Anxiously, Yours!

The offering of life
isn’t the one that’s dreamt.

It could’ve been anything
but it just wasn’t wanted.

Yet, a wish is made
shaping flexibly to expectations.

Why do we make a wish
only over a falling star?

Is it not vacating today
and burdening tomorrow?

An extra-ordinary
warrior, they call.

An extra of ordinary
worry-er, it seems.

When everyone is out of mind,
who cares what’s inside one’s mind?


Have you seen or been someone instilling hope into people facing tough times? I don’t mean advice here, but lending ears and providing words of comfort. I’ve been on both the giving and the receiving ends. Though the intention is good, sometimes, it just fuels the anxiety. This is a free verse that addresses such a scenario.

Glaucous

frozen quintessence

empyrean domain drains

into glaucous grapes


The frosted look of the concentrated essence (quintessence) is nothing but the melted (drain) colors of the sky (empyrean domain) that have taken shelter inside the glaucous-colored grapes in a frozen form.

More syllabic poetry on colors here -> A-Z Haiku Tautograms.

Credits

In response to  Colleen’s ‘#TankaTuesday Weekly Poetry Challenge #268’. 

Support Stake

Can’t claim to know those eyes
but I feel, their warm glimpse.
Can’t imagine the unseen face
but with it, I share a smile.

In this fleeting world
I struggle, to balance the float.
With a kind radiance
someone presents, a string of support.

They say some are for you
while some are not.
If family is a supportive group
can strangers be family too?


Have your dreams ever been supported by a person you’ve hardly spoken to or met? If yes, I bet that must have felt great. This free verse is a little tribute to such angels in the dark.

Credits

In response to  Sadje’s ‘What Do You See Prompt #127’. 

Patterns

shelter of patterns
offer hindsight or foresight
clear blatant vision

Aren’t patterns astonishing? We take shelter in them while also wanting to break them. Quite ironical, is it not?

The varied hues of clouds at dusk, stars at night, the rustle of a coconut palm, the ripples on a silent pool, the aggregation of ice crystals that present us the snow fractals, animal and human behaviour are all nothing but patterns. On a bigger scale, the Milky Way Galaxy which we’re a part of has spiral patterns depicting a Fibonacci sequence in space. Isn’t that stunning? These regularities that reveal themselves in our observations often offer a sense of satisfaction to confused minds, and act like a shelter to hazed thoughts.

Not only in nature are these configurations present. We plan our days, maintain a consistent routine to manage the time and weave a pattern around us consciously or otherwise. We accidentally meet a good old friend, and at once our brain frames a pattern of longing to meet them all. Rhyme schemes are also patterns used by poets to please their readers. Even chaos we face in our lives is an unrecognized pattern which barely gets recognized. That’s what has transformed into the cliché of ‘history repeats itself’.

But, as much as patterns fascinate me, I feel that they’re also a trap. 

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Chaotic Opportunities

Aren’t confusions chaotic opportunities that help in ending up with the right choice? Here’s a free verse on the same, with a six-word story at the end.

Under a net of confusions
disguised as vermilion veils,
are complex clutters.

Beyond the blindspot
was a discovery in the dark,
the beauty in balance.

Compromise or Adjustments?
No more confusions!

Credits & Footnote

Inspired by Shweta’s ‘6WSP #100’ – ‘Confusion’.

Featured image:
Photo from Pexels .

Disappearance

“I thought you’d leave me, forever”.

As a new norm, they communicate and discuss their deeply troubling issues in the relationship to strengthen the bond. But, this was totally unexpected. It’s not even a thought that has crossed the poor mind or that could even be imagined!

“After a little fight, your figure disappearing at the end of the street still remains inked in my mind. I hadn’t expected you to leave me then, that too locking me in.”

“I don’t even remember the incident. Which day are you talking about? Is it not a usual thing to lock you in when I go out temporarily so as to not disturb your task?”

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Splendour Streaks

her territory

illuminates beneath the

starry sparkling skin

as his caliginous cloak

catapults strings of silver

The tanka pictures the scene of a meteor shower. The territory is that of the planet Earth and the cloak belongs to the sable sky.

The poem can also be conceived as an expression of love, wherein the act of a man who appears hard on the outside (dark cloak) opening up his soft inner self (silvery streaks) to his beloved would illuminate her world that is already sparkling with the bond they share.

Credits & Footnote

Inspired by Colleen’s ‘Tanka Tuesday #239’. 

Featured Image: Getty Images.

Fall

The water falls
With the fallen leaves
Which make no sound
As the season spells fall.

They flow together
As the stream flows
To sink in the bed of beauty 
Steered by the scream of streams.

As autumn (season of fall) arrives in one’s life, at times, they (leaves) surrender to the closest cascade (waterfall) silently with no choice, even after which the unfulfilled memories follow the time’s (stream’s) flow to the bed (death) at the end of one’s beautiful life that would have been lived with the desired content and joy (screams).

Credits & Footnote

Featured Image:
Photo from Simon Berger on Unsplash.

Dreams Take Flight

Have you had a night full of peaceful sleep that your eyelids just refuse to open, in spite of you being inspired with dreams of hope to have a productive day? I just had one such today. At such times, which dreams will you let take flight – the dreams of the night or those of the day? Today, sadly for me, it was the former.

Here are two takes on the same thought; each one is a verse of the poetic form – Naani.

——– Take 1 ——–

Her eyelids refuse 
to leave the bed of peace,
impeding determined dreams 
when it's time to take a flight.

Syllable count: 25

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Kill the Honour

Is it not time we kill those man-made social constructs like religion, race, caste, and class in which humans still hide their inexistent honour? Emphasizing this thought, this free verse is written with six words in each line, and a six-word story is quoted at the end.

Disparaging sanity of love, honour glows. 
The crushed dreams fuel its fire. 
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