Velveteen

Pixie dust on wings
Pretty pieces of magic
Patterned, arrayed intricately

Speckled, burnished
Some wearing the sky
Or the blue, gold and orange
Of a flame!

Tremulous
Tantalizing
Making me fret
Caged within barred windows
Speaking words
When I should be wearing their colours

Velveteen.
Dotted with pollen
Never still
For the beauty
Still to savour!

Winging
Weaving
Kissing blossoms
Sipping fragrance

Sybaritic?

Yet.
That I could savour
Just this sight
Drink this enchantment
And find a song...

My caged soul
For now

Wears those butterfly wings. 

29 September, 2014

This is Day 3, written for Ramblings in February :) What is that? Click on picture :) 

For Hope

Hopeless,
He said.
It's hopeless.
The determined lines of 
Reality etched on his face,
The furrows of an
Unploughed fallow land.

Listing, ticking off on his fingers,
He mentioned why.
She listened.
Smiled, when he pursed his lips

And disagreed.

The Class sat up.
Ah! Not begins the Circus-
Interest suddenly puckered brows
And stretched lax lips into smirks.

She's going to get it!
She's asking for it!
They thought in glee.
(For there is nothing that
Compared to comeuppance
Delivered deftly, through a defiant, errant,
Articulate learner
To a nerdy teacher! :D )

Face off time.

He spoke; argued, intelligible
Passionate, persistent.

She held up her hands.
Now, he smiled.

Not in surrender, she explained.
The smile became a grin
Echoing hers and 
Forty six other grins!

Hopeless? She enquired.
My two cents?
Not hopeless.

Confusion reigned.
The grins asked - can we vote?
And a young voice piped up-
Teacher, a debate?
A thumbs-up, mentally, to that,
She asked for other voices.

A perfect brainstormed map
Bloomed on the green board.

Gazing at faces, now not bored
Till  suddenly- a thought nudged-
She had an ace up her sleeve-

For the pessimist- albeit realist.
She had a perfect salvo.

This.

(Please watch! -LINK!) 

Hopeless?
She asked.
And smiled as she left.
Looking rather smug :D :D

Sometimes, it's such fun 
To take the wind out of another's sails :D

29 October, 2014
(6th period :P )

Doodle

This has got to be one of the silliest ever in terms of rhyme, so please bear with this rambler!

When words curdle
From their easy flow
It means your thoughts scramble
From feelings that strongly blow.

So letters detached
From words, once attached
Create mayhem in meaning
(And) the rambler in confusion, wondering...

What went sour?

The words?

Or their meaning?

26 September, through to 1 October :D

Words, to Read

Words leap out
From pages
I have not read;

Seek me, reach out
Softly settling on my skin.
Lost, I jump out of it-

When they touch.

Those are pages
I cannot read.
Anymore.
Why? Because they
Read themselves out?

No, no. No, no.
More, perhaps, because
I'm afraid
Of what it might
Take to read.

The undercurrents would
Drag me, drown me.

I shall be lost. Lost.
To Them.
I am already lost
With Them;
Just knowing they are there. 

What it would do-
Knowing Them
Is the risk I cannot take.

They're the fallen leaves.
On the road I cannot take.  

27 August, 2014
One of those "Class" writes. :)

Gridlines

Neat, clear, legible.

Shall I 
Contain my content
Within them?
Content. 
Content?
Doubts punctuate
The easy distribution
Of the sky of notions
Of clouds-
Storm gatherers.
The bubbling angst
Of liquid molten emotion.

Do I lock my universe
In a grid?
Or go-

Right off it.

Drop by determined drop.
Blur the lines
With my own es-scents.

And let the storm
Pour down
Wear down
Obliterate

That, which would 
Contain. 

Content?

Content. 

4 September 2014
(You guessed right - words spiralling out of control, from silence of an exam hall :) )

A Poem, Buried

It came to me
A poem.
Crept into my 
Sleep,
Surfaced in the 
Sub-conscious

Tantalizingly
Softly caressing
With a lover's touch.

I remember smiling
Then shushing it.
It faded.
(Slept on, with me!)

Then why did I feel
A heaviness
A hurt
Singeing, searing
Under my eyelids
When I woke?

Why do my eyes
Seek it?
Why do I feel 
That crushing
Sense of loss?

I buried a poem
In the soft loam
Of lost words.

Weary words that dropped
Overworked, but under-used
Heavy with nuance
Staggering, weighed with 
Too much meaning.

Lost thoughts, groping 
For expression
Mourn that poem.

Other poems come
Squeeze like tears 
Through ink
Asking to fill the void. 

I give them space
And try to flatter myself.
Attempt to smile
And live. 

In vain. 
For, it now comes to me.

I am that poem
I lost. 

22 September, 2014
Would you believe this crept through eyelids a few nights ago, and left; revisited during invigilation time, yesterday morning. Too nonsensical, surreal maybe. But a goosebumpy personal favourite for me, now.