Cyclonic musings

The speck of dirt on a spic saxophone
First autumnal leaf in the garden
Sour grape in a vintage vineyard year
Sightless in the gaggle of speech-less

Clauses

For, those with veiled eyes -
Will count the thorns on a rose
Will see the half-empty glass
And dunes, not the oasis beyond
Will see malice in kindness
And threats in helping hands

For, those with Is -
Are like horse eyes
Fail to see the other side
Are like the sun at night
Fail to see the other view

For, those with egos -
Will be blind to brutal honesty
And see only the sunnier side
Will consider wake up calls
As betrayal in friendly arms

For those who forget -
Ambitions are pickled from sweet mistakes
Superficial friends are not for rainy weekends

Womanity

Bright eyes still undimmed
Eloquent with undammed hope

Every blink an unspoken truce
With the world's aptitude
To pull down the free spirit

Each line etched in experience
Weighed down with careworn furrows
Grey strands count the sunsets

In the midst of conforming lives
To stand tall and claim due rights;
With no helping hands or kindreds
To sweeten each blow to wilting heart.

Courage to plough a solitary path;
Power of faith in one's own will
With dignity and integrity -
Defining passwords for life.

Antipathy

Hilarity of the insular psyche
Mindless scurrying in the brain

Random throwing of the stones
At unfamiliar parallel notions
Just abstracts for linear minds

Aftersought...

I sought a sought
A sought so soft
Softly slinking
Sneaking by...

"The Other Guy Counts Too"

Steven Colbert's heartfelt comment on the passage of Proposition 8 in California.



Excerpts:

"With so much hate in the world: with so much meaningless division and people pitted against each other for no good reason - is this what your religion tells you to do?"

"Let the tiny ember of love meet its fate. You are asked to stand not on a question of politics, not on a question of religion, not on a question of gay or straight. You are asked to stand on a question of love."

"This is the only world we have. And the other guy counts too."

“So I be written in the book of love. I do not care about that book above. Erase my name or write it as you will. So I be written in the book of love – Omar Khayyam."

whirl

For the world spins on
Reaching out for the shiny moon
With every gory sun that rises

Oblivious axis
Off louder tinny murmur
Clothed in satiny waves

Hope leaks
Trust clots

Make time for humane optimism
Amidst petering futures

A-Line

I listened once and heard no more.

Candid

I walked the glass shards
My pricked heart bleeding
Dripping droplets of blood
Mixing with dark dirt
Forming coloured patterns
In swampy kaleidoscopes

Dreams

Broken helix of thoughts
Twisted strands of desire
Like writhing snakes
In friendly lawns

A single window open
All doors bolted within
Enchanted form on bed
Overlooking grassy floors
Riddled with stalking lions

A floor of white snakes
Like miniature tapeworms
A single black slither
Like twisted heart’s desire

Harken!
The call of the black
The siren of my eyes
Under the thrall of night
In the bosom of stars

Block

A block of ice
A block of apartments
A block of cemented bricks
A block of ice cream
A block of French fries
A block of creative wood
A block of building blocks
A block of blank words
A block for blows
A b(f)lock of birds

This right here is:
Writer’s block

Have I Told You...

Have I told you
How a lick of snow tastes

Have I told you
About desirable lonesome oceans

Have I told you
About the adrenaline rush of skydiving

Have I told you
About stargazing in the tropics

Have I told you
Of the wonders of a forest inhabited

Have I told you
Of karaoke freedom in a Japanese bar

Have I told you
How freshly brewed wine tastes

Have I told you
Of discovering in deep veined mines

Have I told you
Of the aroma of freshly baked Amish bread

Have I told you
Of giggles that come with rice and chopsticks

Have I told you
Of the gorgeous Belgian bikeways

Or the sheer sensuousness
Of cruising in Kerala backwaters
Of watching a glorious tiger stalk
Of a ride on a majestic elephant
Of powerful sinews in a serene Masai
Of the blue-eyed Muscovite children
Of romantic nights in Parisian byways
Of colourful nostalgic markets in Morocco
Of beautiful women and bronzed men of the Nile
Of awe at Neimeyer's brilliance in Brasilia

Of a world resembling the leaves of a new book
Mysteries to discover; Mazes to decode
New lands to be explored
New people to be befriended

The exoticism of life
And the elixir of joy

Multiplied when absorbed and embraced
In the cocooning warmth of your love

Last Gasp

A decaying spectre
Odious green fumes
A scarlet haze
A red siren call

Chilled breath in heated embrace
Wispy tendrils of floating soul
Creeping through sludgey airs

Gaspy smiles on ashy faces
Streaked with crimson tricks
Gutless stumps on crispy legs

A wasteland of yellowed hope
Of crusty dreams & dried hearts
Of shrivelled angel wings
And scooped out trust

Of purple talk
In the nattering desert