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Monisha Jun 2021
Pitter patter raindrops gently sprinkle my windows,
Thunder rumbles again.

Sky’s are dark, darker, glooming happily,
The day meanders, hiding and seeking,
and the sky  starts  pouring its heart out .

Pale silver threads, navigating  their way down  against a backdrop of green-black trees.

It is June.
And my day of revival, birth and reckoning.
Only a day away from the solstice.

Here in leafy, caressing, sleepy Goa,
the dusk will soon begin its  slow, steady, inevitable drawing in.

In my secluded, fragrant, verdant labyrinth,
I sip coffee,
I notice the lone squirrel scurrying away to find shelter,
and listen to birds chirping, bees buzzing, the gurgle of water,
and to an insistent song in my head that just doesn’t stop playing but too spellbound  to put pen to  paper right now.

And now, as I go for a drive on this quiet, directionless, mellow afternoon,
I cannot remember the word I want to write,
I think I have no words.

The thunder is closer now.

It sounds like drumbeats , the rearranging  of celestial furniture, like our transit to this beautiful abode we call home now.
Unexpectedly a bird is singing in the midst of it all unabashedly.

I think about the past.
Not in any structured way. Just people who have come and gone, who linger, who stay and who have left their indelible fragrance around me.

For a few moments, my mind wanders down the past and I sigh at my own predictability.

The thunder is passing. Grumbling and groaning in the distant now.
Each leaf looks freshly washed, scrubbed sparkling clean and shades of green hold my gaze.
The paddy fields look abundant  and satiated.
The single bird has become a small chorus, a full roaring celebration on.

I stare at my page. I have still written nothing.

But, sweetness,
I just experienced divinity,
I feel blessed and just absorb the present.

I am the road and the paddy field,
I am the bird, the squirrel and the bee,
I am the thunder, and the rain,
I am the song and  the quiet,
In the abundance ,
I am me, what I want to be❤️
Birthday inspiration
In the land of sunshine
Slanting palms, oceanic breeze
Brightly painted houses
And bougainvillea vines

Music is alive
Song and dance
Pristine beaches
Sunsets are divine

February is vibrant
Colours on the streets
Festoons and masks
Carnival time


🔆🎭🔆
Whisper Yes Oct 2017
Goa
Expanse of sand
Expanse of ocean
Expanse of sky

People with stories
On a beach with as many
In a country with more

Stories I don’t understand
But can feel

Aging hippies
People on the run
The run from normality

There’s a sadness
A sadness in the too thin aging women

Tattoos drooping
On the run from time

Goa
Beautiful and used

A story to tell
The aging hippy dream

Let it go?
Snehith Kumbla Feb 2017
Goa Goa Goa
a whisper on my lips

Goa Goa Goa
way she moves her hips

Here at this drab desk
On a drab drowned day

Goa Goa Goa
sings the wind in my hair
ajit patel Jun 2016
It's goa my love,  
the piece of earth that you cherish.  
Streets are narrow and quaint,  tiled roofs falling over each other,  
clinging to the beam by their nails.  
Atmosphere is sultry with sun,  *** and surreality.
Surrounding me is you,  in a warm womb of induced coma.
How will it be if my head were to be in your lap,  
your fingers combing through my curlies?  
Should death come at this moment,  
I would welcome it with an embrace.  

Heat,  a beating heart and a stiffness in my *****,  
my last few vestiges of emotion.
(C), Ajit Patel, 6th , May, 2016
Snehith Kumbla Jun 2016
once dear
if not again

we must be in
Goa when it rains

find a place with
an open terrace

among trees
and lay there

drenched
devoured  

for days

— The End —