her agate breasts weaves songs

from the barren verses

her hands sewed memoirs

from the leftover yarns

her solitude harvests warmth

from the carcasses,


desires and naiveté

the imagery of life looks

fragile, morbid

yet beautiful!

Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.



  1. moonbeams singing a lullaby
    everything is bathed in a glossy luminescence
    beneath the furrowed duvet, a wisteria vine sigh
    How to escape this earthly noise?

    pine tree in my tea-cup.

    sweet drops on the pine cones
    resin tears on the thistle
    a lady bug tumbles in the grass
    a reflection of the moon caught in a champagne glass

    dew drops perched on a spider web.

    fragrant incense stick in a beehive
    sunbeams dyed in ocher hue
    hummingbird croaks like a frog
    honey drips from blue-eyed grass

    a golden mushroom in a sky.

Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.



The color Purple- bellflowers,
lavender scented soaps, tulips
and eggplants- the soil is warm
idle garden glove under
the summer sun- lilac into verdant mulberry
artichokes hand-picked from the home garden

Seedlings sprouts into another flower.

Red as Sindoor, Henna, spice chai,
poppy flowers, Cardinal, watermelon,
red paprika in Goulash, Wine
and sometimes
dying embers from the ceremonial worship
crisp red roses for the wedding day
Candied Carrots- apple Murabba
in plain jars- another specialty of grandma.

Orange as pumpkins in the Halloween
Costa Rica Clementine in a supermarket
Monarch butterfly and sunset
Saffron as perfumed sunbeams

Yellow as a Sunflowers, turmeric,
dandelions in the backyard, corn cob
and school bus
Yellow sands of Arizona- handiwork of nature

Green as cactus and vines dangling from the gazebo
button flowers, lettuce in the salad bowl,
and emerald eyes of my cat

White as a snowflake, lilies, paper boats,
the moon, and stars;
The color Sapphire as the midnight sky and heirloom gemstone.

Here is my color list for you- a colorful bouquet, crayon-box,
rainbow and quaint dye shop.

Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.



How inside and outside of the glass wall is different?
The roof of Doric Temple reflects
umbrella-shaped sunbeams
-a prism
or an embroidered web?

Monochrome or a Polychrome web- another chase
Queen Cleopatra’s cat watches a spider
weaving silken threads- to hypnotizes
snake in a basket of figs

A golden cat sleep on a velvet blanket
awakening her feline prowess
to control shadows and webs of deceit.

Spider, a sly sleuth

explores vacant spaces

adorning a labyrinth with her gossamer threads, unceasingly.


Inside a glass wall castle- Rapunzel tangled in its own web.

Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.

Coin Silver


Lines from ‘Mirror’ by Sylvia Plath

Tonight the caustic wind, love,
Gossips late and soon

My tears like vinegar

a tender breeze whisper some thoughts, tonight
I am a coin silver- the
mighty chunks of my unripe dreams caustic
corn husk in an Uncle Bob’s truck wails in the wind
I breathe shallots, pebbles, and mushrooms; ephemeral love
The neighbors at the farthest end brewing the soup and the gossips
Aunt Cathy has gone to the city market to buy blue lace for her new dress; it’s late
Moon hidden behind the pine trees and
as we wait for the dinner that would be served soon
pale skin feels like a sour aspic moon- my
bitter words simmer in the pot pan like vinegary tears
outpours and daydreams swelled in a warm chicken broth like
a stuffed piñata and we toast our wine with a dash of vinegar.

Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.




itchy feet-

a banjaran

footprints on

the golden dust-

sweet vanilla scent

I prick cactus from my heart.



emerald lake-

coarse pebbles

kohl eyes on the lake bed

unruffled water


I reflect on my life choices.



a canyon-

haven of hopes

Arizona winds rustle

tap dancer shoes

digital conundrum breaks

in my pocket- wishful stars.

Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.



An artist- a graffiti for appraisal
a solicitous effort to mend a chaos
White noise- a concoction of idiosyncrasies and vulnerabilities.

How to break this inertia?
Graffiti languishing in a loop- not a loop of Henle but maybe a loop of Karma?

You need a better word for it…
Break this inertia!

Our appetites feeds on raven-
Flushed out in Marshland.
Puncture wounds in the left-hand swallow the whole reality
Thoughts outpours seeped deep into the pink veins

Graffiti injected with the gigantic dope
Truth or chaos?
Can’t an artist fathom such things in delusion or a fugue state?

Graffiti {{Liberty}} {{freedom}} {{peace}} in a crowded LA street.
Where does the inspiration come from?
-the moldy scriptures, lethargies or oxidized ruminations
scribbled on the museum’s walls- “legacy and cultural renaissance.”

A dissonance is heard
a placid shriek
sound coming from the instrument resembling Taonga pūoro
Echo words {{{breathe}}}

Graffiti cemented in the pile of concrete walls
and landscapes
the city skyline and horizon looks dimmer than before.

The last night frazzled me out; the blushing Victorian street lamps merging dots of lights;

as I closed my eyes to end my fugue state.

The next morning, I wake up in the cozy bed of my elegant LA surroundings;

while half-asleep paintings gawked at me.

3-D Cubes in my mojito and everything goes back to monochrome again.

graffiti spotted in the LA city.
Ricochet {{{inertia}}} {{{three olives Vodka}}}

Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.



In my yesteryears memories,
I see my ancestral home- an adjunct to my life
a home painted with
not just colors- but celebrations of life

I peeked into the rasoi,
a roshandaan- a quaint window with molds and webs
greeted nostalgia and paper boats swarms
like Poppy seeds chasing fragrant memories.

I see Grandma in the kitchen
making different kinds of bread and sweets,
While grandpa sits on the
beige colored sofa, his spectacle,

Mom wearing a silky shawl, and
starched cotton saree, with
a big Red Sindoor Bindi, blushing on
her forehead reminds me of hibiscus blooms.

Our home library cemented in a side wall
of the attic room; chirped like a hummingbird
an attic room where grandpa
used to keep his angeethi; the fading memories
glows with the touch….

A vivacious living room where everyone gathered
in winters to have chai and savory patties with tamarind chutney.
Yesteryears laughter now burns in the dying embers.

The family album documented all the excitement
of celebrations, festivals, wedding and meet-ups- now an heirloom
for my kids.

Dad used to take me to ride on his new scooter

while the old Lambretta roar fades into the past.

An empty derelict vase bought from a local potter
preserved near the B&W Television set with a shutter
unveiled crowded, forlorn and eager
memories, recollections, and glimpses.

The silence of the ancestral home is broken

by the loud speakers’ noises around festivities

and fond trips to haat bazaar.

Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.

angeethi* a traditional brazier

Migratory Birds



8.45am: At Subway

Waiting for the train with a cup of coffee,

salted bagel and a book in my hand.

I peered around me.

People of all sorts, shapes, sizes and with different appetites wait. To reach their destination.

My stare now pinned on the man who looked different.


A bearded man with a different skin tone and mysterious aura sits

alone at the far end of the train trolley.

His singular identity created a vacuum around us; engulfing us and subway

Everything seems drawn into that void- nameless frowns,

profane remarks, uncourteous smirks, and fearful scorns.

My stare now pinned on the man who looked different.


The bearded man shoe worn-out from the long journey

His eyes wearied from the sadness and longing

no shades, no paraphernalia, and no gimmicks

his ‘unrelenting’ demeanor was unfazed with ‘inquisitive’ eyes hovering over him,

piercing stares, and unfriendly faces.

His singular identity created a vacuum around us; engulfing us and subway.


There were furrows in his turban; he must have pleated

all housewarming gifts, legacies and discriminations neatly into it.

His wings were flaccid resembling wings of a migratory bird

His eyes were wearied from the sadness and longing

waiting for seasons transition to journey homeward.

Homecoming birds were washing all their sins in the holy water.


I peered around me.

People of all sorts, shapes, sizes and with different appetites wait. To reach their destination.

Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.


Hour Three-


she soaked her dreams, yearnings, anxieties, and hunger

in the aroma of mulberry paper- her favorite

among other aromas spicy, torrid, arid, humid and provocative.


her unbounded spirit and hunger savor cactuses, orchids and ambrosia-

between mythical pauses: her spiritual cauldron persists

against dominance- a mix tape of dissonance and resonance

{cultural mitosis} {transgressions}


provoked from centuries after centuries- she is ‘reborn’ as a Bennu- a bird

with voracious hunger from which sprouts thousands of fireflies-


like a suckling seedling, she breathes in sprigs, herbs, bones,

carcasses, cactus thorns, poison ivies, and tumbleweeds


{leftovers} Karmic deeds

Nirvana {cigarette smoke rings}

Copyrighted by Ruchi Chopra, 2017.