Void

People are comforted when they look at the night skies.
Sailors and navigators depend on what they see,
the light that emanates from the darkness.
People find solace in the orbs of light,
in the golden beads that shatter the black hues
of the fabric of the universe. They feel a warmth spread,
sensing an unearthly, omnipresent entity watching over them--
smiling, protecting them from the shadows of the night.

The spheres seem to blink--like living, thriving bodies.
Their clouds of hair serpentine across the sky,
humanizing what is too large to absorb, to fathom.
Faces seem to look down on the face of humanity--
faces whose features are separated by light years
of distance. Faces whose features are composed of
burning, furious flames of heat--enough to destroy
a civilization, to annihilate life. The stars are powerful,
but deadly.

And yet, a galaxy of nothingness lies ahead,
suffocating us, compressing the earth.
Regardless of how comforting the night skies may appear,
we are looking at an empty chasm. A spiralling void.
A void of utter, asphyxiating silence that will never be lifted.
Because the universe is a vacuum; humanity is all alone.
When navigators stare up, basking in the heat of the stars,
they are only basking in the heat of the people around them--
they are staring at the unending void of the universe.

Phosphene

I can see stars--luminous, dancing stars,
with my eyes closed; where I expect to see
an obsidian void, I see a symphony of colored spheres,
or swirls surrounding a lustrous center.
When the sun shines too brightly, I let my eyelids drop,
little knowing that a harmony of glowing, amber hues
await, a disorienting sight--
little knowing that I can never escape the light.

I see galaxies in the sparkling swirls--faintly glowing
spirals against a darkened backdrop. Crimson clouds mingled
with blue remind me of nebulae, as do green slashes overlapping with
gold. Nomadic, spectral figurines--like canopies of
celestial dust, looming forward, their arms outstretched.
I see the sun in golden globes, Saturn in miniature discs
that envelope a revolving sphere,
while the darkness gives way like a cloth so sheer.

The view when my eyes are open is commonplace;
nothing captivating, alluring, romantic--
trees are green, the sky is pale, the ground rough and coarse.
But I can escape that--not by physically traveling,
but by letting my mind, my imagination take over my path.
By letting my eyelids fall, I am invulnerable--
for I can visit the realms and territories beyond the skies.
I can view the universe behind my eyes.

Falsity

Her face is golden, a pixie's glow,
a wide nose and pale eyes. Her face loosens into
a broad smile every time she sees me. Rather plump at first,
her physique seems to vacillate once she comes
closer. Her round fingers wave to me, loving and excited.
Her room is a miracle--it
shimmers and shines, curved edges.

Time is difficult, but I know it passes. As she grew older,
her expression would turn more tragic. I would swim
towards her, and she'd smile, her mouth
oddly distorted. One day, she picked up my bowl.
It was the first time I left the house, and ventured
into unknown, perilous waters.

She took me to the sea--a curved expanse of blue;
I felt something stir--my bowl shook slightly. She whispered
something incoherent, and tipped me into the churning waters.
And I saw her for the first time, free of the sphere of glass
that encircled me. Her face was different--not because it was
filled with tears. Something else--it no longer looked odd, but
beautiful. Her hair wasn't a shapeless mass of red--
it was in curls of beauty. The freckles on her face
changed their positions--miraculous, but true.

The sky and the sea are endless entities of blue--
no longer limited by arcs, but extending into infinity.
The earth is no longer a globe, but an inexhaustible realm.
The world is not what I thought it was; seven years later,
only the hues remain the same. The rest--vanished as quickly
as she did, abandoning me.
I've been living under the hood of deception, a petty prevarication. My reality
was never what hers was--she was never the plump, flat-nosed
girl I had grown up with. Her fingers are long, slender--they
wave to me right now, for the last time.
She walks away slowly, gracefully; not the clumsy pirouette
I had grown accustomed to.
I look about at my new home, devastated. She's not the girl
I thought she was... the world is nothing I'm familiar with.
I've been around for eight years, but I'm a newcomer,
inexperienced and disoriented, stranded in dangerous, unknown waters.
I don't blame her for leaving me; I blame her for leaving
me with nothing but emotions of betrayal.
My life has been a lie.

Skyscrapers

They hurtle towards the sky, towards the stars,
faster than the speed of thought. Embedding their tips
into the pellucid marshmallow of clouds,
piercing a hole, letting in shafts of golden sun,
allowing light to spill onto the earth.

They allow entire streets to darken; they deny visibility
to those unfortunate people facing away from the sun.
Their metal shards overpower everything else
in humanity's vicinity--they can create the sensation of night,
simply by existing.

They conjure the bliss of warmth, of protection,
by shielding the chilled folk from the glacial breeze
that emanates from the poles of the earth.
They block, confidently and with poise,
the swirls of wind that people strive to avoid.

They magnify the gentle murmurs
of an innocent squall--to twice, thrice in magnitude.
They warp the perception of hearing by forming
a tunnel--through which once innocuous winds
whoosh, dropping the climate by several degrees.

And who creates these formidable creatures? Only that
she will be the most powerful of them all, miles above
the pedestrian, above those dallying on the streets.
She will perch on the summit, the pinnacle
of the city, watch as the ants of people scurry about--
unimportant, inconsequential. She keeps rising, physically
and figuratively, as she climbs up the mountain.
Once she ascends the skyscraper, she stops.
Gazes around, and smiles--knowing that she reduced
humanity to pinpricks. Such is her power,
the power of an architect.

Vellichor

Pieces of metal clink and clank. Triggering a lever,
letting ink spill upon yellowed parchment.
Violet blood oozes onto a page, fresh, aromatic.
Authentic. Millennia away from the age of technology,
mildly rusty. Out-of-place, alien in a modern house,
with modern people attempting to placate
bits that belong ages away.

Spirits rise from the crevices, fingertips
that had touched the ancient keys.
Silver mist sighs from the gaps created,
as words float about, words that have been
brought to life. Because they have been
recaptured. It's hard to remember something,
some words, if you don't know they exist.

But now I know; I can feel its essence--
ideas become tangible, something I can inhale,
taste at the tip of my tongue, feel it
whispering in my ear, dance before my eyes.
Vellichor--the wistfulness
of old bookstores. Right in my room. My heart
kneels in humility, my mind gapes in awe.

Old authors wave at me. I smile and wave back.
I'll never be one of you, I think. But at least I have
your ideas hovering about, your words of
encouragement. Your smiles. Goodbye...
... for now. Until I revisit your realm again.

Clamor

They sat at a round table, tense, waiting,
hovering, intangible and pellucid
surrounded by golden clouds and pinking skies
while rain pattered below,
drizzles rumbled as the sky cried.

It rarely rains at this time of the year, over
the Indian subcontinent;
the time of the year when the fumes choke the air,
rising up in menacing swirls, asphyxiating;
golden flares glare at the heavens, blinding,
dotted with softer hues that die in the blaze.

It was a round table, there is no head,
but the leader stood up, edged to the edge of the clouds,
looked down; smiled for a second, waved a silvery arm,
basked in the silence that accompanied the rains,
smiled as the only noise that emanated from the ground
was the wind.
The others applauded, casting admiring glances
at her perspicacity.

But then her smile waned; as if a bomb had burst,
which it had, firecrackers illuminated the chilly night,
curls of smoke embraced the air, the freeze dissipated
as the fire danced in mesmerizing explosions
shaking the fragile clouds, unsettling her balance.

Tears in her eyes, she gripped the edge of the clouds.
The night was blinking mischievously, radiant with energy,
 abounding with clamor, delighting in rebellion.
Inconspicuously wiping her eyes, so that the others wouldn't see,
she prayed that the earth would survive this new onslaught,
that she would aspire to preserve her precious life.

Spheres of Fate

People trample on the

 streets as though it were theirs,

throwing plastics upon me, their mother, as if it were rightfully mine.

When they feel cold, they light fires—

wicked, iridescent fires that illuminate the glacial frost,

the glacial frost that is my friend—for it is pure, sweet, young.

The fires burn my skin, they hurt my eyes;

they may be a pleasure to the cravenly eyes of humanity, who fear the dark,

but they aren’t to me—they choke me, I cough relentlessly,

the earth shakes and the crust breaks,

shatters into a million fragments; bits of cement and glass cascade from the sky,

while I spin like a top, dizzied by the cataclysmic impact;

but from the devastation, I find a mild sense of relief,

a cathartic release—

I cannot always be perfect, be what my denizens want me to be. 

The sun is my moon at night; a glowing sphere of relief.

But he is not trampled upon, his beauties are not torn down…

by the creatures that inhabit his flickering flames—no, for the sun remains

as hale, as golden as the ground,

blooming with life, joy, youth

But I am a minuscule piece of land occupied by billions of people,

protecting them is so difficult, for they are never grateful. 

Initially, I was honored to have life—one among millions of planets,

the heavens chose me to house something so precious,

no one else.

But now, I believe that the heavens disliked me, envied me,

for Venus has retained her beauty—she is still as lovely a woman as before,

Jupiter has retained his majesty—still a redoubtable king,

Pluto has retained her winter wonderland—a humble princess of ice,

but I, I have dwindled to a little sphere of smoke, a sphere of suffering,

occupied by power, by blood, by envy, by war, 

as humanity kills the life that had been bequeathed to me.

I will not last long; I will be the first to perish—

I had been destined to live, to breathe for billions of years.

It’s all right for humanity—their life spans are microscopic; they come and go,

faster than the speed of thought,

and the inconceivable destruction they leave in their wake—

faster than I, an old mother, can comprehend.

I will lose my youthful beauty, my poise, my confidence—

it was a hapless twist of fate when the heavens selected me. 

I hope my mother won’t cry when I’m gone. 

A Fervent Fire

(Forthcoming in Sincerely Magazine)

Passion whistled through the trees,
in cold, fragmented tendrils,
through the interwoven twigs and fruits that hung from the branches
in a blissful stupor–
a product of nature’s might and power
Blowing as an invigorating gust
that enveloped all in its gaiety and ardor,
refreshing and inspiring, rejuvenating all it touched
as it playfully raced about, competing to see
who would reach the end of the forest line,
and explore beyond the known and comforting.
Passion burned an amber fire,
emanating an aura of golden light and zeal
illuminating all its rays fell upon,
bringing about warmth, joy and vigor
to the atmosphere, after the blaze of fervor had died out
and crumbled to a mere few ashes
that smoldered weakly, flickering feebly–
courtesy of the freezing breeze and passing moons.
Passion lapped against the shore, in a series of blue waves
that strengthened as the sun arced its way
across the sky.
It caressed her heart, encouraged her soul
to pursue the impossible, and to never let
her silvery moon remain concealed by layers of clouds
in case they weaken the tides’ rage, and cool down
the gleaming passion that dominated her spirits

Shadowed

I'm willowy, slender in comparison
when the sun rises, making the sky a rosy pink
I watch her awaken, escape the paradisiacal realm of dreams
with great reluctance; see her face being bathed
by sunlight--the very reason I exist

As the hours elapse, as she lives longer,
as the gentle sun showers life above ours heads,
she grows in height; I shrink relentlessly, overshone by the power
of her escalating spirits, which enlarge with the day
and its limited number of seconds

I trail behind her--soft, clandestine,
entangled at a point, letting our souls bloom forth
in opposing directions; she extends into the golden, shining world,
I descend into the darkening floor, the frenzied fragments
that create a sheltered dome of neglect

As the sun curtails its intensity, a benign hue,
I grow again--an endless, circular sphere of life and death
Her movements become slower, fatigued by seventeen hours of
circular motion, for she returns to the exact same place
every single day of every single year

I seek her attention; I prance about in glorious
steps, yet too monotonous for her selective taste; she seeks the sky,
the jewels of light, the diamond clouds, the amethyst evening, the onyx night
She craves the music of the heavens, rather than the haunting tunes,
the eerie chants of the underworld

Though powerless, I protect her; I shield her from isolation,
loneliness, I ensure that even when she's alone in a deserted ruin,
not a breath being inhaled for millions of miles, not a voice, not a beating heart--
contrary to what she'd believe, she's never truly alone
for I am always there, shadowing her

As the night elongates, I do as well; when she was young
she'd be afraid of me--she'd cry out as her lissome figure would silhouette
the walls; looming out of crevices in a rivulet of darkness; she'd run to her room
not knowing that I was following her, always following her,
back to under the covers, my presence overpowering

As her table lamp dies, I do as well; for I am not an entity,
but merely a lack of glow; my substance dissipates as her consciousness does as well;
for I cannot exist without the gift of luminosity--I am only defined by what I am not... a gaping hole.
I may shadow her, but I am hopelessly shadowed... for just as I am a void without light,
I am nothing without her, and her body, and her life


(Picture taken from https://longshotsblues.wordpress.com/2013/04/27/saturday-psychedelics-chasing-shadows-deep-purple/)

Castles in the Air

I tread on a staircase of golden matchsticks,
fragile and brittle; in the eyes of people, poised to snap
and hurl its contents onto the telluric surfaces of the ground.
I carry a bag of diaphanous mist, swirls of clouds,
webs of hoary haze; a blueprint in hand, a mesh of architecture,
billowing and spectral, leaving a trail of pearly white behind.
I have no foundation, only the air, only the nipping breeze.
And yet my fingers work, gripping the chisel,
carving and slashing at my bundles of mist,
creating shapes, turrets, pillars,
majestic, grandiose doors and entrances,
intricate furnishings, glossy like cornsilk, polished like gleaming emerald,
made of the eddies of clouds I carry upon my back.
People stare, point—they look at the phenomenon unfurling
before their eyes, for I am building castles in the air,
and refuse to let my construction collapse,
crumble into motes of glistering dust—demoted from the heavens
to the desiccated soil.
Minarets of silvery lattice shoot out to the universe,
nothing supporting them but my drive to succeed,
utterly vulnerable if not for the fence I’ve erected,
of convoluted coils, tendrils of smoke, contrasting against
the innocent pallor of my palace.
The angels stare, point—they look at the phenomenon unfurling
within the depths of their territory; for I am building castles in the air
and am refusing to let them fall.

Golden Palms

Published in the magazine "Off The Coast"

A chance occasion
forged by the golden hands of fate,
by the beating of the millions of hearts,
by the passion enmeshed in millions of souls
of the creatures that thrive upon this planet
Down the silver ribbon that exists
across the peaks and vales of mountains,
Beyond the lapping waves of the cerulean sea,
whose grains of sand embedded in the ocean floor
represent the hopes, the dreams, the aspirations, the ambitions
of the souls bestowed upon the earth
by destiny, to live and leave their respective marks,
and make a change to a world, to a universe,
teeming with imperfections and sorrow
Across the midnight sky, brimming with the sparkles
of stars that exist, miles and miles afar from our hearts,
whose each twinkle, each glister, embodies all that the conscience believes in-
faith, happiness, and the hope for a better morrow
And beyond the horizon, beyond our sight
lie the mysteries yet to be unearthed, to be discovered
by the natural instincts of humankind- to uncover, to excavate
our intrinsic potential, our innate abilities
that coalesce to form a universe of euphony
since we all worked as one,
and strived to bring out the underlying goodness
that remains dormant in the spirit of humanity

Outburst

A minuscule crack in a prism of heat,
snaking along the unyielding gray of stone
One instance of catharsis from millennia of emotion,
insidiously kept under a hood of strength
of uncompromising stone
A crevice that seeks respite from the breeze--
the cool, refreshing squalls that blow
at towering heights, miles above the horizon
Simmering down, like drops of icy water
falling over the flickering flames of a bonfire--
not enough to extinguish, but enough to appease,
an effect similar to the soft, pirouetting breeze

Longing for the chill that abates the heat
kept under a helmet of shining armor,
its fissure widens, letting out sparks of golden
that crackle into the tranquility of solitude
encircling a rising prism of silvered stone
It widens some more, revealing streams of fury
bubbling beneath a countenance of composure,
a terrifying red, deepening steadily--
a slough of sizzling, molten rock
formed after centuries of oppression, of force,
of the unrelenting fingers of mother nature

Arising in rivulets of smoke, fiery clouds
darkening into a funnel that stems from the crevice
that broadens inexorably, breathing heavily
releasing an eternity of emotional suppression,
finally erupting into a flurry of fire,
ridding itself of an existence of a dead silence,
expressing its wrath, billowing in torrents of ferocity,
making history
as the largest volcanic eruption
the earth has ever seen

Pride of the Light

First Published in Poetry Quarterly

An innocent sparkle, of gleaming luminosity
Who glitters feebly, a pinprick source
Of beauty and light
Who bestows upon the earth the treasures
Of guiltless radiance and delicate confidence

Overshadowed by her fiery, powerful brother
She lives at night, when the former goes down
Taking with him illumination and certainty,
Leaving behind the threatening void of darkness
Which she can rarely fill completely
Much to her utter despair

Never appreciated, always hidden
By shrouds of mist, by tendrils of clouds
That serpentine across the tapestry of the sky
Weakening her silvery, passionate efforts
To live up to the golden domination of her brother

She would twinkle against the midnight sky
Until the rays of dawn approached, enervating her soul
Seeping away her fervent energy,
Sapping away her aura of docility, of allure, of enigma
That had been gifted to her by the shining heavens
So that she may provide natural light to the creatures
That dwelled on the earth

So, as the sky grew in its power, her angelic glister
Dissipated into the glimmering dust
Of hopelessness and sorrow
Never to be reclaimed

Nepal, My Pal

Over my 2015 summer, I organized a community book drive to help the victims of the 2015 Nepal earthquake. A friend of mine helped me; we called my initiative 'Nepal, My Pal'. The idea came to me in 10th grade, when I thought of raising money for a cause I hadn't thought of yet. But that cause crystallised after watching the devastating news in April.

We collected 300+ books from people in my apartment complex, and sold them to local book dealers. The proceeds were donated to the Nepal-based NGO, Hamro Sahayog.

I had such a wonderful time doing so, and am glad that my actions have helped those affected in Nepal. For any more information on the initiative, feel free to contact me!

Swills of Illumination

Teetering piles of books, torn, yellowed pages scrawled

with the elaborate artwork of boredom

 in swirls and billows in congested margins

whose content treasures a wealth of knowledge,

amassed by the brightest minds, generously served

to the benighted, in deep saucers

whose ingredients rise above the rim as eddying mist,

striking against the darkness of ignorance

in countless strands

Forcefully compressed into a compact sphere,

meant to be forced, rather than absorbed, 

into the students' mind, seated obediently-
unseeing, drooping with the occasional nod,
weighed down by the cement bricks of pressure,
a lead orb upon their spirits, their abilities,
encouraging the forcing with a vehemently opposing soul,
with the image of golden bouquets delightfully meted out
by anyone but their nonexistent thirst to learn,
whilst seated in their provincial classroom

A glittering sun, an azure sky, swaying blades of grass,
at a safe distance from the crushing claustrophobia
of a tight enclosure of four walls, lines of desks,
insecurities emerging from peers and adults
Once away, away from pain, undue tension,
free to roam, to question, without the terrifying dread
of ridicule hanging about like a pouncing devil,
free to inhale spirals of beauty, in the form
of independence- to be oneself, to question,
to annihilate the shackles of inhibition,
and to simply, greedily imbibe the joys of education
amassed by the brightest minds, generously served

to the benighted, in deep saucers,
where our duty is to swill the scalding contents,
sip cautiously, prior to assimilating it all,
in desirous downpours, as solace from the unending darkness
of ignorance 

Will-o'-the-wisp

(Picture taken from emerald-depths.deviantart.com)

Hovering gently, iridescent, sapphire blue,

mere inches above the stagnant quagmire
courtesy of the torrential rains
that shattered against the parched land,
its magic emanating in glowing strands

Chanting eerily, its melodies hypnotic,
painfully soothing to a wanderer astray,
luring her from her predetermined course
to the skeletal trees, the towering dark,
while it served as her sole, illuminating spark

Drifting softly, gliding in a sinister,
spectral dance, pirouetting over the darkening morass,
twirling as it led the wanderer toward
its abode, sending her mind spinning, lost,
at the hands of the unearthly entity she had crossed

Whispering uncannily, its voice resembling velvet
crooning advice into her ear, in silvery tendrils
of otherworldly wisdom, yet lacking in enlightened words,
taking her pale, shivering hand, it managed to hold
her soul in its, utterly beyond her control

Halting abruptly, a startling standstill, flourishing
its feathery arms of snow-like mist before the wanderer
who, in a daze, let her eyes fall upon the smothering darkness
miles from her home; searching vainly for the glimmering spark,
oblivious to the fact it had melted in the dark

Natives of the Sky

Her saline tears cascaded
in an inexorable, pelting downpour
that fell from the elusive heavens
that lay beyond the darkened skies-
a celestial symbol of her woe
that found meager respite in the cathartic release
that swamped the parched land, the desiccated soil,
the sorrowfully keeling violet blossoms,
ridding the earthlings of the stigma of hopelessness,
of misery, which had rendered them unable
to produce the saltiness of tears
Her grief was their joy, her pain their pleasure,
with their pale countenances facing the gunmetal grey skies,
a crescent of merriment plastered across, eliciting wonder-
as though they had forgotten the precious art of smiling
As she freed her sorrow in sobbing convulsions,
as thunder resonated across the dimming sky,
as her shivering arms lapped against the encircling clouds,
producing heat, shards of blinding, glittering light
that induced cries of merriment from the crowd below
who leaped about in pirouettes,
basking in the welcome interlude
from the sweltering heat, in the form of
the mangled, distraught emotions
of the residents of the heavens,
whose happiness and well-being created drought,
whose sadness created the pleasure of rain,
and whose despairing agony fashioned the devastating
annihilation of a forthcoming flood

Floral Denizens

Published in Inkling Magazine. 

With angles jagged, bits of ceramic protrusions

starkly contrasting with the linoleum floor,

its remnants scattered confusedly about,

mingled with shards of shining glass

that reflect the sunlight as it glares

down, its golden force enough

to unsettle an immovable 

object, for isn't the sun

an irresistible force?

Having settled on

the mantelpiece,

for years on end,

housing the flowers

that had woefully keeled

due to the harsh sun that refused

to reduce the passion with which it burned,

due to the sorry paucity of sustenance, of respite

from stifling days whose ardor never cooled, due to an 

unfathomable weakness that had never existed before, did

the flowers drop from the pride of an incomparable beauty, to

the misery of loneliness, whose only comfort was the lone ceramic

vase whose cracks widened with each elapsing hour, courtesy of the

overwhelming heat, whose ardor never deigned to cool, whose rays

forced grace to stoop to inelegance, which compelled the formerly

vibrant stalks to yellow and crumble, also obliging the once purple

petals to wither, to droop sadly to the side, upsetting the precious, 

the delicate balance of the plants, letting the vase tip one day, 

precariously, to the right, sending it hurtling, streaking to the

linoleum floor, ending in a deafening shatter of ceramic

against the unyielding, beige flooring, then creating

absolute chaos from tranquility, unsightliness

from past beauty, violent pink fragments

from a united piece of ceramic craft,

whose denizens lay dispersed

amid the wreck of skill,

which was provoked

by the glowing sun

Snowdrop

Withered petals of the autumn beauties
cascade to the ground
in a flurry of forgotten shades
Trees stand bare, only as a few pieces
of wood, coated with the shining powder
of a wintry paradise
that mirrors the weak sunshine
and shimmers faintly

And in this land of endless crystals,
boasting of cold, unfeeling elegance
devoid of the colors of warmth
exist a few strands of green,
contributing viridescence to a frosty scene,
topped with white, which melts in the snow,
difficult to discern, yet pleasurable once perceived
They battle the biting chill of the winter air,
blooming blithely, effortlessly,
their bells signaling the approach of dawn,
awakening nature from its slumber

Milky white against the darkness of dusk,
pale and enchanting against the light of the day,
resilient and unyielding,
yet an emblem of delicate allure,
light and fragrant,
whose scent never ceases to reach
the other creatures summoned by nature
Modest and demure,
mildly mocking, its petals open
in a flawless contrast of forest and frost

Taking the stage of the bliss of winter,
its counterparts having succumbed to the glacial ambience
stands the snowdrop,
conjured by an angel, having emerged from a snowflake,
as a symbol of hope during bleak times,
as evidence that winter thaws into spring,
that snow fades to scurrying life,
that sadness paves the path to joy

Tapestry

I'd create a tapestry of the morning shine
that envelops the cloth of the waking forest
which boasts shards of chartreuse and tendrils of lime-
soft colors against the shadows of the ground
housing stirring creatures, roused by the solar gleam
that pours from the fabric of the rose pink sky
Golden threads would arise from the hidden stars
whose gentle glow weakens as the temperature grows
The clouds would smile, with their reflected light
bestowing the skyline with the coloration of white
which would highlight the proud green of each rustling tree,
creating the musical scene of a melody

I'd create a tapestry of the ocean waves
and weave the cerulean of the lapping waters
that sparkle in the sunlight that lights up the sky
into which sprays of saline froth would fly
The sun would cross the horizon, its radiance weak,
the ocean dampening its fiery light,
extinguishing its blaze, letting puddles of amber
seep into the churning waters that meet the darkening sky
that extend indefinitely beyond, invisible to humanity,
yet visible on my tapestry of the ocean waves
that accentuate the shades of the blue sea,
whose varying colors join in harmony

I'd create a tapestry of the celestial hues
which rain down from the heavens as the moon grows
into an orb of luster from a luminous pearl
that transforms the darkness of the night sky
into the beauty of the shades of midnight blue
The stars would align in a shower of light
whose innocence cascades from their delicate glow
and aligns with the dreams of the earthlings who sleep,
whose enemy is the golden rays
of the sun, which represents the celestial foe
of my tapestry of the moon-bathed tints,
with a sky sprinkled by the consonance of tones of blue

The Roseate Glow

The countryside beckoned invitingly
with verdant arms
The sun glowed enticingly,
drawing her away from the dullness of her room,
toward the golden sparkles it emitted
Laying stretched across the emerald blades of grass,
closing her eyes,
her hair whipping in the wind
she dared to dream

She was dressed in a gown of rosy pink,
whose edges danced about in the breeze
It shimmered in the light of the golden sky,
it reflected the red hues of the autumn leaves
Her silken hair trailed behind her,
in a long, flowing curtain
that mirrored the gusts of the bracing wind,
that pirouetted its own distinctive dance,
while her glowing eyes focused far in the distance...
they focused at nothing, as if in a trance
Blood rushed to her face, emanating a roseate gleam
of exhilaration, as she felt herself rising up
leaving behind the emerald blades of grass,
joining the clouds that hung so low,
that were bathed in the sun's golden glow,
joining the tapestry of the pale sky,
whose squalls whispered alluringly
Bidding farewell to the tedium of the ground,
entering the enchantment of the undulating heavens,
approaching the distant light
that was emitted by the golden orb that burned so far
Her gown sweeping behind her,
its encrusted jewels echoing the glare of the clouds
that hung high and proud,
its soft substance giving her wings
subject to the power of the winds it conjured,
she left the earth,
and entered the skies

She opened her eyes, happy, peaceful,
her hands running over the emerald blades of grass
that glittered in the moonlight
of the bygone sun
and saw, in shock, the gown
of rosy pink,
whose edges danced in the midnight breeze,
reflecting the hues of the moon-kissed leaves

An Ersatz Epoch

Tube lights imitate the pallor of the sun's rays
at noon- white, violent, illuminating
Lamps replicate the lighting at dusk,
as the sun gradually dips
below the horizon-
a soft orange glow, mildly red,
a cozy, welcoming gleam
Night lights offer us as much comfort
as the twinkling stars do at night-
not enough to awaken us,
but enough to comfort us-
mild and unobtrusive
but reassuring all the same,
for they remind us that light and darkness can coexist
and still create beauty
Soft, carpeted floors-
akin to the soothing texture of grass
that we rarely have the pleasure to experience
when they tickle the soles of our feet
The marble floors of homes
remind us of the unforgiving solidity
of the earth's crust
Four walls confine us,
just as the walls of the earth,
the enclosure of our galaxy,
of the universe, do-
limiting us, keeping us unknowingly imprisoned,
for they seem to give us all that the earth can, and more-
serenity, security, a sense of home
We live in an artificial world,
a smaller version of the real one
And on the earth exists millions and millions
of artificial homes
while the real world- the original- the beginning
sinks down into neglect

Trail of the Sky

The sky is pale blue, with golden rays
streaking past, interspersed with pink clouds
that signify the approach of dawn-
which is a sight too early
to be appreciated by people ensnared
in the world of dreams

The pink dissipates, the sun rises higher,
growing light from golden yellow
Less ethereal, more earthly,
the clouds regain their original pallor
of white against azure
But a remnant of the moon, an almost intangible sliver
hovers in the sky
although hopelessly overshadowed
by the sun

The rays of the golden orb, once gentle
increase in their intensity,
as the sun resumes its stately, arched path
A blinding white, much too glaring
for people to bask in the reflected beauty
of the clouds, of the water
when they seem to echo the shades of the sky

The sun grows weaker, less dominant
as it withdraws its rays of dazzling light,
making way for the lesser celestial objects
miles and miles and miles away
Slashed with orange, darkened clouds,
the sky seems to smile as it boasts its beauty
From a line of soft gold of the horizon, to orange
to blue, to the endless violet
that extends up to the heavens

Against the backdrop of midnight blue,
the moon shines freely, free from the tyranny
of the sun
Sprinkled with stars that glow faintly,
the sky emanates an aura of serenity
that encourages us to close our eyes
and awaken to the harmony of dawn

Petrichor

She looked dismally at the darkened skies
that loomed over her
and poured rain in relentless sheets,
drowning everything around her
until she could see nothing but water,
as she peered out her misty window
and absorbed the dreary, unwelcoming scene
with unhappy eyes

The clouds hung lower, expelling the light,
suffocating her,
ensnaring her in the trap of darkness-
devoid of beauty or radiance,
until she could bear it no more
She curled up, as she waited for the rains to calm,
for the dissonant sounds of the crashing drops to appease,
for the wall of darkness to evaporate
so that she could breath freely again, in a world
unhindered by the chains of a vehement deluge

                                        *                                    *                                    *

Golden cascaded from the heavens
in a shower of sparkles
that carved their way across the sky,
reaching the eyes of the earthlings,
throwing light on the verdant trees,
on the broken branches, severed twigs
too weak to withstand nature's wrath
She stepped out of her home carefully, rather warily,
inhaled deeply
and beamed

It was lovely... disarmingly persuasive
as it lured her down the steps, to the grass,
beckoning her forward, to bask
in one the gifts that is bestowed upon the earth
after a downpour that follows unbearable heat
Breathing in the scent of the bygone rain,
of the indefinable, strangely abstract
fragrance that lingered around her,
clinging to her like an ethereal spirit
as she walked under the canopy of trees
Looking up at the sky,
the benign, innocent, cerulean sky,
she dallied about, careful not to miss
the magical scent emanating from the ground,
from the grass, from the trees-
the petrichor

Artificiality

Published in Canvas Literary Journal


A made-up countenance, blooming with the hues
of artificiality, of vivid colors
that appeared unnaturally bright,
accentuating features, brightening shades
that never existed

She erected boundaries around her mind,
to shield herself from the dangers
of criticism, of the perils
that accompany an endless list,
a growing list of insecurities

Pale, sparkling cheekbones,
beautifully defined eyes and lashes,
A ruby red pair of lips,
wielding an insincere smile-
her defenses against the arrows
that pierce her confidence, her will, and her faith
in humanity
She effortlessly brandished-
a shallow laugh, feigned words of praise,
hollow demonstrations of friendship
thereby symbolizing the insincerity
of what surrounded her

A splash of cold water- fresh and invigorating...
she felt her face revert to its natural color
A sparkling stream cut down her face
as she rid herself of the pretensions she waved
every hour of the day,
every day of the year,
every year of her life

She looked at herself for the first time-
at a natural blue, rather than glowing sapphire,
at a pale pink, rather than violent magenta
at a soft peach, rather than vivid orange
She saw herself for what she was,
and the beauty that she possessed
that existed free of the shackles of artificiality

Truly satisfied for the first time,
she took a step back
and allowed herself a smile

Fury

Thunder struck, she rose from the clouds
a towering figure, incensed and proud
The winds moved at her command
deadly lightning struck with an order of her hand
Fire cascaded from the tapestry of the sky,
the gale blew with a recurring sigh
Waves clapped fiercely against the shore,
turmoil and chaos, the planet wore
Mountains crumbled to the cracking ground,
cries of the creatures were mercilessly drowned
by the mayhem, the havoc, all the uproar,
by the lashing, battering rain that poured
from the reddened sky, a horrid red-
with fire and tumult, the earth had wed
Her fingers were clenched, her eyes gleamed,
she willed her forces to raze and scream
Until, that is, she closed her eyes,
shielding her gaze from the crimson skies
so she was exposed to the calming dark-
a conflagration that subsided to a mere spark
A cold breeze blew, seeming to calm the fire,
water prevented the flames from rising higher
Her fury calmed, she took a breath,
of her misunderstood anger, that was the death
The dark skies cleared, light took its place,
nature renewed its dance of grace
Screams vanished, smiles appeared,
the golden sun was shining and revered

The Moonflower

(Picture taken from http://suzumehime02.tumblr.com/post/96614204304/moonflower-the-flower-that-only-blooms-at-night)

She ran about as a child, across the field,
in which a number of flowers had woefully keeled
Despite sweltering heat the night revealed
dangerous beauty- the moonflower

It seemed to glow humbly, shimmer pale white
setting the dark sills alight,
Magic and charm which filled the night
did emanate from the moonflower

On her table, amid books in many a pile
it glittered with disarming guile,
its petals open in a charming smile
that was boasted of the moonflower

As she grew older, as she would dine,
they would stand before her in an obedient line
She dimmed the lights to bask in the shine
provided by the moonflower

On downcast skies and dismal, gloomy days
when life and beauty seemed to be razed
It would fill the dark room with undeserved praise
quite pleasantly so did the moonflower

When her hair could be compared to its petal's hue,
she fluttered her eyes shut at last, it is sadly true,
she managed to catch a last glimpse of the view
that was proudly filled by the moonflower

Rays of Dawn

Forthcoming in "Wilderness House Literary Review"

It was dark and tempestuous,
shadows crept out of crevices
leering menacingly
The bright eyes of night creatures
gazed at her- ominous and threatening
The moon was cold and distant,
white mingled with silver, dispassionate, hostile
The stars blinked maliciously
eyeing and mocking her and her fruitless struggles
to escape from the forest
They twinkled and shone faintly
deliberately gleaming weakly,
so that she may lose her way once more
The trees towered over her- skeletal, gaunt,
they loomed portentously, offering a branch
for sinister, baleful critters to perch on
and direct their unswerving gaze at her
The leaves rustled purposefully,
as if their sole aim was to expose her position
Trees camouflaged with the darkness,
behaving like a wall of black-
an impediment to her progress
to escape from the forest
Nocturnal animals howled, communicated eerily
with sounds unearthly, with glittering eyes
did they perceive the doe
With haughty mockery did they consider
her feeble attempts to return home
She flew through the forest-
the cold, foreboding forest
She leaped about for endless hours,
lost, bewildered, confused
Until there came the ray of light,
slicing though the sky in a shower of sparkles
indicating approaching dawn
The doe sat up hopefully, looking at the
lush, green trees, amiable creatures,
cordial birds flying about
Carefully, retracing her steps, she found a path
to escape from
Heaving a sigh of relief, she looked up gratefully
at the shimmering sun, and its golden light
that had guided her to safety
from the forest at night

Evanescence

A shimmering phenomenon
bestowed with a panache of shades
hovering rather unsteadily, as if doubtful-
does it deserve a place in the sky?
Does it deserve to shine against the endless blue,
competing with the floating clouds-
pure white, glinting light
So it scintillated with a soft, tremulous glow-
formed from the shards of water
akin to freshly cut diamonds,
that had been penetrated by the golden rays
emanating from the stately orb
hanging serenely from the tapestry of the sky
A delightful arc, a harmony of hues
blending together so immaculately-
creating wonder, joy and beauty
effortlessly and thanklessly
It cut an arch across the sky, through the white
across boundaries, borders, minds
reaching the admiring eyes of all
Yet- it is hopelessly subdued, mellow-
susceptible to disappearing with every blink
A light drizzle, a sudden squall
could mean the demise of this gift of color
How poignantly ephemeral, how pitifully rare,
deigning to appear once in a blue moon
when nature’s forces blend in a euphony
of charm, hope and love-
arrives the melody of a rainbow

Coloration

'Cerulean is the shade of the lapping sea,
ivory is the delicate page of a melody'

She began reciting, unrehearsed were her lines,
she looked about for inspiration, for a meaning, for a sign
Her avid gaze fell on the sill,
shielding a plant from the bitter chill

'Chartreuse is the shade of an emerging leaf,
ebony is the hue of an intricate motif
The hydrangea bears a periwinkle blue,
pale green envelopes the honey dew'

Her eyes wandered, curious and bright,
gleaming with a passionate light
She caught sight of swooping, descending birds,
whose agility made their presence blurred

'Black onyx is the lithe, playful crow,
its eye twinkling with a sapphire glow
Vermilion is the color of the base of a fire,
which turns amber as the sparks rise higher'

The soft shine of twilight seeped into the room,
its beauty ably dispelling the gloom
Calmness and serenity dominated her mood,
thoughts flowed freely, she forgot to brood

'Amethyst is the horizon of the sky,
culminating into indigo as it rises high
Crimson reigns in the setting sun,
along which silver light rays run'

She proceeded steadily- smooth were her words,
strengthened by the shades of which she had heard
She described her life, the encounters, the views,
and added color to them through the vibrant hues

Betrayal

Water was her realm, her source of emotion,
as she blithely gallivanted along the ocean
She basked in the freshness, as she calmly passed
an ocean whose texture resembled glass
The sky was a mystery- it had never been clearer,
as she gazed at the sea as still as a mirror

A pleasant breeze provided respite,
the rippling waves were quite a sight
Tiny wavelets rose and broke,
the shore- the water seemed to gently stroke
She heard the whispering of every leaf,
as it swirled in the breeze in many a motif

A moderate wind, which stung her eyes,
with great grandeur the waves would rise
White horses began to frequently form,
the air was charged, moist and warm
The sky turned murky, dismal, gray,
the gale built up a ferocious fray

The sky was black, the clouds hung low,
a terrifying storm began to blow
She could see nothing but mist and spray,
darkness reigned, devoid of a luminous ray
Fear bloomed, strong and singing, in her heart
as she witnessed the water play another part

A part of terror, peril, alarm-
the ocean lost its sublime, mystical charm
The hurricane roared, she fled for shelter,
other creatures mimicked, helter-skelter
Trees helplessly keeled, the thunder would pound,
as her love for the sea spluttered and drowned

Zenith

There she stood, having completed her quest,

a quest of prowess, of vehemence, of skill

Brimming with pride, she perched on the crest

of the tallest mountain, the most perilous hill

Yet she considered herself a deferential guest,

the ambition of her life finally fulfilled

She fondly reminisced on the previous days,

days of apprehension, unease and fear,

during which she had been a stranger to nature's ways,

where nothing was what it seemed to appear

A treacherous guise would threaten to raze

her opinion of nature so very dear

The paths had been laden with coverings of frost,

a precarious gradient, a precipitous slope,

with its deceptive trails- so vulnerable to getting lost

Assured safety offered so little scope

when hiking up courses that the ice had crossed-

it was not an uplift to her dwindling hope

And yet, she had been heartened by experiences bleak,

as she sought to conquer the dream of her eye-

to enter a domain of beauty and mystique,

and transcend from low to the riveting high

So, as she perched on the glacial peak,

her spirits rose and soared beyond the sky

Respite

I am a spirit that spirals with the breeze,
although cold and calculating,
warmth and affection blooms in my heart
imparting confidence, trust, hope-
that I can make a difference,
a change, an advancement,
to the lives of millions across the globe

Yet, I have disappointed myself
I have denied sustenance to some,
security and shelter to the others,
love and compassion to crowds,
education to innumerable
They slip though my spectral fingers,
like grains of sand-
much too fine, to be enmeshed
in my capable palms

My lapses wreak havoc
to the innocent, to the blameless
My rages are more terrifying-
Volcanoes spewing fire,
tidal waves drowning the shore,
whirlwinds swirling in a manner,
quite similar to my roam
My paucity of concentration
has led mankind to its own destruction-
ruination of a planet, a world,
that I had bestowed to all creatures,
to all plants and trees,
to the soil, to the rugged terrain,
to the atmosphere, to the breeze
I wander about the concrete civilizations,
suffocating, choking back grief,
as I now face a world colorless and gray,
refusing to let the human mind,
take what course it may

Despite my sorrow, I find respite-
by traipsing across the lush green,
the golden yellow, the turquoise skies,
the magenta flowers that beam with pride,
the fragrant ambience, surging with
the essence of nature, and all it stands for
I find pleasure, as I look at the merriment,
the dreams, the passion of all creatures alive,
that thrive under my guidance,
unknowingly, in blissful oblivion
As I spiral with the gusts, touring the world,
I realize my accomplishments
that outweigh the rest- which I had been
too lacking to better and enhance
As I help a flowering bud blossom with beauty,
an ant build its hill with unwavering persistence,
a lion establish its might,
a young girl fulfill her enduring dream-
it acts as an interlude to an existence of misgiving,
a time of relief from anxiety and disquietude,
I find a corner of breathing-space,
and I discover happiness once more

Miracle

First published in the literary journal- 'Foliate Oak Literary Magazine'

It emerged bright, radiant
leaving behind its chrysalis
in a flurry of wings, restless and tense,
gifted with an array of shades
and a motif of patterns
etched on its wings, fluttering and frail
The air was biting, a knife of ice,
slashing through the leaves
The light was blinding, a shower of rays,
more piercing than the breeze
The warmth of the cocoon vanished,
leaving it exposed, susceptible
to the forces of nature-
so relentless and unforgiving
to a newly formed creation,
with a wealth of beauty,
a myriad of flair, deciding to hone
its abilities in the glacial air
It perched on a slender stalk,
absorbing its surroundings, the various hues,
clearer than a crystal
For the very first time, it spread its wings,
fell prey to the gusts,
joined the breeze, merged with the currents
and learned to fly
Gliding through the air,
it found a sense of liberation-
of new-found independence
By slicing through the atmosphere-
it wielded a sense of power
The sky was its residence- the endless blue,
golden during the day, indigo at night-
a profusion of colors or also a miracle
It reminisced on the bygone days-
days of impotence, of being rooted to the ground,
slow, listless, with no means of escape,
days without beauty, without passion or joy,
days of distress and inferiority
as it looked up, and gaped at the sky-
intimidating, infinite, the home of its kind
once they broke free of the chrysalis,
and learned to fly
It basked in the chill, the tropical shades,
reveling in this wondrous change-
neither the change of metamorphosis,
nor the sensation of flight
It was a change that dominated the rest,
thought the butterfly,
as it pirouetted with its kin
It was a change that let it fly
towards the enticing flowers,
rather than having to climb up its stem
It was a change that brought beauty
and pleasure in the hearts of others
It was a carrier of esteem
and the magic of freedom

Mirage

Infinite, stretching land,
that glitters in the searing heat,
clashing to form an ocean of sand;
sun rays fall as continual sleet
The swelter is unbearable, the sand like gold,
vigor escapes, leaving her fatigued and old,
the dunes are incandescent- every rolling fold
shimmers with sunlight so unforgiving and cold
Thirst gnaws at her throat, parched and dry,
her path is infinite, seeming never to end
She glances helplessly at the crystal clear sky
which is a pale blue and azure blend
She cuts through the air, weak and frail,
leaving behind a wavering trail,
exhaustion has left her countenance pale,
she swerves with the weakest and mildest of gales
And then suddenly, inexplicably, in her heart,
hope blossoms like a bud- intense and strong,
a steady, consistent path she begins to chart
Hope, instead of wind, carries her along
Sustenance, she sees, right before her eyes,
cool, invigorating- towards it she flies-
a tiny speck against the unclouded skies
too naive to comprehend this deceptive guise
Her throat pounds, water she craves-
the refreshing, life-giving Adam's ale,
longing crashes like stormy waves
falling prey to nature's gale
Yet she can never reach it, to her despair,
as she combats the sun's relentless glare
Even as she feels closer to the moistened air,
it's as far as before, all the way over there
It's sparkling blue, a tantalizing source of pain,
to the weary creature, its unnatural and absurd,
but her effort and optimism are all in vain-
towards the mirage, flies the bird

Orbs of Light

This is an old poem of mine, which I had written a few years ago...

During the dark, silent night,
the stars would glow proud and bright
They would emit light and shine,
into constellations they would align

They were the treasure of the night sky,
they were inspiring without having to try
Although they were distant and miles too far,
nothing could compete with the beauty of a star

And then came the unavoidable day,
which led all the stars away
For there was a much more powerful king-
a fierce, dominant golden ring

It was also known as the sun,
which was supreme, which was the one
to light up the entire world,
providing life to each boy and girl

The stars lay sorrowful and ignored,
cross at this omnipotent lord,
that stole away their light and beauty,
in order to do its important duty

Their light combined was much too feeble
to be appreciated by the people
And so, for hours on end,
the stars, with the day sky would blend

But when the sun began to leave,
the stars decided not to grieve
The sky was then a lovely pink,
as the orange sun began to shrink

The stars rose up in the sky,
and their self-esteem began to fly
They shone in the dark with joy and pride,
the harsh light of the sun was cast aside

And so, the stars continued to glow,
appearing to exist a mere stone's throw
Free from the domination of the sun,
providing happiness to everyone

Flight

'It's wonderful, isn't it?'
His voice sounded oddly distorted in the forceful gale. I could detect a sliver of apprehension in his rather indifferent words. My whipping hair prevented me from seeing his face, but I could tell that his feelings mimicked mine.
I looked down once more, and could feel myself going pale. We were poised at the edge of a terrifyingly precipitous cliff, whose sheer drop was unlike any other precipice I had encountered. However, the view was exhilarating- I could see the massive mountains lined with conifers, growing fainter with distance, the subtle shades of the rivulets that cut the valleys, the blanket of mist that coated my surroundings, and the soft shades of the rising sun. The ambience was frosty, and I could see my breath billowing out with every exhalation. But it wasn't the temperature that was sending shivers down my spine.
I tugged at the heavy equipment I was tethered to, ensuring that they were secure. Finding it difficult to gather my courage, I was mildly irked that my adventurous spirit shyed away from a new experience. I frowned at myself, and recalled the times I had gone deep sea diving in the sparkling waters of the Maldives, or trekking up the slopes of the Himalayas- I hadn't been afraid then. Perhaps my intrepid streak was leaving me, I thought with despair.
I looked around, and then looked up. Birds were soaring in an immaculate V formation, fearless and self-assured. What I was about to do wasn't much different from what they were doing now, and I felt a twinge of envy.
The sun had risen higher, and beads of perspiration rolled down my face. The yellow light was blinding, and the layer of haze disappeared just as rapidly. My thoughts and bravery remained landlocked in my mind, and did not reflect on my actions. I simply stood at the edge, entirely aware of time ticking away, but doing nothing to slow it.
My brother had already jumped, and was on the other side of the valley. My searching eyes had spotted a minuscule red dot on that side, which then blended into the trees, on its way back to the cabin.
Time passed, and the hours grew longer. The heat became stifling, and I found myself longing for the refreshing water springs near the cabin. But I would have to get there, first... Sitting on a rock, I charted the path of the sun as it arced across the sky. I delighted myself in little sights and occurrences- a pebble with blue markings, a bright, green butterfly fluttering aimlessly, the clouds that raced each other in their haste to cover new territory...
The sun's vigor began to dim, and an invigorating breeze began to flow, cooling my flushed cheeks and renewing my excitement. The rays of sunset slashed the sky, turning it a mixture or orange and magenta.
Making a split-second decision, I stood up, adjusting my paragliding equipment. I had already gone paragliding before, but in a much friendlier environment. Being with an instructor, I hadn't even considered it as a memorable exploit. Impatient to relive the feelings of thrill and pleasure of the previous excursion, I mustered my courage for the thousandth time that day.
The sky was purple, and the sun had begun its venture across the horizon. A perfect, strong wind was blowing, and I released my parachute into the air, and jumped.

Before I knew it, I was flying.