Poem IX: Palettes and Paintings

The colour of modesty is rouge. It is the shade of the clouds as it witnesses the consummation of two skies; The colour of your thoughts on my skin; Blossoming roses when I sigh your remembrance to the winds; my palms pressed in prayers for…

Hour Twenty: Spectrum

the spectrum of questions and stories.     Source: An erasure culled out from P.116 from the novel ‘ A million little pieces by James Frey.

Meeting places #thepoetrymarathon #prompthourtwenty

That thin line between the full moon and insanity… That ribbed edge of the flower bed where only weeds grow… That gold brocade of the wedding saree I never wore again… That flicker of light caught in a raindrop poised to fall… That quiet chirp…

Hour Ninteen: Voices

  just be still, and listen there are voices you may have never heard of. I know, the frantic waves are overpowering, sending a shudder. but, just be still, and listen. someone out there calls upon you. someone out there, smothered with white bands.  …

Self-portrait #thepoetrymarathon #prompthournineteen

To write a self portrait I have to step back And take a long good look at myself. I turn to the mirror, eyes, ears, nose, check. Two hands, two legs, a torso, quite a normal (albeit short) human specimen. Unruly hair, Glasses that balance…

Hour Eighteen: Mirror

the mirror is black and the monster is amused.     Source: A blackout poem culled out from P.85 from the novel ‘A million little pieces’ by James Frey. 

Hour 18: … just be still and listen

But I cannot Just be still and listen Because my world is burning Away before me And I must put out the fire; Because I have something to say, Something you need to hear, And I don’t want to be silenced.   I’d never ask…

The Witching Hour

There’s a solemn hymn that’s heard Amongst spirits and demons that hear The word and chants ciphered In the hours that they revere   The Witching Hour An active time that’s said to be: A time when spirits are found to scour And demons play…

Hour 17: Books were Safer

Books were safer Even when they disappointed Or twisted to unexpected ends   If they spirited me Into danger and certain death, I could always return to ground With but a scratch on my memory.   Even though they created for me Wicked worlds, shrouded…

A World Before Me – Hour Eighteen

I see a world before me, filled with all the brightest hues A far cry from the visions that are laid out on the news A rock amid so many more, so large and yet so small And yet, a place where goodness reins supremely…

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