HaikuWrimo 2007 - Portrait 31 For A Grandmotherthousand lineseach has a storychildren cuddling to hear them(17th October)For An Actresslayers of make upglisteningin utopian world(18th October)For An Architectcutting lines over white sheetsdreaming skyscrapers(19th October)For A Politiciancounting voteshopping from one party to otherriots and strikes to impress(20th October)For A Farmertilling the brown landsclipped hands over heavy ploughsmiling over green fields(21st October)For A Potterwhirling the wheelshapes the earthwith nimble fingers(22nd October)For A Lawyerblack courtsburying innocenceunder green p
Lost Knight Walking slowly on my way, I hope it would end someday.I may have many words to ply, But all poets compose and die.Have memories to cherish, Moments after they perish.Have countless words to say,A chequered game to play.A betwixt game with lost knight,I laugh at my rotten plight.I look back hoping you’re there,Just feel my opponent’s snare.As I walk on my own way,I meet dead ends everyday.There are tears to be burned,Such injuries I ‘have earned.For your soft touch, I do yearn,But in my way I can’t turn.I walk alone in my way,I know, it would end one day.
The Nest The day plucked, puked with the stillness of a being. Three seasons reining nature, with unwanted scrutiny, stumbles, hops over dead leaves. Roads forget to turn or end. Yes, they dwindle a while hoping for light but winds wane with drooping flowers inspiring them to run wild. Winter with frail skirt, tried well to walk but slipped; tore her skirt over rocks. She cuddled and howled over her nudity; nudity which Homo sapiens termed elegance. Elegance studded with rubies, bloody rubies of innocent beings jutting out of fallen homes, lost for drawing simple lines over multi-colored maps. Surviving crowd forgot the touch of flowers as others wipe
Dusk bird's black silhouettestains the red skywhile sun drownswith silent nigha stranger strollsbehind in dreamspresent giggleslike some hushed streamsa beggar devoid legsdrags himself to mea shapeless pan in one handwhile other blessed mea coin of pity fellfor blessing few cursed soulsclanking within emptinessslapping hearts with mute holesthe lonely bench still criesfor the space builtby calm diffidenceand nameless guiltafter whispering a namewild winds hurry themselves and hidefrom one leaf to otherruffling tears hidden insidedim lights wake uplengthening the shadowsveiling worldprowling thr
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