Of love and neutral tones

As I would peel gold from a persimmon 
so would I strip away hauteur 
behind the storm of your downcast eyes,
nothing quite touches me
like innocence 
and words kept from addressing their pain.

You see 
I want you from your skin 

to your soul,
your smile deserves to be kissed 
as though clouds
that touch upon a rouge sunset,
I crave the emotions
stirring deep inside your breast 
the fiery essence 
of despair mingled with conviction
and hope. 

You are cornucopia
of winter sunshine, fire, velvet wind, oh layers
of begrudging leaves
who for purposes benign my warm and giving
nature deceive.


Photo credits: Rusty Gold by L.L. Williams

Posted for Artistic Interpretations with Margaret @ Real Toads 

Soliloquy – Under the full strawberry moon

Let us pretend it’s June 
the full deliciousness of this ripening thought
this break of day,
so peaceful is emptiness
that I should like to rest my heart
and exhale.
Let us pretend that romance isn’t as wild
and ephemeral 
as we are used to thinking,
rare is the heart that’s hopeful
when slowly everything that’s revered
is dying.
Deep is the hour when strawberry moon unfurls 
shielding us
from the pain that being human proffers,
to me
she is Poet’s muse,
and keeper of all things unadulterated.


Photo credits: Pinterest 

Posted for Toni’s Challenge @ Real Toads 

Evening Primrose

It blooms in spite of shadow,
lure of dismal, dreary and dark, 
where grey clouds
with soft, ethereal light
as I meandered and curled
a long and winding path. 

It seemed almost natural
and all the while I kept my eyes on pale
and nodding grass,
the sweet conviction tasted as honey 
and milk,
as strength of majestic mountains, rivers
and wind
offered themselves to me. 

I carried a primrose
and fled
upon the arrival of mulberry dusk,
in my palm
I held what I thought to be essence of life
in the universe.


Photo credits: Pinterest 

A childhood memory in Muzaffarabad, Kashmir ❤️

Posted for Weekend Mini-Challenge @ Real Toads


And Posted on the poetry pantry @ Poets United

The Peace of Wild Dawn

Dawn delicate, 
dreaming, bursts through the clouds
as I look back
the last bits of a black bean breakfast bowl. 

I cannot forget headlines
leaping out at me from the television,
the newspaper,
cannot disregard feeling of dread
swirl of smoke 
and drowning hope in the drinks of Poets 
on the other side of the world,
my heart is bloodied 
but unyielding
I beg the Lord above
to lend me wings 
so that I may breathe out words of healing. 

invariably blooms
when we manage to outwit Apollyon,
who seeks
to trouble the minds of those
in the clutches of despair, of woe,
of hate
and circumstance.

Let us align with goal,
discover that strength lies in thought, 
let not the brutality of this world
make you hard
let not the pain deprive of feeling,
of love
and perseverance. 
We are stronger together
in numbers,
in striving to find a solution through means
of harmony
rather than leaning toward route of bias


Photo credits: Pinterest

Posted for Midweek Motif @ Poets United


Posted for Open link night @ dVerse Pub

December, world as described in the heart of a poet

tiptoed silently into the darkened room,

followed by clouds
that blush like tangerine and plum

as I wake with dreams merely forgotten
not erased.

~ a moment when we know it’s December ~

detach from boughs and are translucent
as paper

urging me to gather fragments of thoughts
and recognize ardor that longs to meld
with the written word.


Behind every calm demeanor there lies

knowing political language is as cherry tart
filled with guile,

and that oppressed are left with only one chance
to decide.

~ a moment when we know it’s December ~

the new moon rose behind trees

as I listen to flutter of heart
and birdsong

while angst is forgotten and no longer brought
to mind.


Photo credits: Toa Heftiba, Unsplash

Form: Puente

Posted for ‘Sunday Mini-Challenge’ @ Real Toads

And posted on the Poetry Pantry @ Poets United


And posted on Monday Writes @ My Blog- Verses


Letter composed on the corner of 26th Street

I have seen white blossoms
fall into the lake
regardless of political storm 
that surrounds it,
witnessed men build dreams
of suspicion that destroys it.
This is not anywhere else 
but here
in our heart that we find conviction,
I won’t tell you 
you already know how to do it.

And when the night darkens, 
both moon and lovers go silent 
that art of pleasing won’t always solve
I won’t disclose
sheets soiled with regret
a water jug,
a magazine
and roses 
stripped of colour
in a hotel room
where opinions are muffled under covers.

This, I am writing to a friend
who on several occasions is caught by surprise,
we can not go back and start
from the beginning,

nor can we hope to undo grief
and change the person we were yesterday,
I won’t tell you how to feel
offer age old cures that only half believe
I won’t tell you
how to let go of buried thoughts
even the wind echoes what foolish sing
I won’t tell you how to go on
you are already doing a beautiful job of it.


Photo credits: Pinterest

Posted for Midweek Motif @ Poets United


& on the tuesday platform @ Real Toads