He floats in the air,
Swaying, prancing,
Twirled by the breeze,
Moving, dancing.
A dance in the air,
On hidden wings,
In love with the music,
Of the wind.
Graceful moves,
A performance brief,
Gently swirling,
The falling leaf.
For a moment on the ground,
He rests and stays,
Then another breath of wind
And swept away!
Flitting, floating,
Up and down,
Slowly in a ring,
Around and around.
Choreographed by the breeze,
In delight once more,
The breeze and the leaf . . .
The dance, encore!

Carousel of clouds,
Tufts of white in a blue sky,
Merrily go round,
Up — down—up celebrating,
The carnival of morning.

No ode for you, periwinkles
No exalted verse or prose
No lover's gift you will be
Unlike the regal rose
Not placed in summer bouquets
In vases - never seen
Nor gracing dark tresses
Nor found in floats of dreams
Yet sweet you are to me
Happy in blue and white
With your merry little faces
Like fairies and lithe sprites.

She sells flowers in little bunches,
Sweet fragrances that please,
Delicate sepals of life,
That softly speak.

Bouquets of living colours,
Petals of inspiration,
Roses, chrysanthemums,
Daisies, carnations.
Accent blossoms, gerberas,
Lilies smiling in myriad hues,
Sunflowers a darling yellow,
Vibrant orchids in splendour blue.

With her touch, beauty breathes,
Glorious blossoms thrive,
Delicately arranged,
Floral expressions come alive.

For new love that slowly blooms,
For confessions yet to be said,
The finest of her finest,
She ribbons roses dark rich red.

Fond good health thoughts,
Through florals expressed,
She’ll wrap with gentle care,
With love’s tenderness impress.

She’ll weave wreathes and garlands,
Blends of wistful white, blues, pinks,
For memories left behind,
Now distant imprints.

In sweet scents, she colours days, months, years,
Walks alone each night when she is done,
Back home, no florid fragrance fills her senses,
To colour her world there is no one.

I have boxes of memories
Well-marked and stored
And I am adding new ones
So that there are many more
Though life is not a rainbow
Nor is there sunshine all the way
I can still laugh and smile
And box a memory every day

Grateful for the blue skies
For the warmth of a day 
For soft drops of rain

For lilac buds and trees 
Dancing leaves 
For ocean waves on sandy grains. 

Grateful for what is seen 
Touched, felt 
In whispers heard

The moment that soaks in 
The little joys of life 
Midst the spinning of the world.

Grateful for wine and water
Fruit of orchards
Seasons that shed

For hands that help 
Eyes that speak 
With words unsaid.

Grateful for those who love 
For the wind behind
Feathered wings

For angels that twinkle 
Through the stars 
And the light they bring.

Grateful for kindness 
Tenderness 
Hugs in gentle embrace

Grateful for smiles 
That come my way 
That my fingers love to trace.

Grateful for rays of hope 
That fill a cup 
Then glimmer on the rip

Grateful for you 
And the quiet presences 
For the gift of life and Him.

Dotted in the dusky sky 
Spinning wonders in the eye 
Glowing white in ivory 
On a night of ebony 

There's mystic magic in the air
With golden robes that you wear
Nights in white satin soaked 
As in the sky, you gently float

What mysteries in you dwell 
Weaving charms and casting spells
Kindled hearts each night you win 
With moonlit dreams that you spin 

Surrounded by a million stars 
That hide and seek from afar 
And twinkle as if on a cue —
Nights are dreary without you

Don't wrap me in a hearse of gloom
When it's time for me to go 

Don't drape yourself in black or white 
But in the colours of a rainbow

Shed no tears of death in life 
Let your heart feel no  pain 

For I will be in a sky of blue
With sunshine in a frame 

Spread my ashes far in a river 
I'll flow and meet the sea 

On waves of moon bathed silver 
Sailing I shall be 

Leave me too with flowers 
With marigolds I will stay

A whim of floral frenzy 
Will touch the sombre  grey 

I, a part of earth and water 
Why mope and sigh and grieve  

Burned by flames of pure fire 
I'll float like a feather on a leaf 

Though with a cry we arrive 
There's laughter when we're born 

Let the smiles linger on
Why make it oh, forlorn 

No tears of death in life 
No crease, no sorrow's crinkle

Think of me with happiness 
And know me in a twinkle 

Don't wrap me in a hearse of gloom 
When it's time for me to go 

Don't drape me in black or white 
But in the colours of a rainbow

Like a cup of coffee
a perfect brew
you are my morning cuppa 
I am addicted to you 

Or Darjeeling tea 
for which I pine 
aroma in gold 
you're always on my mind 

Like watermelon juice 
a sumptuous burst 
pink and sweet 
you quench my thirst

Or a bottle of wine 
red or white 
you tickle my senses 
in fermented delight 

Now of course 
there isn't much I can do

Dear poetry
I am addicted to you

Though we can't change the order of things
Nor make some moments better
Nor alter what fate brings -
We can be there for one another

Though we can't stop the sun from burning
Nor the ice from layering rivers
Nor stop the tides from turning -
We can be there for each other

Though we can't wipe away all tears
Nor ease the many brows of grief
Nor remove the shadows of fear -
We can be there together

Though we can't hold the dusk at bay
As darkness begins to fill the sky
We can still brighten the grey -
When there with one another

And when the snow streams for a mile
When the scent of flowers fills the air
We can hold hands and smile -
When there with one another

How do I love you - in poem or prose
In a story, a eulogy, aubade or an ode?
I could love you in a sonnet
A senryu, though terse
I'd spill my heart - drop by drop
Or ink it verse after verse
I could write a terzannelle
A villanelle I could chance
Tapping on the refrain of love
The feet of romance
I could weave metaphors and similes
Sweet and sublime
Or trip down the keys
Playfully alliterate each line
How do I love you?
I can love you as I do -
In simple words that are writ -
From a heart that is true



Repost

I found the moon
on a bed of flowers
With his beams
cast in white
In a moonlit garden
that gleamed in silver
On a clear and cloudless
starry night

No reds stood proud
no tangerines
No purples
in royal sheen
Quiet greys
and blooms of whites
tossed back
his ivory light

I found comfort
peace and calm
In darkness
that lent her charm
The greens warmed
by a streaming stole
And beauty
that heals the soul

Each day is lit
by the flaming sun
Yet such loveliness
when the night returns
And what mysticism
and mysteries
In darkness, these eyes can see

Unburden
Let go
Breathe
Without resistance
Let life flow
Pause for a moment
In the joy of existence

I love the word melange
It sounds not-so-ordinary  
Though not so extraordinary
But I feel a notch above the rest when I use it
So much so for being pretentious

And without being rambunctious
I’ll say that I find —
It describes, perfectly, the state of my mind —
Some happy thoughts, some with twists
Some clear ones, some fogged with mist
Some good, others amiss
A curious melange of thoughts
Of that and this
And that, I suppose, is also what life is.

It’s hard to care
for a bunch of flowers in a vase  
Neither here nor there
Neither quite dead nor alive
Though seemingly full of life
And fragrant and beautiful

But it distresses me as they start to wilt
Petals fall
One by one — all
Perhaps it’s better that I get a
bouquet of dried flowers instead
Muted creams, browns and reds
They won’t be as vibrant
But flowers yet
They’ll dispel winter’s gloom
Add colour to my room

They’ll certainly last longer…
Ah, if only I were wiser and stronger
I could make the most of each moment
And enjoy the beauty of flowers and their sweet scent
But I guess I am silly
To brood over wilting roses, dahlias and that odd lily

And somehow
In my sadder times
I let go
Of friends close to me
friendships like poetry

But I still think of them
And reflect in reminiscence
On happiness shared
sadness disclosed

And as friends do, they enriched my life
Taught me a thing or two
So precious
And will always be
Those friendships like poetry

I wish them well
Wherever they might be
As they say, though not seen,
Still they are, hidden somewhere, like stars

A shining star in the night sky  
A sliver of a moon
The burning wick of a candle in darkness
A bud pushing itself out from the ground
A green leaf on a winter-worn tree
The silver lining in a dark cloud
A rainbow after rain
The first rays of morning sunshine
The light at the end of a tunnel
The promise of a happy ending
The laughter of a baby
The antics of a puppy
A bird in flight
A hand
A smile
The words —
Everything will be all right

Hope
The rope of life
We hold on to
Gingerly
For without hope
Where would we be?

I wait
For a sign
For stars to align
For magic in time
For the skies to glow
For a miracle on the go
But no
It’s endless - the wait
It’s a no show
It’s like waiting for Godot

Step into to her world, a world where she lives,
Of colours a plenty and flavours many,
A flick of a hand, in measures she gives,
Spices that tantalise, worth every penny.
Red chillies an ounce, turmeric a pound,
Spices scarlet, yellow, in hues exotic,
Peppercorns, cardamoms, whole or ground,
Brown bay leaves, cinnamon, aromatic.
Wonders for the body that soothe and heal,
Nurturing from nature, a stoic promise,
From the choicest gardens, as senses reel,
Fragrance of flavours in sensual bliss.

Within her world, another world entices,
Her voice in sweet whispers has tales to tell,
Magic in dark eyes, the mistress of spices,
With a flick of her hand, she’ll cast a spell.

Written in 2013

( inspired by the title of the book by Chitra Divakaruni)

At one time
I would happily run out
and look up in the night skies
To catch a glimpse of the moon

Now, the moon is up there
Bright and beautiful.
But neither do I seek it
Nor do I see it.

I could say that life does that to you
But then, life is what you make it.
So, tomorrow, I will try to make life
Glow like the moon and the stars
Flow like a tinkling river
Blow gently like a summer breeze

But today I think I will let myself feel like late autumn.
Mellow, waiting for winter and snow.

Monday Tuesday
Wednesday Thursday
Friday Saturday Sunday
Each day
Life gets to you
And what should we do?
Get
Back
At
Life
Too

Dance while you still can
Let the music whisk you in the air
Let your arms be wings
Fly, sway and swing
Dance without a care

Dance while you still can
Do the shimmy, be your own star
Feel the rhythm and the beat
Let the notes tickle your feet
Spin like Mars, forever stellar

Dance while you still can
Beat the blues and the grays
On your own or hold a hand
Dance while you still can
Dance while the music still plays

Once I caught a teardrop, I put it to good use,
I sealed it in a bottle and sent it to my Muse,
She wrote a little song, heart broken and forlorn,
And from one tiny tear, my first verse was born.

Once I caught a frown, I put it to good use,
I crumpled it like paper and sent it to my muse.
She smoothened all the furrows, gave it back to me,
And from my petty anger, she gently set me free.

Once I caught a smile, I put it to good use,
I gave it little wings and sent it to my muse . .
With a twinkle in her eyes, I could hear her say,
With laughter in your heart, may you find your way.


Once I caught a thought, I put it to good use,
On my white winged horse, I flew right up to my Muse,
With a knowing smile, she held my eager hand,
She gave me a prayer, wisdom to understand.

And when, in gratitude, I thanked my feathered Muse,
She gave me a quill and said, ‘Put it to good use’.

I wish that someday, someone would say that they could bring the stars and the moon for me.
Of course it’s unlikely that such a thing happens.
But once in a way, I wish someone would just say that they could.

Meanwhile let’s count the stars.
And one night, if some stars and the moon go missing in the sky…
I think you’ll know why.

The sea is still today
It's cerulean blue and gold
I think of the thoughts it carries
Within its hidden folds.
Its touch is soft and gentle
It soothes the ache of years
But I wonder how many waves
Are made from fallen tears.

Nishu Mathur

And gently falls the bakula
Upon the grass I tread
Fragrant flowers
Like fallen stars from the sky
A hundred poems to be read.

As I drink my tea
Through the window I see -
The lantanas growing tall
Besides the creepers on the wall.
Orange orbs on stalks of green
A butterfly  - all tangerine -
Suckling blooms, fluttering by
Beneath a cloudless, placid sky.
Flowering trees - no longer ****
Full of colour and ripening fruits.
The world it seems is blossoming
With summer and her offerings.

Some days are good
Or I think they really are
I soak up the sun
And reach for the stars
Some days are bad
I suppose they really are
The sun seems too hot
And the stars — too far.