April - A Mirrored Or Double Acrostic

This week's prompts of Poets And Storytellers United are a bunch of quotes:

Rommy  says, "The month of April seems to have lots of different imagery associated with it, as can be seen in these quotes.

1. “Although I was born in April, I’m quite certain I was not fully awake until October.” ~ Peggy Toney Horton 

2. “It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.” ~ George Orwell 

3. “April is the kindest month. April gets you out of your head and out working in the garden.” ~ Marty Rubin 

4. “It is spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart.” ~ Rainer Maria Rilke 

5. “April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull root with spring rain.” ~ T. S. Eliot 

Your optional prompt for this week is to pick one (or more) of these quotes and use them as inspiration for your pieces."

I take inspiration from the third quote by Martin Rubin and present a mirrored acrostic or a double acrostic.

Though the month of April, this part of the globe, can be quite formidable heralding a scorching summer but this season sudden showers have tempered the days with milder hues. That is why April stands out a bit kinder than usual this year.

This poem is also inspired by Luisa Zambrota's invite for an acrostic on April

Again April

Perhaps it will be kinder still

Remaining with me as my strength 

Infusing an urge to head out of my

Languid thoughts and moods

Leaving me without a choice to

Incubate melancholy in a closed jar and 

Realign creativity with nascent dreams 

Poised to win over my self and this world as

Again it's April 

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They Come And Go

They come in bunches

At odd hours ...

In the middle of the night

Or wee hours of the morning 

Did I keep the window open 

By mistake 

But then the breeze wicked as ever

Swishes them away...

Without taking leave of me 

I was never meant to promise them a page

I was never meant to imprison them 

With a quil... in ink...in bold letters maybe

I was never meant to own them

I realise of late

But

It's late ....too late....

Oh! So late....

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Is The World Burning ?

Poets And Storytellers United has invited us to share poetry or prose which includes the following phrase: “the world is burning, but…” 

My response to the prompt:

The baby with soiled cheeks 

Crying amidst a heap of bloody corpses

Smoke billowing in the background 

Rising up to a hazy, listless sky

A broken wall helplessly guarding 

A roof-less house... bombed

It's doors and windows unhinged

A broken cage ... lies tilted on 

A haphazard pile of stones 

On barren, dusty grounds once a park

Where children played and romped

Mother's walked their babies happily

Men jogged and boys stole shy glances

With rosy cheeked girls joyfully young

The anchor cries hoarse ...

Over the 'mindless pillage and plunder..."

Oh! No!! Not again....

I pick up the remote and flick  channels

A girl with a seductive smile and inviting eyes

Her anorexic waist gyrates to a raunchy song

Is the world really burning ? 

Elsewhere....

As long as the sequins of her swirling skirt Glow....For me.....Perhaps no........

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Apparition

Who said I met her in flesh and spirit?

She was just an eerie thought

Warm in spring, cold in winter 

Sizzling in summer, restrained in autumn

Drizzling in rain...fragrance in the breeze

Shyness of the bloom...melody of the song

She was there and not there ...at once lovely

Indifferent in another moment...beyond reach

Beyond grasp, beyond thought, beyond provocation...she was just a wisp, just a whiff 

Just an echo through passage of time

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This is also part of Blogchatter's #WriteAPageADay Campaign 

Unsolicited

Today's prompt on Poets And Storytellers United is : Luxury 

Mrs. Crow

My busybody neighbour 

In the habit of giving me solemn advice

From time to time 

Asked me once, "What is luxury?"

A broken pencil and notebook in hand.

I said succinctly,

"Well, to own your own exclusive Genie."

She scoffed,

"What 'bout havin' a pair of unassuming wings?

I thought about it and replied, "Not bad.

It'll reduce my travelling cost."

"What about a nest of twigs and waste on the highest branch of the tallest tree?"

I pondered on the package. She added,

"With air, water and light for free...no bill you see. Constructed in simplicity.... maintenance optional absolutely."

I debated over its utility, "What about rain and

sun and snow? How'd you run the show?"

"Oh that!" She looked meditative,

"I guess you've got to rely on feathers and leaves." She shrugged.

"What about food?" I interjected

"Best of the best. We pick and choose."

She boasted.

Unconvinced, I objected rather lamely,

"But I have got no feathers." 

She nodded her head sagely,

"That's the problem, you see...

You are not basically meant for luxuries."

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Breath To Breath

I love the meditative dawn

When clatter of my feet 

On the floor rises like a song

I love the meditative dawn 

                         Morning walks in with grace

                         And a cuppa steaming chai

                         Sipping I look at world afresh

                         Morning walks in with grace

Afternoon wraps in late 

A long shadow over nests

I mull over dreams unchased

Afternoon wraps in late

                           Dusk has a stealthy tiptoe

                           Forgotten it's unwept woes

                           A surprise spring to its toes

                           Dusk has a stealthy tiptoe

Evening with its repertoire

Of prayers and magical choirs

Healing wounds of yore

Evening with its repertoire

                           Night folds in like a child

                           Playing all day in the wilds

                           It's time in the womb to hide

                           Night folds in like a child

Days nights noons 'n eves

Breath to breath I live

No loss no gain no peeves

Breath to breath I live

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Love Hate

hating

this season of

pollens and dust 

I sneeze 

deep unto

November 

even if

I love the most

autumn

...the call of

winter

chilling

time it is

to wipe out

the cobwebs 

although... 

the rainbow 

through ....and... through 

shines within

the web 

an abstract art 

does the spider know

how to weave a prism ?

the empty bench

waiting 

the colour red

inviting

but ... no

my ten thousand steps

living 

and loving

but hating as well

this stretch of

silence....quite

uneven

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October

With October came the season 

Of unexpected rain and fusion

Of autumnal wind and vision

Of a winter not far away

With October came the festives

Of togetherness and missives

Of love and the will to forgive

Endurance and give aways

With October came the sun

A bit mellowed but really fun

A little chilly a little warm

But surely longer to stay

With October drifted the leaves

From green to yellowed mischiefs

No it's not one of my pet peeves

Its October be mild you may

With October the blooms still

Blossom and birds trill

Chirpy and noisy as hell

Making a ruckus in my balcony 

With October there's the spirit

Of going and bringing with it

Wistful memories

Of a long gone past faraway

With October came goodbyes

To summer and rains' cry

And balms to heal and how!

October linger longer I pray

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Waking Up

it's difficult 

to wake up from a dream

the sudden realisation that 

it was just a dream

is maddening

dreams are no more dreams

as often I watch over myself 

while dreaming 

it's disheartening 

it's not another world

where you are happy, sad

bickering, pathetic, miserable

it's here and now

so frustrating

what you thought was attainable

is perhaps a figment of your

imagination....no more reachable 

because it's not a dream any longer

it's here and now here and now 

don't scream out of anger

or disappointment 

it's your late realisation 

that you forgot to figure out

it's no more a dream

the world knew and therefore 

it never stopped moving away

taking a course different 

you stagnated because 

you thought it was just a dream

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Last Minute

Sooner we end this the better

The tomfoolery

The bickerings 

The fake smiles

The real tears

The abrupt touch

Of the hands

The dismal longings 

Of togetherness 

The hopes

The disappointments 

The disillusioned dreams

The loss , the pain 

Of losing

The aches, the burns 

The haunting memories 

The fear of knowing

The truth

The exaltations

The exuberances

The excitements

Of rapid heartbeats

The fading happiness 

The hurried parting

The last minute goodbye

Sooner it ends the better

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One Day

One day 

I shall call myself 

Home

Sit across you

And sing a heart to heart 

Song

I have

So many questions to ask 

Hoping after hope

For honest replies

To the mysteries unresolved

To the dark side veiled

By  crooked smiles

To the tears unshed

To the wound untreated

To the pain unembalmed

I guess

You will open up to me 

And I perhaps eagerly  to you

Till we find the fulcrum 

On which to balance 

Our tears and smiles

Pains and relief

Wounds and sutures

Till then

We shall seek moments of truth

Unto ourselves 

With hearts half healed

Flesh half scarred

Notes unmusical 

Lyrics jarred

Thoughts unrevealed 

Unsaid, unfelt, unspoken 

Squashed

Mysteries unveiled

Yet far apart

One day

You and I will be one

Till then....

The quest continues

Unembarked

One day

I will bring you 

Home

You and I

Together 

Shall build a nest

Of songs and lyrics 

Of your and mine

One day...

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Holi

In the month of spring or falgun, the festival of colours or holi is celebrated. Mythology says that holi was celebrated by Lord Krishna with Gopiyas or the womenfolk of cattle herders. Philosophically speaking, life itself is holi or a celebration of colours. Each colour depicting each rasa or aspect of life. Based on the bhajan (song of devotion), written by the blind poet Surdas, who was a devout krisna bhakt or disciple of Lord Krishna, my poem talks of holi or the colour fest.

Lo! The hue of the sky

Has turned from blue to red

The bare branches of the trees

Once again flaunt velvety leaves

Of soft, shiny sheen so green

The breeze carries the aroma 

Of fragrant abeer and gulaal

A dust of pink and magenta

Of crushed petals in full bloom

Ablush are the roses and marigolds

Intoxicating are the bright morns

Redolent  are the desultory noons

Amidst the splendour of spring which brings

Colours galore in ashen lives of winter sore

Behold! The cosmic dance of cattle herders

Men and women in a maddening swirl

With fistful of joy how they splash

Puddles of colours with merry twirls

Blinding the Earth, the Moon, the Stars

With saffron, blue, ochre and slash of silver 

Those who have drunk the wine so divine

Have never been waylaid by life's false pains

All in vain but the fest of holi alas ! all is vain

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Far But Near

I know they will never be that close

We shall never cross orbits

They will cluster in their constellation

I in my obscurity will await epochs

To let them know my real self

I am a lone roamer and shall remain so

Neither gravitating towards them

Not letting them encroach my domain

Each to his own ...never mind the invites

I shall never make that inter-gallactic travel

Nor will they bridge the light years of separation

We shall remain content in our axes tilted 

But not transgressing that fine zone of "my own"

And some nights when the moon behaves like a stranger

We shall look for each other amidst a nexus of twinkling stars

And call out each other's names through the Silences of the music filtering through the universe

We shall confine our togetherness to distances

unerasable 

You in "your own" I in "my own"

                                 Pic from Google

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The Visitors

I watch all day long

Crows and squirrels

Prancing up and down

The Champa* tree

I wish I could grow lighter feet

To cuddle the clouds

Touch the top of the trees

Flap wings across the sky

The visitors to my garden

Teach me to aspire

Beyond the limits of

My earthy skills and

Narrow domain of

Mundane worries

And cheap, unexciting thrills

Champa :Magnolia Champaka or Champak Tree

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Dusk At Bhangarh

The road winds up the hill

Treacherous, tortuous, tiring

In search of that beacon of light

Enlightening, encompassing, ensnaring

A thick film of fog hangs down on earth

Grey, grim, grimacing

At Nature's generous endowments

Unhappy, unrelenting, unhinged

By its own melancholic solitude

Yet daring, dauntless, demanding
Answers best forgotten and buried in the past
The cloak camouflages continuum
And descends like a pall of doom

Presaged, perpetuates pretentions

Of an untimely end  vulnerable

Fearful of a formidable fiasco of a future
Lest it opposes all designs carefully planned
of life, love, lust and longings
Eternal.....


(Thoughts found cadence at Bhangarh, the cursed civilization in timeless wait for divine blessing)