Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Jan 2021 Sekhar
Shrika
Hoppípolla
 Jan 2021 Sekhar
Shrika
Monsoon's panoply,        
               a dimpled day's
smile;              
                    windstrewn        ­­      ­              
                                 gulmohars,
                    ­          a blushing brocade,
                     'plop'-ing droplets,      
                     a lilting cadence;
                                                ­       ­     
nostalgia                             
    pervading through                      
  the silver-scented      
       ­            puddles of a        
paperboat's elation;        
July evenings                              
                           and      
                                         trinkets of
                         yesterday...



.
...Tiptoeing back inside in my wet shoes
 Jan 2021 Sekhar
Valsa George
The blue sky, dotted with white clouds
The sun, in its last lap of race
The slanting rays gleam in crystal glow
Their beauty to the earth they bestow

As I stand and watch this lovely evening
I experience an inner glow of a deific kind
Elegant colors flow and fade
As the sun paints a paradise before me

The river lies arched like a lunar crescent
In my ears falls the sound of lapping waves
As she winds her course through verdant banks,
She speaks a language I can hardly understand

Without pause, she moves on relentless
Eager to join the ocean’s devouring embrace
Scripting the songs of her arduous journey
And chiming her anklets in soundless rhythm

There is a divine sweetness in the air
My exhalation blends with the cool wind
That whirs softly humming a mild tune
Birds get ready for their evening symphony

The twilight smiles and sends the sun away,
Obscuring manifold vistas near and far
Night quickly spreads its dark wings
It's time to make a move, homeward....!
A real experience ...... !
 Jan 2021 Sekhar
annh
𝙶𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝-𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎,
𝙲𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚀𝚞𝚎𝚎𝚗𝚜 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚔,
𝙿𝚞𝚗𝚔-𝚊-𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚠𝚗.

𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚕, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛,
𝚂𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗, 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚜:
|𝕬𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖈𝖍𝖞 (𝕻)𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖊𝖘 𝕵𝖚𝖉𝖌𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙|

𝙰 𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐-𝚊-𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚎,
𝙰 𝚍𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚑, 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚗𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚢.
𝙾𝚒!



𝙸 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢’𝚜 𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝’𝚜 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚜. 𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚞𝚙𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚖, 𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚔, 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚕𝚎, 𝚠𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏𝚠𝚊𝚢.
‘Daith’, ‘conch’ and ‘nosegay’ describe a variety of body piercings. Historically, a nosegay (in the small-bouquet-of-flowers sense of the word) was either hand-held or attached to clothing to fend off disease and plague.

‘I had choosen the path of the black sheep
rather than that of the unicorns and puppies.’
- Magenta Periwinkle, Cutting Class
 Jan 2021 Sekhar
Corrinne Shadow
Why do I only dream of summer
When snow covers the ground?
Why do I only long for spring buds
When the first fallen leaf is found?

Why, while I lie in the sweltering heat
Do my thoughts turn to crisp candy canes, oh so sweet?

I can only enjoy the season
That is opposite to mine own;
If I am in warmth I am boiling,
If cold, I am chilled to the bone.
I need to learn to be a bit more grateful I think.
 Nov 2020 Sekhar
Corrinne Shadow
And then White Winter fell,

The haunting breath of fall to quell.

The light’s last gleam, so soft and bright,

Was shattered on that frigid night.

She prayed that it might be alright,

But then white winter fell.
 Nov 2020 Sekhar
Corrinne Shadow
Two hearts bound,
Twining round
A thorny vine.
It's yours and mine.

Two hearts bleed.
My guilt, your greed.
You took away
My yesterday.

Two hearts kiss.
You longed for this.
I stood my ground.
Now we are bound.
Why are only the morbid poems natural to me? If I try to write something happy it just seems forced.
Next page