Traffic

Vehicles clutter the road,

and bustle to reach somewhere.

Amidst mayhem the car groans,

puffs its anger in the air.

Horns moan when lights change colour,

tho the path makes no headway.

In search of unknown wonder

people jostle night and day.

And all we do is adjust.

The web of thoughts collects dust.

Pangong Lake

Amidst the mountains the Pangong lake glides-

its turquoise charm the snowcapped tops reflect.

The daunting hills yet longer the sun hide

that soon peaks to splash its golden dialect.

Pebbles massage my feet in morning chill

as waters long and deep in silence roll.

The crafty wind bends the crops to its will,

and a cow moos as the hunger bells toll.

The lake snakes away to the land unknown,

mocking the boundaries defined by man.

A luminous quilt - as if with time grown-

designed and woven by the nature's hands.

My tent flutters as I long for a walk.

Blessed is the time when gauged not by a clock.

Campfire

Wine gurgled from the tall jugs-

drenched and pampered the tired.

Stories buzzed as clinked the mugs,

songs hummed around the fire.

History swapped in laze chatter,

giggled away past blunders.

That on platter what mattered.

To presaged none surrendered.

The flame would crackle till dawn.

Its glow mingled with red morn.

Lodestone

The waves come gushing ashore.

Dawn charms the purple turnsoles.

A sailor looks to strong oars.

And mind hums for a sweet soul.

A sozzler seeks tavern’s door.

How fire thirsts for red coals.

Hungry tiger growls for gore.

Gambler awakes as dice roll.

And I lust for this lodestone.

Hypnotized - I buzz and drone.

Photo

Picture spins a web of tales-
flashes from the past whiz by.
Images forever trail
once shut in camera's eye.    
Truth lies in the maze of net,

and not what colours portray.

Smiles appear roseate                   

tho humour in disarray.

Spirits - the photo discards.
wits, memories - the mind guards.

Hospice

Thoughts jingle around the room,

as whir the windmills of fate.
Echoes of past often loom,
brighten the flicker of faith.
Hills beckon in the background
upon which set daily gaze.
Faces come, converse and crowd -
fit into his piece of maze.         
And we shed tears forlorn.
He not lonely, tho alone.

Menopause

For long she has endured our whimsies.

camouflaged her own whimpers

and displayed the strength with utter ease.

Inferno of highs and lows only she knows.

Ever a woman without a clause.

Tho, now her moods swing and stir-

fire may douse, her love will not pause.

Phil Hughes (1988 - )

Unaware of what the fate preordained-
on the playground of destiny he stood.
A harmless bouncer but devil engrained,
and leather turned lethal, pierced the hood.
Fatal blow prolongs not an injury.
And in pain he crumbled, in vain he sought.
So helpless the bowler in agony.
Funny no more the game- who would have thought?
No tears enough can express the grief
nor words pronounce the lament, and console.
Our hearts now filled with Phil -tho his stay brief,
the spirit with us would forever stroll.
Each game hence played would be in his regard.
We shall see him in the twenty two yards.

Bubblegum

Musings chewed over as the gum rolled.

It unwrapped subtle flavours

with twists and turns and ramblings twofold.

Mumbles tumbled and outpoured in a bubble-

Shaped different but of the same substance.

Some burst and some to savour.

And stick to live in coexistence.

Dhaba

The sunlight filtered thru the winter fog-

melted the morning chill, dispelled the fuzz.

Big trucks revved and rolled for the journey long,

as the dhaba warmed with a spicy buzz.

The air swarmed with the scent of parathas

that crackled in a fiery tandoor.

The tables topped with fancy pickled jars,

and somewhere a fridge hummed to sweet curds’ groove.

Bottles of buttermilk cooled the weary

who plunked down on charpais strewn all over.

When folklores churned - some funny, some teary-

they wished if it dusked a wee bit slower.

Across the road the rolling meadows glazed.

And the sweet gales carried the taste and tales.