Over a little Sin

Over a little Sin

it’s not just love, that I have in me

my soul is a little hateful too

it’s not only smile that I wear on my lips

my soul gets angry too

true, I have compassion to fill me

at times I feel a little of rage

yes, I am gentle most of the times

yet, stubbornness puts me in a cage

I am a human

am I to be flawless?

without having tasted a little sour of me

would they know the taste of the sweet

for all my emotions, for all my faces,

I tend to feel complete

I guess, the cycle of tastes

must go on, to take circles now and then

isn’t that the secret, to make us all

relish the good, over a little sin

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#poetry #sin

The Rich Grain in its Wood

The Rich Grain in its Wood

the giant table, luxuriating in my study

where I spent many days, many nights

engrossed, in my books of all titles

reading, for long hours with no sense of time

during the day, I opened my window

in the night, that old lamp lit to light

the table served me well,

it was polished, it shined

it’s surface smooth against my skin

I thoroughly enjoyed sitting on my chair

with my legs stretched under my table

tired sometimes

I even rested on it lazily

I owned it, utilized it, lived my years with it

almost developed, a relationship silent

yet to my surprise, somehow

I missed to notice

those dim beautiful patterns

formed, by the rich GRAIN in its wood

image source

#table #wood #poetry #grain

The Junkyard

The Junkyard

for their little left worth

to be sold, for few pennies

Junk, sitting in the Junkyard

a wooden chair with a broken arm

its fabric stinking of some heavy metal

an air conditioner with its compressor broken

the plug on it’s wire missing, at the end

books from the past, their paper turned yellow

with many missing pages, their covers all torn

a bike with its handle twisted

tyres deflated, the paddles jammed

broken toys of all sorts and shapes

a little horse, a train and a few barbie dolls

Junk in the Junkyard lying without any life

spider’s net covering some of it

layers of dust covering it all

it may be, of little worth today

or may be, of no worth at all

yet, the Junkyard holding it all so dearly

not wanting to let go any of it

because it has held the junk for so long

the Junkyard NOW

ONLY COMPLETE with the Junk

image source

#poetry #junkyard

A Kiss on my Neck

A Kiss on my Neck

he gifted me a necklace once

soothing pearls sewn in a golden thread

making love simultaneously

to the ones onto their right and to the left

as I wore it, the pearls hugged my neck

I felt a shiver of his love caressing me

must I admire his choice so rich

how gorgeous I looked wearing it

he came from the behind as I looked into the mirror

he pretended he wanted to touch the necklace

sure he was, I would catch him pretending

with no interest in the necklace that moment

he just wanted to place his lips on my neck

a secret, he told me then

the necklace was never too appealing to him

yet, he bought it without a second thought

for he wanted to steal a chance to come close to me

and kiss me on my neck

image source

#love #gift

Thumbs Theory

Thumbs Theory

thumbs on the hands

sad, left out to wonder

forming a group, the fingers unite

why have the thumbs been set aside

pretty rings, are all for fingers

beautiful and long

they sway to form many gestures

desirable to be touched by the lovers

they work to brush the soft pink lips

caress a loving face, hold it to kiss

in the meanwhile

the short and the cornered thumbs

sitting to rest, feeling too dumb

they are yet to realize their worth

do they know their part is to inspire

for thumbs up is the gesture we all aspire

going up of them bring a million smiles

fill life with laughter,

make spirits to touch the skies

well! well!

the thumbs are now happy, taking pride

they now have grasped

the PURPOSE of their existence

they now have understood

the thumbs theory

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#ThumbsUp

My Writings – My Life

My Writings – My Life

illusions, imaginations

provocative, silly sometimes

my writings

they are musings of a broken heart

painfully beautiful

evolved from relations

from a daughter, from a mother

a lover’s fascinations

my writings

they are perceptions

of a person aspiring

notions of a heart inspiring

dull at times, sometimes divine

my writings

they smile, they cry and bleed

hoping high for readers to pay heed

my writings – my life

image source

#writings