Tuesday, 2 September 2014


source here

I really am an antique piece

I walk in sari, prefer flip-flops

A lady height impaired


Not extravagant

Never swoon over new fashion

Yet I like jeans

When next gen wears them


Not all varieties


Tattered or pencil ones

Are my eyesore




I am totally a fashion police

If an Indian lady my age

Puts them on




It’s….umm…..a faux pas




Jeans give them a droll look

So devoid of roots


I’m in a pall of gloom


Written for Laurie’s prompt Jeans @ Poetry Jam

The Speaking Tree

No one’s here to talk aloud

Talk, talk, talk aloud

My lips are sealed

My word weary soul

Rests, rEsts, reSts

Songbirds wrest peace

From a whirlwind

And drop it into my heart

My eyes wearing the sky as kohl

Sees a world emancipated

From the fetters of word

I hear my magnolias speak

In brave, bold, fiery colors

Of those drops of blood

That were, are and will be

Shed, shed, shed everywhere

Wise, old leaves lying on the ground whisper

Assure me of Time, Peace, Birth and Fall

Colors, colors, colors reign here

My world speaks in hues

And connects all


This is for d’Verse Poetics where we are writing poems on Claudia Schoenfeld’s art

I chose Claudia's my magnolias but I could not get it published for some unknown error. The sketch is wonderful and I wish someone would write on it. However I am posting mine.