Dud Sea Scrawls The Writing, clearly, is not on the wall!

(Here’s something I found that I’d written almost three years back!)

The fruits were sitting in a bowl
A pretty glass bowl it was
But they were in a very bad mood
and it was all because
the apple declared that he was the best,
for he didn’t have any flaws

Read the rest here

I think I’ve dug deep enough
No treasure here
I didn’t have a map
Perhaps
that was the problem
all along

Read the rest here.

Hello my madcaps
Have a good spring and enjoy the sunshine!!

When the world lies dreamless
Floating in a timeless abyss
Pushing through rock and gravel
Inching upward they travel
Little forgotten miracles
Hyacinths, tulips, daffodils
Breaking the ground with life anew
Heralding beginnings in every hue

Am I allowed to post here? I know I have not been a good DSS member, have not posted anything since Jan 2006 and have not even commented on any posts since a reaalllllyy long time. But I swear I have been reading everything here and DSS is in my favorites , I swear guys..And technically I am still a member..

Only for the diabetic:
http://asuph.wordpress.com/2007/09/19/shades-of-pale-green/

Verse, and more verses:
http://asuph.wordpress.com/2007/09/12/guardian-angel/

कल का कलंक
आज का चिंतन
कल का स्वपन
मैं था,
मैं हूँ .

क्यों विरोध करती हो
मेरे बावलेपन का
अबोध नहीं मेरी सोच
सरल है -

इच्छाओं से त्रसित
वासना से सिंचित
धरती-सी
अभी सूखी है,

पर कुछ समय दो
इस तृष्णा की तृप्ति के उपरांत

The question is: can I
rhyme?

http://asuph.wordpress.com/2007/08/31/the-hiatus/

देखता हूँ आइना जब भी,
कोई चेहरा नज़र नहीं आता
कोई पहचानता नहीं आजकल मुझको,
कोई मुझसा नज़र नहीं आता

गुमनाम नहीं होना था मुझे
और न ही अतीत में समाना था
पर खोजता हूँ तो आजकल में
मेरा वजूद नज़र नहीं आता

प्रीत की पहली नज़म मेरी लिखी हुई

Another poetic attempt: The Last Painting

ein dino: ek ghazal

Scribbling @
http://terminal-moraine.blogspot.com/2007/07/frayed-flame.html

More verses: The Twilight Zone

Every hiatus is like being treated with a nebuliszer. It’s time to relearn.

Here is my latest poem: Walk with me.

One for the rains ..
http://terminal-moraine.blogspot.com/2007/07/waterspout.html

Beautiful

In my head, I got a picture of you

I keep lookin’ at it – wondering why I keep lovin you the way I do

You’re not true – not even close

But you’re better than those

Who can’t walk my mind;

Or find -

The little place with an empty frame

I wish you’d scribble your name

So that I’d know

That even when you’d go

You’d go only to come back;

In my head, I hear your voice grow louder

I keep hearing what you say – wondering why I love to hear you that way

You’re not true – not even close

Rude shocks coming – I’m now a little numb
Wicked games playing – I play a whole lotta dumb
You see I’m this chick who couldn’t care less
I’ve been this victim of a whole lot of tenderness

Terribly gone wrong, someplace

I swear I had no damning addictions
I didn’t even care for them killer predilections
I was just trying – to setting the record straight
I’ve been accused of hurrying past – but I promised I could wait

But something, it don’t feel so right

I wore my heart on the sleeve, said I was for keeps

http://terminal-moraine.blogspot.com

When half of my nation sleeps
with half-filled bellies, under the half-roofs,
with half-hopes of a mouthful tomorrow,

when half of my nation grows up,
with half-rights to education and employment,
with half-health produces babies and with a half-heart,
chokes herself before the stoves that burn wood,
and cook half-water curries made with half-salt,

when half-length men walk the streets,
half-naked, willing to work for half-wages,
half-grown women slip into beds at half-price,

when half-sane leaders pocket half-funds,
and divide the nation into halves that fight,

(From the poet of as bizarre verses as Unbearable Lightness, Tutti Frutti, Come lets in Wilderness Meet, Pad Thai Noodles, (and yikes!), comes another poem, this time on kiss, in a form that goes by the name of Triolet. The only variation I have put to it, is end rhyme is not the usual ABaAabAB (A repeats three times, B twice and ‘a’ and ‘b’ rhyme with ‘A’ and ‘B’); but it is AA’aaAaaAA’. Since it is for practicing the form, I must have each line in similar meter, and I don’t know if I succeeded in that.

A kiss, a kiss, a spicy dish -
homemade serving of Goan fish?

I see an American Chinese immersed
in coffee in left hand and a book on her lap.
She raises the book with right hand.
The title titillates me:
“Why men love bitches”

I look at her and wonder-
how many will she get rabid, and how many
will she bite at the neck and how many
will she swallow and how?

Oct, 2006

BOOK: http://www.amazon.com/Why-Men-Love-Bitches-Dreamgirl/dp/1580627560
“Why Men Love Bitches: From Doormat to Dreamgirl-A Woman’s Guide to Holding Her Own in a Relationship”

I know i am anonymous, and yet i fear being discovered
I know i am never judged, and yet i worry every moment if i am right or wrong
I know i am faceless, and yet i fear losing face
I know i am nameless, and yet i fear the blame game
I know i am mortal, and yet i fear death

Why cant i let go and enjoy the ride?

You used to talk a lot.
Endlessly amble through words,
kicking pebbles of random thought
and stomp upon my objections.

Your legs were laced with gossip
curvy details of muscles and sin,
I had often held in my hands
new born rumors of your making.

You used to talk a lot.
Time trod like unwanted calf
while your stories milked the past
to exact each sigh and each laugh.

Your hair fell like curtains
but your voice rose beyond them
and even after leaving your room
my head buzzed with your hum.

You used to talk a lot.
So many words, so little meaning,

Pretty were your eyes,
O charm.

and luscious were your thighs.

Yet, the music that sways me now
is beyond a mere quick rise