Lost Crusade

Crimson as passion
Blood of rebels
Love not of roses
And burgundy wine
But dense and strong
With the spirit of strife.
Will it change the course
Of our human history?
See, how we remain trapped
In the power corridors
Every drop shed, evaporates
Without leaving a trace!
All efforts, a lost crusade!

Artifact

My broken heart, an artifact
In a spectacular box intact
Lying in tarnished pieces
With crumbling petals of roses
A Babushka doll, now faded
Holding a ring, long discarded
Stale memories wrapped
In tissue paper yellowed
Bury them all with me
When my tired soul flees!

Being Different

#MoonMystic
In the darkest hearth of my soul
It rears it’s ugly head again
This despondency of
Being different;
Burning realms of loneliness
Engulf me in flames
I blister, bleed;
Sweat, tears of memories
Deeply impressed lies
Like an intricately coiled
Venomous snake in my bed!

Knowing

It will not hurt
What you don’t know?
Truth wrapped in muslin
Pulsates gently
Waiting to birth
To sound the death knell
Of sweet ignorance
Blissful innocence
As the soul soaks in
Lies and tales
Appeasing the mind
But stealing the heart
Of the pure joy of knowing!

Book lover

You are the bookNestled on my chestHeaving in deep sleepA story embeddedIn my thoughts, as I goAbout daily choresImpatient to traceInquisitive finger tipsOn gravely carved scriptsTurning over pagesRevealing secretsThat made me shudderIn anticipation of none otherBut the distant momen whenI will curl up with you in bed

Morning in the kitchen

Sleep, hurriedly escapes
Sliding down gossamer drapes
Hearing the kettle whistle
Gentle tinkering in the kitchen
I wake up knowing you are there
Letting the glorious sunrise flirt
With the gray in your temples
Smiling, I slowly shuffle my feet
Step into fuzzy warm slippers
To join you in the blissful blaze
Of another day of togetherness

My Corner

The quiet I usually crave
Patiently waits for me
At the corner of my bed
A pillow carries perfume
Of freshly washed hair
Mildly stained sweet sweat
Of long summer nights
Wrinkled sheets beckon
Hiding a half-open book
And a peeping bookmark hints
It may well be time to rest

Shameless Dreams

Shameless dreams spill
Sprinting over a window sill
Plucked from my eyelids
By naughty night angels
Who revel at my expense
Chuckle with exuberance
At how innocently I believe
In visions true only in sleep!

Book Review: Bloodstone: Legend of the Last Engraving

The book brings forth deep research and impeccable imagination. The author’s personal experiences come alive in descriptions of the Kamakhya temple rituals and the religious fervor during the autumn worship of the Goddess. The exotic yet demanding terrain of the hills of Nepal is the backdrop of the tale of a simple village couple that breaks free of the shackles of matriarchy to redefine their fate. It is the story of motherhood – earthly and divine – always alive in mythology, legends, but most importantly in human faith.

Cadavers of love

Warped lies embedded
In the nucleus of your being
Tilted fantasia
Twisted mockery
Of ethereal tenderness
For it was never real