The First Rains of Monsoon

When the first rains of monsoons

Stir up the sand this year

I will smile, and remember you.


Do you smile now

When you see the plantain and jack fruit

You planted, shining under the blue grey sky?


You were a man of love.

I almost forgot how rare

Kindness is in this world,

How easily boys can break hearts,

When you smiled.


The land is dry now

A month later, the rains will arrive,

And I will be home.

A home without you.



Finding You

Writng 201: Poetry

Prompt: Landscape, form: found poem, device: enumeratio

I haven’t followed the suggested form for this one. Too much work. 😛


I want to find you, away

From these four walled brightly lit rooms where people sit in a daze

Away from the dull voices, the meaningless walks with a definite destination

Away from a place where trees grow in near lines and the grass is levelled

Away from all this order, neatness and death.


I want to find you, again and again

Discover everything that I had lost, forgotten, ignored and unloved

In a world of ticking clocks and calculated meals and tight schedules.


I want to find you in a place

Where I can love you like I want to

Love your hands and your eyes, your fingers, your forehead, your smiles

Where I can listen to the shifts of your voice, your laugh, your breath

Where I can lie down, feel the grass pressed hard against my knuckles,

Look up at the endless sky patterned with haphazard branches and swaying clouds

Where I can know and love, for sure, all that you are,


I want to find you where I can love you,

I want to find you, away.


The Lovely Lady in Grey

Writing201: Poetry

Day#6 Prompt: Hero/Heroine, Form: Ballad, Device: Anaphora, epistrophe


The children loved to wait in the way

Where walked the lovely lady in grey

Their lives were mostly sad blues

The lady’s smile gave it a brilliant hue.


The children were poor, you see

Their clothes were torn and dirty.

But when walked the lovely lady in grey

They felt the beam of the brightest part of the day.


The children in wait every morning lay

For there walked the lovely lady in grey

She brought food, she lingered a while

They loved it best when she would smile.


The children led rough lives in mean streets

And slept cold beneath tattered sheets

So when here walked the lady in grey

Her smile was like a pretty bouquet.


One day the lovely lady in grey looked in the mirror

And decided life wasn’t worth living with all the horror

Her death mattered to few, no flowers on her grave except

The wayside flowers picked by the children who wept

For the lovely lady in grey.

To be Lost Again


I drew the lines, the perfectly measured squares
Then I planted my feet firmly inside them.

The squares were permanent, wherever I went
They made sure that I never crossed the line.

I tiptoed from square to square,
Careful not to step on a line.

My life was a set of perfectly orderly blocks,
Something I could navigate easily, even in death.

Then I met you, and the squares couldn’t hold me
In the pauses between your words and the interludes between your smile,
I found my own laughter, and felt what it was to be lost again.


NaPoWriMo Day#4: There are a couple of variants on the lune form, but just to keep things simple, let’s try the version developed by Jack Collum. His version of the lune involves a three-line stanza. The first line has three words. The second line has five, and the third line has three. You can write a poem that consists of just one stanza, or link many lune-stanzas together into a unified poem.


Two shy faces

Talked from across the hall

It was love.


Two shaky hands

Squeezed their quaking hearts out

They were scared.


Two bold strides

Taken tentatively by trembling feet

They were brave


Two dazzling smiles

Which were impossible to hide

They were happy


Two silent tears

Fall when no one’s looking

They were memories.



Those days when I wake up feeling

As if my spirit had fled my body

Leaving behind a hollow corpse,

The days when teeth bite my insides

Every time my lips stretch into a smile

When my eyes become cloudy suddenly

And tears trickle slowly, like a barren monsoon


Those days when all I am is reduced to being a hypocrite

When faking comes so easily that I feel that it defines me

Frantic laughter, senseless words, desperate smiles

Cover up my frailty in front of myopic eyes.


On such days, I hesitate to meet your gaze

And realize, in the depths of your discerning eyes

My hypocrisy, my cover, my protection fall away

And I’m left trembling in my vulnerability.


When I look at you on those days, 

I cannot figure out which emotion engulfs me:

Is it my scorching need that you see me this way?

Or is it cold hatred for you because you see so easily

What others can never see, what I hide so well?