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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Oh! This Dance...

I dance to your tune

To the rhythm of your beat 

Have I lost myself in you?

Or you've merged unto me?

I implore a response 

Whether true or falsified

Least you can do is to

Dispel doubt and satisfy 

This blind step on steps

Will not be true to soul

Neither will I remain full

Nor will you remain whole 

So let down your arms 

And dangle your mask 

Let the world see you

And me...is it too big an ask?

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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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