Milady Bianca

Listen listen 

                Can you hear?

The song or is it wail or is it the rising storm?

Ahoy! Hold the steer

Ahoy! Veil your ears

Don't you dare to go by the deck

Come here mate!

Ahoy! Tied 'self with hammock or cloth

           to the port

Ahoy! Don't look there!

Stop

Stop 

Stop, oh, milady!

Listen listen 

What's that?

The song that song 

Is it morning?

It must be

My neighbour who thinks she's 

Bianca Castafeore

Practicing to break fine wine glass

(And instead woking up us)

Time Road was Path (An American Sonnet)

look back, back at the road 

that was path when morning was young

journey started when, can one say?

not the hours or the minutes; 

it can be a mistake or a small step

or something trivial.

I, when, look back, look deep into water

of the diamond born in mine of life.

reflection that falls on the mirror

who stands there me or

reflection woven by dust of ages

bygone.

look back, looking back

a bliss, an emotion we hold dearly.

Long for Rain

We'll meet again if we can't be together

      She had said after quarrel

          Just weeks before we depart

Just months before she married another man.

We'll meet again if we can't be together

         There will sun after a long spell

          And your name on some book

           Not just some manuscript--

                       She promised.

We've meet and we ran away from each other

   Just after couple of days I signed the book

                            My first book.

I now looked out for rain; for another book

          bearing my name, carrying my story.

We'll meet again...

    A lie that's a truth also

    A wisdom weird I live by

Maharaja of Kingdom X

first it starts with a yawn, yawn of darkness. a crow caw, a sparrow chirp. second it follows yellow streak falling on the lids, tired and full of dreams. third it follows to the call, call of hope slaying the day bygone, night that bid few moments ago. sitting on the parapet you, the Maharaja of Kingdom X (as you can't determine the name).

how lovely a day, the gardener shouts. He's Minister, General, Jester or whatever you want to make him to play the role and stage the dialogue.

You, or is it me, the Maharaja of Kingdom X sitting on the girth of broken roof. angel on a mausoleum now, metamorphosing from gargoyle in night.

first it starts with emptiness (or was it the Gardener). second it follows the wings of the angel. You or I who's there can't recognise waning the orange string composing the Sun (or is it the Day) smeared in turquoise call the Sky.

Tempt

peace I seek from you

my mischievous Kanha don't

play the flute tonight

--xx--

Written for Early Bird Prompt of National Poem Writing Month 2024