Have you seen my sadness?

I think the sea

took her away
from            

                           
                                me.

Perhaps, she is

a grain nesting, 

perhaps      

                                                                                     dreaming

she will become

a pearl, yearning
for your        

                             
                               ear

your hair curling

beneath, like a 

creeper          

                                                                                        seeking

a moon. I know

you will throw   

her into that

                           
                             
                              box

you keep.  Home
of the lost,of   

                                                                                                                                                                the 

                                                                                   
                                                                                         mourning.

That voice

When she sings

my bones

rattle and hum,

they want

to leap out 

of me

they want to return

to that place 

from where 

her voice leads-

there lies their 

beginnings.

Some times a voice leads you to a place and you for a brief moment witness your birth. 

Fireflies

These days I fall

asleep

to firefly light.

Through the sheet 

over 

my head, I see

them blinking like
stars 

in a morning mist. 

Thunder on Bolts of Silk (Published)

My poem 'Thunder' is being featured in the online journal Bolts of Silk today. I, as you can guess, am really excited.  Bolts of Silk features poetry from all around the world and the great thing about it is that it allows amateurs (like me) and established poets to sit side by side thus making it exciting and humbling for me.

Every week, a new poem and poet is featured on the journal. The task of handling the nitty-gritties of the journal: selection, communication with poets and posting (and I don't know how many more details) are all handled solely by the editor, Juliet Wilson. She also blogs at Crafty Green Poet which seems to marry her interest in nature and poetry. 

If you are considering publishing your poems do check out Bolts of Silk.  It features great poets (raw and polished) and even better, really great poetry.

And thank you Juliet! :)

Stone for today

On the edge of a leaf
a drop of rain
contemplates

leaping.

Crying jag

Blotted on my clothes

yesterday's poems

The Other Side

Reena speaks to me
from beyond
the river.

She tells me love
has a way

of dying.

I must not mourn
its passing,

but be glad
in its leaving;

for after all,

caught in its reeds
we cannot cross

to the other
side.

Alive, I think.

Every time  the wind
whips across my face
my skin seems to say

"harder"

Poetry and her Poets

lone flower wrestling with

wind for its place

in the earth

*

earthworm raises head

chewed petal

dangling

 *

          

bird feeds young beaks

flowers adorn  their

nest.

*

rain, falling from the sky

earth polka

dotted

*

Water: Stones for the river

Every time the fish resists

the river only opens 

her mouth wider

*

Stealing rain from

my face

your little flicks

of tongue

*

Dying necessitates

water and so I shall

drink

I really wanted to take part in this month's a river of stones challenge but I have no time and won't have much access to the internet after a while. But do check it out. It sounds like a great way to keep to writing and more than that, it aims at teaching you to pay attention to every single moment/thought as it happens- a beautiful but tragically underrated activity.

Fingers
slowly trace
my spine.

I fall open.

Will they see
the poems
inside me

now?

Old Friends

worn warm socks
to pull up in this
winter my heart
faces

Because, only in dreams.

Sometimes I dream I am a satellite
spinning you around, making you
dizzy

that you step outside, lift your face
to a starless sky and make a wish
upon me.

Or that the mountains you live
in are rising up on my evening
sky

and there you are standing at the
peak waving down at me. I have
wings

so I can rest on your shoulder
for a while. I read you a new
poem

that we trace into the sky above,
the world will not forget us we
promise

and together we fall asleep
this time maybe into the same
dream.

In grief

Swollen tongues
speak flaccid
poetry.

Open window,
curtains drawn

still,

sunlight shafts
in dust bunnies-

they float.