If not for the creamy herb chicken

in a flavourful and creamy herb sauce with a hint of garlic
on a weekday
is deliberation; why is there always a deep shade of melancholy
on the windowsill?
I coat the chicken breasts with onion and herbs,
season generously with salt and pepper.
The intellect chooses its own social gathering;
I chew upon this piece of information as the concoction
no longer pink inside
heats with another two teaspoons of olive oil and sauté garlic
with basil and oregano—
there are people who are generic, they exist within their own limitations
and shun
the ones who seem even a little bit different— I am a rebel
I thought, adding cream;
I refuse to be in the centre of the pan like cornstarch,
quickly stirring,
until acceptance like sauce has thickened slightly—
explore the world,
so often it happens that creative minds due to societal pressure
limit themselves.
I return the chicken to the skillet,
sprinkle with extra herbs and serve immediately—
there are moments
when one has to decide between following destiny and fulfilling its purpose
or succumbing
to the vengeful, the demented and the sadists who work together to form
an organized conspiracy to oppress others in the world.
to feel deeply is not a sign of weakness,
it’s a medium that sets us apart in society—
so much so that
when whispers of approval or contempt float across the room;
you will know—

“if not for the creamy herb chicken.”




Photo credits: Guest House by Yakira Eppel, Unsplash

Posted for Weekly Scribblings @ Poets and Storytellers United

Buck Moon ~ Part Two: Seeing Things

The moon is a slice of paranoia tonight;
of reflection of things that provoke the naked eye—
I am lost
but certain of silent footsteps that accompany me
as the hills darken.
It’s funny how the human mind works,
when faced with misgiving
and lethargic when lounging, when at ease—
love, I am aware of peeling away of minutes,
of shadows
that lurk astutely in the subconscious.
The rustling of leaves;
I have stood many a time at the doorway of dreaming,
attended circles
where people moan with disbelief— what if I told you
that seeing things is another name for siding with truth,
would you side with me?
Would you step outside your comfort zone?
Would you take the leap?
The watery embrace of the sea;
there is a thin line
between what’s real and what the world wants us to believe.



Photo credits:  Reflection by Serenity Mitchell, Unsplash

Posted for Weekly Scribblings @ Poets and Storytellers United

Aubade – This Much and More

It tiptoes into the heart quietly;
in the serenade of black where emotion takes center stage–
a moment of truth
alive and brimming, existing between two people,
how did we come to this?
You take the pain and turn it into something beautiful,
with your lips
remove all doubt and then press them to mine
until the sky bursts with light;
perhaps this is what it feels like to share your life,
perhaps this is what it feels like to belong.



Photo credits: Julius Kronberg Painting, Pinterest

Posted for Poetics: 9th Year Anniversary @ dVerse Poets Pub

Storm Rising

I didn’t notice it at first;
waves of sensuality that continued to trickle,
to wash upon me—
I cannot speak the words,
nor can I hope to describe the storm rising;
his eyes speak in sonnets,
roguishly blue-green—
anchor to world I breathe in.



Photo credits: Pinterest

Posted for Quadrille #107 – Blue Monday @dVerse Poets Pub

Also Posted on Writers’ Pantry @ Poets and Storytellers United

Wildflower in the Rain

Perhaps the most beautiful words are those
which remain suspended in mid-air,
over heathland pathways— I want you beside me;
listening intently,
in a world where honesty is considered imprudence
and shades of mauve are misinterpreted.
An inundation of sorts;
half sip of rhapsody, half of ache,
love is a portion of an epic poem adapted for recitation—
and I wonder
if poetry would suffice?

If anyone observes in me a slight hint of obstinacy?
Forgive me,
for I seem to have lost my breath,
your warm touch and nearness have my blood stirring—
like a wildflower in the rain,
I am beginning to comprehend what it’s like to yield.



Photo credits: Pinterest

Posted for Writers’ Pantry @ Poets and Storytellers United