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Poetry Palette

….where the muses flirt….

Sometime at twilight
When I finally walk home
I know no bed shall be fine enough
To rest this pittance of a life,
The life of a fallen angel
Withered and wings broken
Bearing the blues of a merciless clout,
A solitude in its devastating beauty
Wringing its deathly claws
Around my neck, burdened
by your words treading precariously
In the quicksand of destiny.

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Waiting For You (one from Love for the Rain, Coffee and You)

Where
have you run away to
From my eyes
My outstretched hands,
Leaving my body
Parched
From the void
The loss
Of your kisses moist?

Where
in this forsaken land
Have you built
Your crystal bed,
Leaving my soul
Torn
From the pain
The wounds
Of your betrayal?

Where
in the timeless sands
Are you drifting
Stealthily,
Leaving me
Lost
In the numbness
The woe
Of your echo?

When,
When will you come
To my flaming abode
With your tender hugs
Frenzied love
And sweep me off my broken sleep?

When,
When will you come
O Rain
When will you come again?

**********************************

-Nisha Prabhakar

She Still Lives

(Written sometime in 2013)

———————————————————-

Every night here, history repeats
When her callused life welcomes the lust
The soiled path down the centuries
Of incessant toil, of shame,
Of nights that never lay quiet.
Her bread, her child, the padlocks in vain,
A man, one too many, a need no different
A Time she cannot turn around.
Every hundred, or two, not enough to veil her wound
Of every abuse, bruise, blood uncleansed.
Every night when her curves are mindless erotic
And days, days her shadow filthy faeces!
When at night her hut transforms, her palace, her bed of finest feathers
Her days become a burning task to keep her roof.

Oh! But what SHE lusted for?
A life..
And love?
..and yet she traces history, again
And again, leaving nothing new, but toil
That left a hundred not just raped, but a lot more
Of sweat we will never see.

Women!
The lights are red, the hive is awake
New men, a new world, to live and die again
To write again, to carve..a destiny, dull and dreary
Driven by silhouettes of time-worn mores,
And she still lives
By silent tears and unkept promise
Of never again!

For All The Difference In The World

(A scribble from sometime in 2013)

–––———–——-–———————————
It is the evening of your life
And you look back to your restless days
When you strove to make all the difference in the world.
You think of all that you knew were right
For which you bore the brunt of your beloved
And you think of your little hypocrisies
That nevertheless bought happiness to them.
Fun-filled reckless days, speeding down the roads,
To the bliss of union, blessings from the past,
Each race and rush in life, every moment
That you strove to, to make all the difference in the world.
You choices, opinions, ideas, your ceaseless rebellion,
Those hectic days gambling for wealth, better homes
quality furniture, costly lifestyle. Those parties
where you proudly stood with your head high
Upon your status in the society. Those smiles
whose depths were unmeasured. You dared not-
for the fear of hollowness.
So you strove, strove to make all the difference in the world.
And this evening, as you look back
And look around to all that you earned, wondering
when was it you took rest, whether this was it..
You stare around at what you strove for,
Wondering
Whether it made any difference at all.

-Nisha Prabhakar

NILA

09/08/2018

On an unsung night

You abruptly gushed

Through the forsaken veins

Your bewitching anklets

And mesmerizing musk

Hauling me

To your daunting depths.

A Tale of Decades

How many years

Through the yellowed pages

Ravaged by the termites

of human race

You trickled

In self-doubt,

A rag picker

From the distant lands.

How

Your midnight music

Turned groans

By the Satans of sand

A solipsistic graveyard,

Lost causes, wayward reasons,

A Dump of hollow idols

And ideals,

A drain

Of infested supremacy.

How

Through the collective sighs

From the mouth

Held shut by the hands

That killed your pride,

You dragged your fractured feet,

Your heavy gasps

Piercing the drooping men

Who reared their lives

from your hands.

And still you bore

Through the grinding limbs

To smile wearily

At the cherubs

And the grown-ups

Whose imprints on your banks

Are fugitives

As short-lived

As your life.

11/08/2018

Your soft sobs

In the desolate darkness

Still haunt me,

Breaking my will to walk away

From your relentless call

For a friend

To script the deluge

And it’s final fall.

———————————-nisha (fearing the next time will be the last time)

Our First Rain

I look at you

And I know why

We walked together

That day

The dusk set in

Mellow in its strides,

Fondling a breeze

Narcotic

To our dreamy ramble

Reaching out

To a magical brush

That painted a path

Of divine hues

From me to you.

.

I reveled

At the wildness

Of a fair night

We scaled

A dream

To breathe

The ethereal aura

An addictive chill,

Stringing the hypnotic notes

That broke

Not upon the rocky shores

But in a frenzy quest

Upon our unfathomable

And flaming souls.

.

From the daily drudge

To an enchanting air

Ancient

In it’s tales

And ruins of royalty,

We ambled

With us

To an enticing night

Of desire

Where

On the banks

Of an ecstatic Tunga

We celebrated

Our first rain together.

******************************

Nisha Prabhakar

Love Blue

The sky, I’ve been told

Is impossible to reach,

An illusion gift-wrapped

With a million dreams,

A netherworld

With a perfect kingdom,

And a life’s journey

That is endlessly happy.

And all you can do

Is to stand and stare

At all that is there

And all that you fancy to be.

.

For years I waited

By the rumbling shores,

Stubbornly gazing

At limitlessness

For the angels to pick

This abandoned seashell

Till somewhere in time

I wanted no more

No more of the fairy tales

Because I’d fallen in love

Not with the sky that isn’t

But with the Blue that is.

-Nisha Prabhakar

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