On A rain sodden morn Under stormy overcast grey skies the winds are ominous, moaning, yelping, and shrieking their path through the statuesque pines howling and unleashing their onslaught Image – Will Swann via unsplash This poem has been written in a reverse nonet format. A nonet is a relatively …

  If I speak now, would you hear me? Would you really listen, cock an ear And put down your paper, turn to me And ask, ‘what is it? I’m all ears.’ If I speak now, would you look at me? Would you look at me, raise an eyebrow Smile …

Blow gently O wily wind as you pass through my lands My child sleeps in gentle slumber. Do not rustle; do not swish as you pass by my house My child rests his wearied bones. As the night darkens and rain looms in the heavens Do not disturb, let my …

Halt the flight of the raging wind Let it howl, moan but in confines. Under the grey skies, leave me be My frail and battered body pleads. The heavens have mercy, I entreat I am old and alone, do have a care. Allow me to go forage for my food …

Tighten the noose around the neck of the dying sun Let it not escape, let it not sink beneath the horizon Leave it suspended a while longer, out on the skyline I am not done watching the sunset, it is not yet time   Scatter some birds, let them fly …

You do not see me for I am not your shadow Yet it is you that I furtively, doggedly follow You do not hear me for I am not your voice Yet I dictate your actions and your choice.   I am always there looking from the outside in Even …

Into the jungle wanders a path lazily snaking its way Amid lush foliage that glistens under the sun-kissed breeze. It meanders off towards A hillock that stands a way off, As if aloof in its demeanor, Reclusive in its habit. The overhanging boughs Covered with moss and lichen Swoop down …

Refracting through the glass pane of my window The beam of light breaks into iridescent colors Angling itself from the surface, it dips, falls down To alight on a patch of the flooring. The patch lights up as if infused by the beam And glints in the prism-like shades of …

At the confluence of two mighty rivers, Stands a city tall and proud. With roots steeped in ancient India It struggles to embrace today. The fort on the river bears testimony To the battles fought It stands in derelict neglect by the river Saluting the bygone. Sentinel-like the Akshayavat spreads …

  To my martyred father, my proudest salute I shall not shed a tear, will not cry; I am resolute. To my aggrieved and widowed Mother I say,   “Mother, wipe your tears. Do not cry. Nay! Hold your head high and keep walking on tall My Father died defending …