Delusional Quotient


I left facts to reality,
there are gaps, tender gaps left to be filled.
Gravel, sand, love, a handful of sky,
anything and everything
to fill the world’s delusional quotient.


The Flowing Mountain


It is a beautiful mountain,
a valley of deep blue flowers,
It is a beautiful mountain,
growing grass beneath blue flowers.
A lithe twirl of wind
makes the valley flow,
flow and flow and flow
like a river on the mountain grows.
It is a mountain with a river on top,
a dream of beautiful blue flowers,
a companion of the river you cannot see,
It’s all magic,
it is still, it flows, it grows, it seeks.

Every day the wind meanders smoothly,
it stirs the beautiful river,
it is an ocean, it is the sky-
the Flowing Mountain,
forever flows,
never dries.


#Poetrymonth post



Like a broken string I rose,
sauntering with the whirls,
beholding an elation,
elation of the mundane:
morning dew,
twilight hues,
scent of the rains,
dust of the pearls.

Hear my silence,
that instrument is bygone,
I am a broken string,
I am cold, I am warm.

I am my music,
I am dark, I am forlorn,
I am elated
in this dusky dawn.

I am the spring of seventeen summers,
I breathe the hills of violet,
ineffable is my love,
I am the clarinet!

Poetry month post 5!



Rugged souls they walk with,

how shallow a love they yield,
what a filthy world I live in
where I cannot say what I feel.
I’ve felt scared and scattered,
I’ve felt the ruins so deep,
daunted I’ve felt in dark
hollow in my sleep.
Like a charade life tossed me-
a rumbling act so obscure,
a chasm fit in my spirits
where bleak dandelions grow.
Nothingness has pierced my soul
and a profound numbness I breathe,
I wear torn memories,
plastic smiles and broken reeds.

Poetry Month post 4!


Violet Love

Amidst those tenuous clouds,
in the veil-less springs it sings,
meandering in its enchantment,
The violet love blinks!

Confounded in its silence,
it roves the untrodden ways,
earnestly it bleeds,
unrequited it remains.

Bemused in the moonlight
of its star-crossed gaze,
It sparks its own raptures,
It smarts in its own maze.

Poetry month post 3!