Eddying emotions stand handcuffed,
mapled beneath the lazuline blues,
whilst the remaining gets purpled,
beliefs become blotted,
blurring into butterpaper air,
a semi-shelved stillness
within the bookshelf of my heart~

-

(POCKETS OF MONSOON)

I see monsoon,
skipping in vortex of euphoria,
of pockets still whiffing with petrichor
Holding a half-open blue umbrella,
she smilingly tries to shield herself
from autumnal gales blowing outside
But with heart, as jolly as a toddler
she continues to float paper-boats in puddles

-

epitaphed twixt fear and fidelity,

she carves constellations
upon the moistened mosaic

of hopeshorn skies

at whose arrival,
even introverted peonies
bow in benevolence

-

being the pilgrim of my
facaded smile—
where contorted contours
seem more prominent than
the apathy-affected curve
of my face—
yet the mirror has taken a
leap of faith, for it has
chosen to persevere,
manifesting the
resuscitation of my
serotonergic smile...

-

gestures of gratitude—
germinate and gyrate
twixt unuttered lovenotes
when even stringent silence,
metamorphs into
a lavendered lullaby—
unheard but understood...

-

O Kanha!
Midst the sanctifying melodies of your flute
May all my woes and blues be melted away
Kindly hold the ocean of my mind still
So that I can swim and reach the shore safely

-

♡...Tints of freedom...♡

Freedom—
A baton—relayed
from those who sacrificed their life,
martyred but alive,
in the promise of a new saffron dawn
Bound not by assertions,
but by reasons that doth reciprocate

Bonded or free?
It comes hinged to tricolor trust,
that pulsates in the tyndall effect
of morrow's meaning.

//...contd. in the caption...//

-

Neither mine to claim, nor mine to relay—
For freedom pulsates in the cerulean vaults above;
unfettered, unfeigned...

-

"Scuba-dive— Unfaltering"


is only mine to detangle, for it's;
braided with hemp of resolve
twisted and turned—
it stencils itself; in the
lever of pulleyed promises

Dreams let me stay tethered—
Buoyant, brimming, believing
Belief topples, yet scuba-dives
In my ikigai's igneous ocean
Adhered to hope's bernoulli principle

Time and tide may oscillate,
yet the doorknob to my dreams;
shall be mine to own,
shall be mine to own!

-

Her virago soul, in all its carmined cursiveness
stands firm, braving brute storms—
with ease that neither scars nor scorches
the bonhomie of her being...

-