Words

Between my fingers, Few specks crumble, Maybe, he left a part of himself there. I hold my 'own' hands, To keep him warm inside, Maybe, he still wants to live in there. Drinking alone...I murmur, Emptiness in my heart is more loud. Stillness around me speaks, Things of our 'house' shout. Now...I speak no language, Neither words nor signs, Feel nude when I talk, My shadow sheds clothes as I walk. Parallel to my own body, Those days play in mute. I fast forward it to reality, For I don't want to re-live that commute. Across towns I chased him, My body still sore from travel. Fighting with life till date, Though I lost my own battle. Today I excavated myself, Buried in the past half naked. I dust the sand off me, For we are separated... *Based on a story of a divorced lady.

Ladylike I sit beside you, Playfully adding some sweetness. I crave for you; Without doubt, You are my weakness. Hot as a volcano, You arouse my thirst. Every evening we two flirt. Addicted to you, I can't resist you on my lips. Shimmering and boiling, We just click. When you are in my hands, Even a hectic day sounds a spree. What else can make my day? Than a refreshing cup of tea. *Tete-a-Tete is a French word for a private conversation between two people. And, this conversation is between a lady and her cup of tea. A sweet dedication to all tea lovers. Cheers!

A lonely beach; my eyes aground. In the sand lying a rose I found. A rose so red, I was astound. A thorn-less stem and smell abound. I lifted her; she bloomed alive. To live together we did connive. Permanently, I thought that I’ve Written her name in my heart’s archive. One morning I was taken aback, When I saw my rose was wholly black. Where was the red? I failed to track. The sweet smell too it did then lack. I then realized it was a spell. Her red was black, fake was the smell. Seclusion was Satan, my life was Hell. No one ever heard my silent yell. I stood bereft on the empty causeway; A discarded butt in a void ashtray; A starving man amidst a buffet; Ugly, inodorous was life’s bouquet. I returned to the beach, ruffled the sand, Searching for the sweet smell and The red of my rose, which was now bland. But loneliness to me did life remand. Betrayal, I found, was hard to take. I could not bear my heart’s ache. The thorns no

Like a puff of cigarette, like a sip of wine; They rise high, so high inside. Not one, not two, not even million can serve my appetite. *********** Words...hard to find, Words...deep they touch. Words...say few to me, Words...convey so much. Resting inside the quill with ink; Some white and some are dark. My eyes always lit up; When I shower them on your body parts. Orphan they feel, so read them loud. Few make you cry, few make you proud. Stubborn they are, will try to stay close. Be it in a poem or in a prose. A rainbow of alphabets, A miracle bestowed by literature. My spirits fly like an angel, When I write 'words' on paper. Image Source - www.3rdeyelens.com

We can live alone...lest we wish, Treading day in and out. All success we can achieve, Enough to stand on roof top and shout. No song is difficult to sing, No wood difficult to cut... Please click and read the entire poem on Ashwini's blog.

I liked everything to be perfect; Until one day I found. Some poems don’t rhyme, Some words don’t weigh,     And some smiles always fade. Unlike some happy faces, These lips are now closed. Drowned in the flood of tears, They lost their abode. Can I curse him? For leaving me in the lurch. Without even saying a word, Abandoned me in this never-ending search. A plateau of concrete, Has his name with 'dates.' Symphonies created by his memory, Play low-key on my fate. Each morning I bathe myself, Then walk bare-feet, muddling my toes. Inching towards my place of solace, I decorate his name with a rose. *Based on a story of a war widow.