Kavyakankshini...bewitching words spun with spindles of thought and quicksilver yarn...


Fear of small...

'His cold dark eyes
Gnaw at my soul
He follows me
He gnaws at my very footsteps
To me he seems a cute ball of fur
No...he is an evil incarnate
I would like to see him shot
Between his eyes and thrown
on my barbecue grill...'
Her silken, pained, violent thought
Scared me more than
she ever will be of
that raccoon...


Ink's song

Part of me was always fluid
Blue and truly flowing
Part of me was always vivid
Copious and bottled
Part of me was always damp
Dark and brooding
Part of me was always mottled
Musty yet powerful
Part of me was dry drab
Dragging around words
Part of me was always sitting
On the nib of pointy uncertainties
And then fine day, sprung forth a thought
Interlacing my being around her
Tugging at my anxious corners
Cajoling me out of dried out emotions
Bursting forth in a fecund spring
Nourishing nurturing the wells within
Oh what joy to dance along
To be in a writer’s pen
To be the fine blue ink in her happy song!


Passion like fireflies

Passion like fireflies
Flitting here n there
Glowing brightly in the deep forests of desire
Just on and off
Passion graceful as ever
As deer in the valley
Darting forth with quivering anxiety
Eager to touch the tenderness yonder
The night aglow with melting warmth of our beings
The night cold as the pulse of the moon
The night full of pure melding joy
Two glowing lovers
Tender by the touch, aglow with passion
Meeting, mating in the deep forests of desire...
Fireflies resting at dawn...
All faint dreamy and still glowing...



On the dark stony rock of solitude
I want to carve out a headless sphinx
Sheer dormant power
Wings etched in stone
Waiting to take off to an unknown
where its sightless eyes cannot see
Dust, air, rain
Tears, sweat, pain
Nothing affects him
The headless mammoth sphinx
Drawn out and frozen claws
Scratched on the wasted land
There he stands in
All majestic headless
Magical glory....


Each leaf falls out slowly...

Sitting by the stream
Silent ripples caressing  our reflections
Tall and stoic
The trees stand
Aglow with the autumn sun
They hold a mirror to my soul
My greenish inner child
to my yellow mellow woman
My passionate red
to my faint pink glow
My glistening golden
to color my dreams
My courageous orange
to my carefree ochre
My deepest purple
to my faint green murmur
Wise are the trees
the passing colors they hold
'Cause they are to drop all emotions, colors and coats
to nakedly embrace cold
Soak in its tormenting glory
and revel in the knowing
The precious lives those which
shall soon unfold....


Take on Thirty

Am I at crossroads or at a threshold? Am I at the crossroads of settled adult life and youthful ignorance? Or am I at the threshold crossing over from naïve optimism to real life disillusion or is it wisdom?
Turning 30 is impactful, glorious and of course very significant for me, not because it’s a fine even number, but an age which I never thought I shall live to see…I had never planned for life beyond 29 but I survived childbirth!  I never foresaw myself ever turning 30, never imagined I could ever anchor myself or commit to a settled life, my innate restlessness reined my thoughts about life beyond the 20’s as they say…the exuberance of youth, the mirth of rootless living and non-commitment fuelled my desire to live out life as fully as possible before turning 30. All vices and virtues that meet people through their lifetime, I had visited them all before I ended my 20’s I even ended up experiencing the throes of spirituality. Tried solving the rubic of self-identity and self-existence to no particular end, but rested on the edge of knowledge that I tried. Tried shunning the “i” never quite clearly managed. The high of self love did not wane even in the face of becoming a mother, never quite absolved completely of self love, I have had my own struggles with the existence of another person in my life, who “according to societal expectation” deserved selfless love…I have had an uneasy feeling about loving someone completely, in spite of myself, still do..my identity is shaping up, has its own destined shape and future, is a belief I would still like to carry on till my next decade at least..So abandoning the love of shaping the self or not glorifying it would be akin infidelity for me.
At this age, I am surprised by my rapid drainage of sensitivity, at my apathy and my shocking inaction towards the on goings around me. My rapid disbelief in my own dreams and ambitions sometimes shocks me, sometimes am almost deaf to some of my dying enthusiasm…
If this is coming of age, if this is growing old, if material collections matter the most, and if all other thinking than that about your investments is mere intellectual masturbation, I really don’t know if am aging gracefully enough… The wise are full of doubts, are my doubts strong enough to make me qualify for wisdom?
At 25 I thought I set out to conquer all things worth conquering, is now the fire dying out, was it a mere vanity associated with youth that spoke through me or was it really something more powerful?
Not melding into conventional mindset by a certain age certainly means peer isolation, with settled job holders, or content housewives clubs burgeoning around me, I feel a pariah in both these places…turning 30 is more crushing than enlightening, turning 30 is not really out of the world, with the average life expectancy climbing steadily world over, what is alarming is, is someone counting, the average life expectancy of dreams of youth? Or am I the only one with a fishing line baited with the moon?
I shudder at my questions, I shudder at my naïveté and for once I do not have a plan for myself for the next decade…do not know if it’s good bad or just merely nothing.. 
But yes I have a lot to look behind and cheer myself for, I have really lived one hell of decade, the last one, skirted in gay abandon, visited places which I dreamed of and more, paid a price for the vagabond in me and never live to regret it. Loved people, places, desires, vices and virtues, experimented with self on a level bordering dangerous but lived to tell the tale.
Wrapped myself up in silence and talked long enough to bore people to death. Written so much that I can fill up a cupboard with my writings, read as much to fill a room with books, to its brim, dressed in so many myriad ways, people might think I am an undercover spy! Fallen so many times and rebuilt myself completely but retained my core…
My next decade aspirations have some serious competition from those of my daughter but am sure I have a lot to learn and look forward to…it’s good to be in self doubt at times, is what I have understood from the times I have lived..And it’s also good for the soul to remain restless is what I have chosen to believe. So as I turn 30 without really dying… I am sure I shall live it up as I always have! And when I waver I am sure there will be flowers, coffee, sinfully dark chocolate, smell of monsoons, books and newness to egg me on!
And of course there shall always course poetry through my being, and Rilke, Shel and Grace shall always regale and inspire and my daughter will get their words instead of lullabies forever!
So I guess it won’t really matter much that I finally am about to enter a realm beyond my imagination, as long as I am dressed in leather boots, biker jacket and oodles of confidence!
Am still hitching my wagon to the stars or supernovas or the moon! We’ll see!
Or maybe just writing another blog post with another perspective another 5 years from now!


Outside my window

Outside my window is a mountain, a tree and three chirpy birds
Outside your window is a mountain, a tree and three tall buildings
Outside my window is the breeze flowing in
Outside your window is the smoke fuming out
Outside my window the mountain is green
Outside your window the mountain is hallowed grey
Outside my window is so much peace
Outside your window is just a sky piece
Outside my window i sent kisses your way
Your closed window kept them at bay!


Maid and meditation

Being a metro woman, I have come to understand the importance of a maid over a period of time!
She is that goddess whom you better keep pleased in order to run your household hassle free!
After having a maid for over a year or so, you tend to take her and her work for granted, just ambling around while she slogs away… well it’s supposed to be like this, isn’t it?
Well then comes a day when she skips work! Once, twice it’s fine, human almost but then came this one day when she says she is on leave for 2 days! Two whole days of housework and cooking is a bit too much in an already crammed metro schedule!
I swiftly apply for a leave, cannot help but do that! A maid absent is crisis in a sense, worthy of one precious CL! All ya ladies you totally know what I mean, right?
Now on another track, am dabbling with metaphysics and meditation et al! All my calmness developed over a period of 2 years suddenly seems to evaporate in the face of this mini-crisis!
I was reading this wonderful book “the sun my heart” by Thich Nhat Hanh and in that book he has written a wonderful piece which talks about doing daily chores! In complete awareness, in complete peace and joy!
I totally loved the concept, reading further, he mentions that washing utensils is almost a meditative process, it’s not just the soiled bowl that you are washing, and it has to give you as much joy as bathing the Baby Buddha! I was just admiring the concept while I read it!
And the very next day my maid was gracious enough to take a two day leave and leave me with a tubful of soiled bowls n plates…ok baby buddhas!
I actually carefully pushed back my lovely satin night dress sleeves and began washing the utensils…suddenly I recalled the reading! And I said let me give it a try! Let me really imagine these soiled bowls as baby Buddhas…
Trust me my hands suddenly slowed down! All cynicism and ill will and grudge towards the maid or rather her absence just dissolved! Each bowl seemed to have its own personality, a finer nuance and different edge. Many a memory of the pleasant meal came to the fore, the bits of chicken n mushroom rice, bowl with golden threads from the mango juice we had last night, filaments of onion from the French onion soup all brought back such nice warm feelings! All the compliments got from Hubby dear and all those approving nods from my father-in-law! Those smiles and discussions at the dinner table! How much does a soiled plate contain! And then I realized, every day a new memory, every day a new taste, we create, we consume and we clean! Now if a bowl is used a thousand times, it’s like the human body caught in the web of karma, we are born, we have our karma, we die and again we are born! And it flashed upon my mind in a moment of peace, what exactly the venerable monk must have meant when he said washing bowls can be as joyous as bathing a Baby Buddha!
Buddha walked through this journey of life escaped the clutches of karma and rebirth. If we recall him during mundane chores, we can amply realize the beauty of this life, the impermanence of things and yet their riveting maze!
The lukewarm soap suds and the gurgling water seemed to approve of my newly learnt philosophy lesson! They merrily played around my fingers…I smiled a knowing smile and put back the last plate I cleaned. With a different and calm feeling I went on with other chores, thanking my maid in the mind for giving me a chance to look at a mundane activity such as washing utensils, in such different light!
And wait; there is yet an end to this metro story! Guess what, after drying my hands I just saw a couple of missed calls on my phone…thinking it must be related to work, but no, it was from my maid! She had called up to say that she was not going to take the leave and wanted to come a bit late! Just because I hadn’t answered her call, she took the day off!
Trust me such times, an amateur peace seeker like me, is so tempted to lose all calm and yell!!! Breathe right in and breathe out slowly!!!!
Such is the story of the maid and meditation!


Poetry in paper...

After playing around with words for a long time, the curves and poetry of a simple piece of paper enticed me...it's been a year now and i am definitely hooked! A simple piece of paper which held my poems and paintings, itself became a piece of poetry and painting together! at one time! That is the magic of paper quilling....The simple art of folding and twirling strips of paper has really caught hold of me...i thought for quite a while whether this hobby of mine deserves a special blog for itself or my poetry blog should be fine with a new post... finally thought that this is poetry in action, poetry of paper... so it definitely should be here...
I have put in all my attempts at quilling over here...hope you enjoy them all!

This was one of my very first attempts at quilling...of course the finish is lil bit tacky...but it was fun trying it out!

After this began the journey of paper strips and all possibilities of using them in innovative ways!
The first attempt served as a decoration for Ganpati festival last year!
Have a look!

Then i moved on to greeting cards...that was one more place, where people loved my new art...

This was a Valentine Day card for my hubby dear!
Then there was this other one which belongs to one of my early attempts at quilling...

Then there is one more card in which i used wax crayons and then quilled to get the highlight effect...it turned out kinda quirky...

Its kinda fun experimenting with other mediums and then coming back to quilling as an add-on!
Once done with the greeting cards i moved on to cutting and quilling...its kinda fun too!
Check it out!

Well isn't it cute and whacky! well and its not really an incomplete one...it says I luv...and the rest is quilled...yes it says I LUV Quilling! :))
Then i went on to quill a few frames for myself and a gifted a few to friends...here is one example of that quilled frame...

Isn't it all very exciting and poetic! hope you enjoyed this paper poetry!
Till the next time...i shall be back with some more exciting paper poetry and real poetry as well!!


Day and night

As the flame of the night
Flickers and dies
A steady glow spreads
Permeating through the horizon
Filling each crevice and crack
With that molten golden liquid
Of the day!
When the earth’s bowl
Is full with this honeyed golden fluid
Ripples of events
Dance across the surface
And ebb on the shores of uncertainty
Stay there till the lamp of the night
Casts its luminous glow


The pain is still green
The pain of her loss
Green at the edges
And greener at the stem
Slowly unfurling
Curled up memories
Pushing through buds of agony
Tendrils of her touch
Are still quivering
Glistening leaflets
Wet with dew of tears
Rooted firmly in the dark moist soil
Of life