Posted in Epics, Poetry

That "Heidi" inside you

Wipe out the mist, but condense your sight
Picture yourself standing at wuthering heights
 
Spring up and about, don’t stay put
Hop off your porch and go gallivanting barefoot
 
Gallop over the pastures like jolly fillies
Wonder what spiders have to do with lilies
 
Start by searching for snowdrops
Turn baskets and berries into your props
 
Tag along with some other species
Chase after them, then fall on your knees
 
Form a circle around the mighty Alp
Witness the breeze trace your scalp
 
Impersonate those thick clouds
While you sprawl on flowery mounds
 
Let the docile daisies govern your motion
And be sure to gulp down their divine potion
 
Open up your heart to Eastertide
Tell all the bitterness to run and hide
 
Gleam and rejoice with a mere pretzel
Now, impregnate that “Heidi” buried in your vessel.

~Poem 7

There is a child buried in all of us and we must set it free
(Picture credits: Unknown; Source Pinterest)
Posted in Epics, Poetry

Short, fat and ugly

‘Am I pretty?’ Her brow twitched
‘Could beautiful hold synonymy?’
And her head itched
Musing o’er the archaic dichotomy
Apparelled in an ill-fitted apron
A dame perches on a pouffe
With a paperback as her patron
She espouses the term aloof
 
Neighbouring her rippled reflection
She skims through the same page
And is foxed by its diction
But heedless of the savvy sage
 
Secretly phrased as a puppet
She loses herself in a fictional realm
Again deceived by a leaflet
Which she plucked from an elm
 
A sudden discernment crashes
That even fables aren’t fair
For ’tis either those fluttering eyelashes
Or that unkempt hair
 
Her quest drags on, of whether
One would fall in, or simply fall for
As she lets go of its tether 
She rants mutely at her mentor-
 
‘How plain can Jane be?’
And she spilt ‘A cup of tea!’
 
~Poem 4
Posted in Epics, Poetry

Parched souls

My Mascot of glee, Lord
Has granted my wish
He presents her a euthanasia
As promised. 

Her eyelids seal eternally
With all their might
Making my love for her
Spring up again.

At the last second of their closure
She feels relieved and soothed
Silver-blue droplets fall on her remains
Beseeching her to come back to life.

They drown her bronze casket,
But strengthen her soul
The various rituals proceed
And eulogies along with regrets soak her.

She floats across the stairway to heaven
With a beatific smile pasted on her lips
My constant tabs on the sundial
Finally show a positive result.

It is time; time for her soul to release
She elevates to the entrance
Clad in an ivory gown that drapes
Handsomely, on the surface of the clouds.

Even Aphrodite bows down
In front of her
Ready to crown her
As the new symbol of beauty.

She writhes with the hems
Of her dress
And her lively girls
Continuously nudge her.

She trips over its pleats
And sinks into my arms
But her friends grab her by her elbows,
Pulling her away from me.

I somehow manage to see her
Put on a scarlet blush
Her only make-up
Through her netted veil.

She’s let her hair fall
Fall, out of waterfall braids
And her velvet curls trickle down
Bewitchingly to her bosoms.

Her soft palms hold chrysanthemums
That look dull next to her charm
I fix my tie and she giggles
With another stroke of blush.

Every step she takes leaves impressions
Of her soles on the stark white carpet
Beautifying its simplicity
As well as her own.

Dandelions halt in their respective paths
Only to cherish a glimpse of her view
And end up awestruck
By her alluring self.

A rainbow shoots up and then down
In the worst of all droughts
Attempting fruitlessly
To mirror her glory.

“I now pronounce you as husband and wife,”
Chants Eros and we put on halos,
Emblems of our platonic love,
Above each other.

Though our wedding
Was rejected back then
Our marriage sustains
In the laps of heaven.

We sway together to the symphonies
Celebrating our triumph
Over the battle against the world
As earth stands by our side.

And as we dance
Hand in hand
To the tunes
‘We’ turns into ‘us.’

The word eternity
Regains its lost meaning
Our parched souls drink in love
Eventually quenching their thirst.

~Poem 3

 

Made in heaven, literally
(Picture credits: Ron Coleman)
 
 
 
Posted in Epics, Poetry

Decoding the Solitary Reaper

The Cuckoo bird recited a symphony
Whilst caravans continuously whistled
‘Twas a new genre called harmonic cacophony
Then I received His verbal epistle
 
My flesh and bones stood still
Bulks o’er my lashes flexed
Straight from a window sill
I’d landed to an annex
 
There, He’s conducting an orchestra
And awaiting an audience
I lay shackled by His aura
As an archangel latched the fence
 
A lonely lass lead the choir
Though without her knowledge, hummed
To herself and reached the foyer
Where He swallowed, what she succumbed
 
Lord unnoticed her misdeeds
Loosened tangles and softened blades
Bestowed blankets of divine seeds
And bridged her from all masquerades
 
Her melancholic melodies were lyrics
That belonged to our Keeper
Carved out from an onyx
Alas! I’d decoded the solitary reaper.

~Poem 2

Yon solitary lass
(Picture credits: Unknown; Source: Google images)
Posted in Epics, Poetry

As sweet as Mithu

Emerald feathers would caress me
For a promising good morning
While a booful beak would squirm
With the art of perfection
The way he adored seasonings
That matched his skin and soul
And his little mild leaps
Could leave a beast in awe
The few vowels he uttered
In reality were a ballad, however
The lone perceiver couldn’t predict 
That it was time for an elegy
He once confided, he longed to flap
Not to escape, but hold on
Show the world he had winds
When he only wished for air
His fellow flocks would poke fun
And others eyed his beauty
But now he’s soaring high
High above the heavens

~Poem 1

A tribute to a wonderful birdie
(Picture credits: National Geographic)