Genie

 Do you hear the people sing?

Yes?

The more i hear

The less i feel. 

I keep rubbing

A phantom gland

Maybe muscle memory

Its no aladdin's lamp

All i feel is sore

Crying for once more. 

Maybe its not a portal 

But a wound 

we have overcome

Maybe now its time

To stop hearing 

And start listening

Begin once again. 

A grown up baby 

is not grotesque

Its just groot. 

So

Inhale the music

The scent of today!

Get goosebumps

Heck! Even enid blyton

Lets catch smugglers in

Mysterious moors

Please just hold that magnifying glass

Very tight 

On the famous five senses

You will be born again

And this time you will dance. 

Written for the what's going on? challenge

And PU prompt of beginning again and again.

Sparse Poetica

 

(My tribute to Ars Poetica by Archibald Macleish which made me sit up and notice a poem) 

A poem is a globed fruit 

palpable yet mute 

Can borrow a few words 

How cute! 

Honest yet not straightforward 

need not be attached to any rhyme scheme

Just needed to externalise the inner scream 

of a once ignored teenager 

Just open the floodgates 

A spontaneous overflow of my repressed emotions

An abstract art of mythical proportions

 makes the melancholy of a monotone 

sound rich like a broadway baritone. 

A poem need not be

A masterpiece , a marvel 

An idea so novel 

that there are odes written to it. 

It can simply be 

A moment in time crystallised with words 

A gasp of the gut 

So well put 

that you thought someone put their hand down your throat

and pulled it out 

like a rabbit from 

a hat 

or a hole 

A poem is a sieve 

which separates the chaff from the grain 

A pensieve 

and a penmanship on pain. 

( In response to What's going on? Blog's Poetry is prompt) 

Resolution

 Reclaim

Rekindle

Rebirth 

A beautiful prompt for the new year 2023 by Poet's and storyteller's  united 

Resolution

Rising from water

I rinse my soul

Of uncleanly remnants

Belonging to a rabid past.

 

I emerge calmer than

the wind which breathed

Life to my nose

Regaling gales which knocked

my wind before

will just leave my soul sour

I pledge to do that no more.

 

Fresh start

From ashes apart

Will bear fruit

Only if you stop being everyone’s favorite fool

Be ugly, Be astute.

 

 

 

 

Destiny's Child

 

For the Sunday muse 

 

 

The lines of your palm

Are laced with napalm

You will keep searching for calm

Yet your hands will keep you warm

From a world full of harm.

 

Your path you walk is only yours

Your umbrella cannot protect you

From the puddles underneath

You will weather the wet &

Become a bonafide vet.

 

You will survive,

You are destiny’s child

The roads you walk will

Always be the ones not taken

Not out of sheer rebelery

But an innate sense of revelry

So child!

Don’t rely on fate,

Your destiny is in your hands.

is what I would want my palm reader to say xD 

Cuckoo

 

Firmly rooted at the same spot

For Two decades and a half,

I was jealous of the monkey a lot.

Jumping between me and her

He wreaked havoc in my heart.

I yearned for bold adventure

Till one day he snapped me in half.

 

Then I began developing slow respect

For this lovely bird,

Who was content to perch on me

He enjoyed my silence &

I his comforting baritone.

He decided to call me home

And nested in my bosom.

 

We would watch double rainbows

And hilarious humans

With equal interest.

 

It was magical while it lasted

But he was a bird and I a tree,

One day I had to set him free

To migrate to new places

Will he come back?

And when he does

Do I want him back?

 

Soon I’ll be old

And I live in India

They will tie ropes on me

And start calling me goddess

And worship my bareness

Call me wise &

Never let me rise.

 

Or worse

They will forget me

And the clouds will stop cooperating

They will cut me with their axes

And make me into a table

Or whatever the hell they want.

Oh god I hope not!

 

We are what we believe

And I believe I hear in my green ears

The handsome music of tomorrow ~

 

If i were to die soon

 

Credits : Deviant Art

If I were to die soon

It would be probably be my greatest undoing

At the peak of my youth

I may have succumbed to a bit too many

Seductive sins.

Maybe it was just the lightning

Since I am a rod to one too many 

frightful happenings.

I would say sorry to all my darlings,

I have definitely lived well

A frog in a peaceful pond

I am not averse to the urban land.

The skies however make me giddy,

Motion sickness has made to not look up

So far.

I have definitely lived well

And I look forward to what comes up

Beyond life as well.

Will there still be a I?

Will this I look into the god’s eye

Or just be a digit in the proverbial pi?

I am ready to find out

Not just right now!

Loved this prompt from the Poets and story tellers united where they challenged us all to picture ourselves in our deathbed!

 

Wanderlust

Once upon a time

Being a wanderlust

Was seen as a mental disorder

By flat earthers

(irony duly noted)

 

Then we had the likes of Columbus

Find his ‘India’

And kill a lot many Indians

In the inane name of ‘colonialisation’

And killed many a civilisation

In the name of observation.

(irony again noted)

 

Then came the modern ages

Where every instagrammer

Pronounced themselves a wanderlust

And travelled the roads always taken

As long as they got a selfie

And a pic for their tinder bio.

 

Out of the corner of the eye

In a lorry packed with explosives

Came in crazy corona.

Travel was now confined to

The end of our streets

And inside our eye

Where the mind meets

And give us little treats

From the camera of the past

To vacations visited last

And memories gone by fast.

 

Home which was once a retreat

Has now become a place of deceit

Where we now work and relax not

Suddenly our third eye and an old map

Is all we got!  

 

Written for Sunday muse and Writer's Pantry

Liquid Heart

 

 ##skylover wordlist - Alchemy , implacable , knight , aqua , mask , aloof , almond , nocturnal , landscape , sting.

 

 

These nocturnal mornings..

A product of virus induced,

Unstable raging routines

Sting me just a bit more when

It dawns upon me that,

 

My knight in shining whatever

Will find it just a bit more impossible

To track me down.

My face covered with equal measures

Aloofness & N97 masks.

 

My implacable heart demands

An alchemy of sorts

Or atleast a reverse osmosis

Of this aquatic almond

In the centre of my chest,

 

To leak the leanings of my liquid heart

Unto the larger landscape

And hope love finds me

Before it is a bit too late.

 

I thank Kerry for her monthly word list. That really inspired me and I ended up incorporating all the words to make one poem.