t wanna call it either and set parameters.
For this,
A cosmic union
When he enters my soul.

© Wordpolitics

A poem on Independence

My nation sings a mellifluous song
reminiscing the years bygone
she unties her locks and swivels around
brimming with ecstasy and joy.
She bathes herself
in the heat of the South,
the sun bounteous on her tawny skin.
She treads the woods,the Sunderbans
her garrulous childlike laughs
echoing the serenity.
She sits by the Ganges
hands crossed into a knot
melancholia seeps in
bringing with it
a wave of ‘inqulabs’
unwavering and assertive
as the Himalayas standing tall.
The sky weeps tears of joy and grief
the undaunted souls who gave up their breath,
embracing the soil
painting it red.
She hums in reverie
a note of thanks,
the widow’s, the old and the dead.
She casts aside,the robe she wore
the tricolour cloth she drapes.
The saffron of valour
the chaste white
and the lushness of green she wears.
With head held high
an air of prowess
I am an Indian
Say I .

© Wordpolitics

I wish to dim the voices in my head

I wish to dim the voices in my head
Turn the knob and watch it die
As daylight fades my conscience dreads.

As I warmly snug myself in bed
The faceless voices come alive
I wish to dim the voices in my head.

After years of clutter I’ve been fed
The day or date, know not since when
As daylight fades my conscience dreads.

It oft intrudes at night, sodden wings spread
Shrouds me, I choke, I hyperventilate
I wish to dim the voices in my head.

This isn’t the path I’d wish to tread
My heart, my soul, my body aches
As daylight fades my conscience dreads.

By and by erodes the sanity thread
For it may snap and haul me to despair
I wish to dim the voices in my head
As daylight fades my conscience dreads.

© Wordpolitics

( Villanelle for the first time )