Intrinsic

Often I wonder of her-

the silent strength she portrays.

Of the fire that she stirs

like diamonds when on display. 

Then why I look to others,

ask if this beauty is fair?

When deep I hear the mutters

that she is beyond compare.

When virtues the soul unmasks-

your eyes will set the benchmark.

Threshold

We come from different terrains,

and arrive at the threshold.

With less faith in fate’s domain

we stand seeking a new road.

But we fear the time ahead

yet dare not the clock on hand.

And blemish the past instead

for unfit to take a stand. 

And to conceal the errors-

we just alter our mirrors.

Empathy

Today I assumed your guise,

wore your clothes, walked in your shoes.

I saw with your deep set eyes,

and wandered amidst your muse.

I sensed the throbs of your veins,

and your image undisguised.

Same old picture with new paints-

happy to be recognised.

The vicarious thrills and woes-

the soul of a mirror knows.

His Chair

Here he idled silent hours-

tea, newspapers, memories.

Here he sat but seemed so far-

sometimes lost in reveries.

Half shut window, half shut eyes-

often in noons he napped here. 

But his smile could not disguise

the thrill of ice cream with beer. 

Now his indented chair squeaks-

his deep-seated presence speaks.

Window

High up a house I sat by the window,

and let me eyes flutter till they watered.

On a quiet street where trams tinged below,

and wriggled through the old town and sauntered.

In the distance waltzed the colourful sails

to the rhythm of the melodic sea.  

Their lazy swagger left a frothy trail,

and naughty waves rippled with ecstasy.

And across my house lived an old lady

who sprinkled, caressed her pots of lilies.

She gazed at the trams from her balcony-

bemused by the riders ride wavily.

My long window frame filmed pieces of time-

with mugs of coffee, tumblers of red wine.

Spain Yard

Large and sensuous appear the mountains-

how they undulate with a lustrous roll.

Shades of lazy green on the horizon 

where tanned hills stretch like wrinkles of a mole.

Scent of the forest mingles with the wind,

and sprinkles its essence over the field.

Dew in the air floats around with a glint

to which the blades of the grass gently yield.

Carpets of sunflowers bathe in sunshine-

the lemony curls with the chocolate disks.

Colours guzzle these misty eyes of mine-

the brush of the artist paints picturesque.

Miles of landscape is sketched on this canvas-

Long, winding roads, and the clock behind us.

Pillow Talks

Lay down your head on me when toils are done,

the limbs are weary and taken their toll.

When moon takes over the reigns from the sun,

and rest you must before the new tides roll.

Your droopy eyelids seem to have seen much

as the blur images of the day float by.

The lease of the ears is past as such-

it is time for the shy tongue to untie.

I feel your thoughts unfold over my crease-

some are dew heavy, some with dry humour.

They soon mingle with my wrinkles to tease,

and tell the tale in their dreamy murmurs.

Your shape imprints with every toss and turn-

but sweetens the night as our musings churn.