Time Phase

 

Sunday Muse #200

Molding lives

Self and the other half  of the womb

In tiny cells of conscious effort

Each day is  taken in halves 

Trying to fill them with bits and pieces

A tired body adjusting

On a blank canvas

Filling it with colors

Blue, pink, green, yellow, and many more.

The extended umbilical cord stretching

Mending all the broken passages of time

Life is a palette 

Filled with many possibilities

Either get stuck in the pain or  move ahead and

Accept the challenges with a smile.

Participating in : The Sunday Muse

We Belong

 The Sunday Muse #196

                                                                  Photography by Josephine

 What can we share together?

We are visitors on a vast sphere 

Breathing in fumes of distrust and disaster 

Shortly timed lives we live

You and me

In this claustrophobic 

Whorl of self-destruction 

Who is wise and who is foolish?

    Participating in : The Sunday Muse

Period

 The Sunday Muse #195

                                                                     

                                                                             Photograph by Anita Sedberry at Harold Ross Fine Art Photography.

All beliefs confessed, die evenly

For grandeur harvested in

Joys keep losing momentum

Not once pride questions reasons

Seriously, to understand visions

When xeroxed youth zeroes down

Spiraling in a bottomless abyss

More or less, the smoked life

Sleeps peacefully in the shadows

Branching in the fragrant earth.

Participating in : The Sunday Muse

Glazed

The Sunday Muse #194

 

An aged vision

Frosted

Chiseled

In tiny specks

Silvered layers

Tempered in rhymes

Peeps

Tempts

A forged existence

What one wants to

See

feel

Lies in a lot more

Silent echoes

Rings

Sings

Through a timeless frame.

Participating in : The Sunday Muse

Let the Heart Sing!

The Sunday Muse # 193

                                          “James Dean playing the bongos, NYC, 1955. Photographed by Dennis Stock ”

A smokescreen

The cacophonic world 

Let the heart sing

In the arms of freedom.

There are layers

In the colorful world

Let us forget who we are

And sing to the winds!

The isolation

Chains the spirit in a crowd

In the wilderness 

A true self breathes!

Participating in: The Sunday Muse

Following the Heart

 The Sunday Muse #192

I took the bait

And moved ahead

Without looking back

And here I am

Infront of the reality

Touching my soul.

I followed my heart

Not easy in these

Tiring times,

But, the odds

Couldn't stop me

And here I am

In the heart of my dreams

Embracing without fear

All that I missed.

Participating in : The Sunday Muse

(Last month I packed my bags and baggage and moved back  to a place which I have left three decades back ago. The place is not the same. The topography and demography has undergone many changes. It is going to be a real challenge adjusting to the  new environment. I am not giving up! ) 

Trapped

The Sunday Muse # 191

Fearful, doubtful 

Through and through

An outcast.

Skin permeates 

In deep oceans

As a pariah out on a prowl.

People are objects

Detested and tested

In tiny cells of curtains.

How ugly can one become

Within the chains of closed doors.

A  catastrophe dances

 Inside and outside

Isn't that how it has been

for the past few years?

Participating in : The Sunday Muse

Senses

 A short life

Timed and cursed 

Carries the debts of needs.

Shivering existence 

Wails in winters

Searching warmth 

In invisible arms.

The Voice

 The Sunday Muse #189

You feel like December, my friend

Cool, cozy, warm, and woozy

You smell of pines and woods

And long-forgotten fairy tales.

You are the wanderer of the dark forces

For me, a boon from the ancient voices

You understand the silent pleas 

And the danger of lurking fears.

We know how far we have come

From the wild ways to  a comfort zone

In this cacophonous world

It gets lonely and dangerous even for a child.

Participating in : The Sunday Muse

Break

The Sunday Muse #188

 

a moment to self

closed within the subconscious

silent communion

Participating in : The Sunday Muse

The Real World

 The Sunday Muse #187

A dark shadow breathes,

In the empty spaces

The rusted mind moves in circular motion

Chasing truth in bits and pieces.

Reality is just a lie!.

There are those wandering hours 

Enveloped in  darkness

Into the unknown world,

A world filled with illusions

Spiralling in a  hallucinating blackhole.

People are just an existence!

The eyes only meet

Shapeless entrances and entities 

Conversation within the empty walls

Echoes in silent resonance.

No key can open these shadowless doors!

Participating in : The Sunday Muse

(Dementia- when a dear one goes through this phase, you are left with  a helpless feeling)