Wednesday, 21 January 2015

Airy trails

The peach and cream face,
May fade,
To leave behind a fairy tale,
The elves in awe, to count
Her countless airy trails.

Sangeeta Suneja

Saturday, 17 January 2015

The emptiness

The shops are full of bargains,
Hanging, and haphazardly arranged,
People exchange their emptiness.

On the way back,
Chewing the steaming hot sweet corn,
In the hollow bowl,
The new emptiness is cold.

Our fondness for each other
Echoed,
in the empty castle,
our readiness.

In our emptiness
Which is overlapping,
In between the brackets,
No notes,
I wonder,
If we need no content,
are we already full of,
a musical contentment.

Friday, 9 January 2015

The sunny snow peaks

When I saw; in awe,
the sunny, snow peaks,
A bird dawned, soared to speak,
I heard;
Whence came the snow,
Whence came the Sun?
They whispered in my ear,
They came to play a game,
Together,
To let their distance have some fun!

Fluttered the white wings,
in the warm sunshine,
The bird, eats away the distance,
Melting into the rivulets and the rivers,
Catching up, holding her in the arms,
meeting in the sea, the Sun.

Drinks the glaciers, slides,
The long long distance,
is the fun
is the freedom!

Tuesday, 6 January 2015

Why

I write,
Because;
You read,
However,
You read,
Not only
Because I write.
You know,
I know,
The words are like the onion peels,
They hold nothing,
But cling to the paper, these words
Are the used clothes,
Good for nothing,
Because we have them,
We do not value,
This year the winter has been harsh,
I am guilty of, not giving away these used coverings to the needy,
May be nobody needed them,
I have a pile of them,
The unwritten ones.

Saturday, 3 January 2015

The cardinal's sin

The most cardinal
Sin
Is
The existence,
It's emptiness
The fulfillment,
The judgement,
The component
Of achievment
Lies in the failure
The acceptance.

The concept of war
Is the design,
The prime sin,
The subjugation,
Under the mind,
Thinking,
I am not 'the Cardinal.'
Being,
The Cardinal's sin.

Friday, 2 January 2015

The disconnection

Is it a disconnection?

Never!

Is it so,
Always?

No,
Not always,
But
The every vacuumed cup,
Is so filled with your threads,
That I am chained,
Around
Your invisible neck.

Though,
Mostly
Connected
I segregate,
The thin, platinum and gold,
The embedded chains
Of my, mine and self.

The cup of prodigal soup

The soup so hot,
was, always not,
Slurping your winter,
You.

I only wished,
That you knew
how to fondly
Reach her timber
True.

Could understand the
bits of floatings, in your cup,
Drinking,
You,
So incomplete.

Dissipating,
In yesterday's
In your used cups
You,
Lick your emptiness.

Holding on,
to
The last drop,
At the tip of your tongue,
A solitaire,
Sweet and sour,
You,
The prodigal soup!