Sunday, 4 May 2014

    VULTURE

     
                                       Chair With the Wings of a Vulture, 1960, Salvador Dali

 You fly high
But your gaze is on the carcasses
Crush, crunch and chew me
And be pleased with your false aura
That’s no more than some thin sticks
Easily broken and turn to ash
I am neither angry nor feel pain
When you stain your beak with my blood
Your clipped wings can’t take you there
Where I dwell
Delight on the body Black Bird
My soul is tied up elsewhere
                

Posted for Mag 218 @ Magpie Tales

&         


Shared with Open Link Monday @ Real Toads  



   

RING

                                         courtesy : google image

 

The black rings on face

Hiding those long, deep black eyes

What are you up to?



Posted for Haiku Horizons prompt Ring                                    

   

Saturday, 3 May 2014



     THUS  SPAKE  LOTUS

                           courtesy : google image



Let my soul be enraptured
By the soothing hue
Of petals opening out
Let the bee and butterfly alight
My language is nectar
I desire to proliferate
I long to embrace every water-hole
To whisper, talk, and sing
Of unity in diversity
Before I fade and wither
Let the lotus bloom
Let the fragrance spread

Posted for Fireblossom’s Mini-Challenge: Flash Fiction 55! @ Real Toads

&

Shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United





Friday, 2 May 2014



   A DATE
                                photo of swami vivekananda
It was 11th September 1893 in Chicago
Parliament of World’s Religions opened
Seven thousand thirsty souls had come
To drink the ambrosia
The men on dais were to pour
The thirty year old monk’s* throat dried up
For he never lectured before such audience
He simply kept on delaying
Suddenly there was no one left but he
Who had to deliver the speech
 Which he hadn’t kept ready
It was no child’s play….he had to stand up
And what did he utter?
“Sisters and Brothers of America” and no more
For a two minute standing ovation
And a thunderous applause greeted him
Then in that sonorous baritone he thanked
All present there and completed his small speech
He was known as “the Cyclonic Monk” after that
And turned out as the greatest figure
His life giving words were the Amrita**
People drank in gallons and received bliss
It was another 11th September

*·  Swami Vivekananda, born Narendra Nath Datta, was an Indian Hindu monk and chief disciple of the 19th-century saint Ramakrishna.Wikipedia, he passed away in 1902 at the age of 39.
Posted for Kerry’s Friday Challenge ~ Vignette  

**Amrita (Sanskrit: अमृत; IAST: amṛta) is a Sanskrit word that literally means "immortality", and is often referred to in texts as nectar. The word's earliest occurrence is in theRigveda, where it is one of several synonyms of "soma" as the drink which confers immortality upon the gods. It is related etymologically to the Greek "ambrosia",[1] and it carries the same meaning courtesy :  wikipedia

Thursday, 1 May 2014



   Unique And Perfect Are Your Dancing Feet


Unique and perfect are your dancing feet
Your eternal beauty captivates all
I don’t know when first did we ever meet
In countless birth my wonder did not pall
I lend my ear to your enchanting voice
Even my wrongs earn your indulgent smile
Your bounty to my fill do I rejoice
And here you are standing there without guile
You always did have a beaming visage
Why are those furrows lining in your brow?
What does the storm through the nostril presage?
Why in the sea tipping is my ship’s prow?
In shine, rain and storm you’ve lived through ages
You do detest outlasting on pages*

*If we are not careful either Nature or mankind will live in books only
Posted for Tony’s prompt @ d’Verse Poets Pub


Wednesday, 30 April 2014



   SUNSET

                                 courtesy : google image

That eye of promise
Does set every heart aflame
With returning pledge


Posted for Alan’s prompt Sunset @ Poetry  Jam


   MAY DAY

                                                 courtesy : google image

The trigger happy police
Always first to fire
They try to trap the naive
In political quagmire
The telegraph pole
They filled with bullet-hole
And are very prompt to put
Truth on funeral pyre
This is the story of each and every nation
Thus workers unite for May-Day Celebration

Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ May Day or Walpurgis Night @ Poets United