A doctor by profession and a poet by choice I have written poetry for last 25+ years and aim to continue to do so forever.
#stiletto #redshoes #vainredstiletto #abstractpoetry #storypoem #shenanigansofscarletstilettos
Shenanigans of Scarlet Stilettos...
She was exquisiteslender and elegant,the colour of dewy roses,or cherry blush sun aglow on fiery tongues of smokeat dawn,a chiseled statuette amid grotesque figurine,she was like a princess amid rabble and snooty too..!She preened in the shop window admiringherself in neon reflections,and maintained a reticent distancefrom the other footwear,aloof and narcissistic she waslost always in herselfand dreaming of morrowsgilded in gold.A diva herselfshe craved to adorn feet of a prima donnadreaming of ravishing lifestyleand haute couture attire, days scented in frangipaniand nights bubbling in champagne,looking down on pragmatic platforms, sneaky sneakers,plump pumps and perky peep toesshe indulged in admring escapadesbefore the mirror at night .She'd hide behind grotesque bootswhen some ingenue searched for that sleek scarlet number she'd seenfrom afar, in the shop window,away from shrewd gaze of the clerk,and pushed some otherunsuspecting and pretty pair in frontbut posed coquettishly otherwise,teasing window shopping eyes with a sultry come hither pout.If tried by someoneshe thought didn't deserve hershe'd pinch and bite those poor feet,and become clumsy and tripto be left with scowl and a swear wordwhile she smirked to herself,But one night she found herself taken down and packed and wrappedwithout being given a chanceto assess her would be owner,and apprehension clogged her throatas she lay squirmingwithin a suffocating shoe boxfor what seemed like eons,feeling herself being thrown in airand landing oft with a thud.Finally she emerged in sunshineand peered with bleary, myopic eyes,at her environs and found herselfin gnarled, masculine hands,to her horrified dismay,and was put in a dark cornerof what looked like an archaic shelfamongst scores of other shoes,making her weep in despair.Haunted by nightmares,and shaking with unknown fear,she lay shivering and lonelyuntil someone picked her upand she found herself under harsh lightsbeing strapped on the feetof someone who looked like a goddess,was giddy with rapturetill she was removed with a screechand discarded as itchy,while another scarlet pairgloatingly replaced her with a wink.Life was a frenzied, rollercoaster ride,she was tried and wornfor a dance sequence or a sceneand discarded unceremoniously,she danced on the prettiest of feet,walked down glittering ramps,went to shows and parties,for she was part of the propsof a movie production house.Everyday was an escapade,she was worn or discarded to bipolar moods of divas she'd once reveredshe was a part of the glamour world,her life a paradoxical amalgamof neon lights and dark cobwebby solitude,as she became a flamboyant lie,-an inanimate masquerade item,Her dreams were a sneering hoaxand her idols had grown clay feet,while she remembered the caressof the longing eyes of a gauche girlshe had hurt with a shoe biteonce in her ruthless vanityto now nurse an unhealing wound-foever scarred...©smitanand
#summer #summerisbeautiful #summerpoetry #summerpoem
Summer is Beautiful...
Have you seen summer? she is ethereal, with her voluminous, blond maneof flooding aureate sunshine, her smile like warm treacle and shimmering honeydew on leafage, Her laughter echoes exuberant as the cascade flowing downhill from sweating sublime peaks,She has chameleon eyeschanging to her whims like fickle weather,sometimes her gaze is sereneand turquoise,as vast cornflower skiesunblemished by clouds, or hurling with myriad emotions as bountiful rivers,At others grey thundercloudschurn with riotous expressionsin those unfathomable, stormy depths the blazing ember sun burning amber on turmeric latte noonssmoulders in her eyes in rage, and they sparkle with fireflies,when amused. Her veil is vermilion like dawnsky, gown a sonnet of colorssequined in dewdropsand she wears a tiara of constellations while silver anklets of monsoonare the symphony of her gait, and rainbow drapes her shoulders like a gossamer shawl.She has lushness in her curves and fertility in her realms,her angst is like a manna drizzle, that nurtures seeds, she waltzes like the sultry breezeand she crotchets poetry as prologue and epilogue to every day she liveson the ambivalent blues...©smitanand
Life of a Ferris Wheel...
I stand tall a garangutanseeking to fondle the gossamer cloudslooking like vast soap suds afloat and indulge in a dialogue with the snobbish sun looking down its nose at us lesser beingsfrom its lofty celestial perch, while birds sit chattering on my headassuming I'm some weird tree. Surveying all around I see a carnival of colors and resonant musicechoing as a rapturous beat, there is a merry go round revolvingon its axis as children squeal their delightsaddled on backs of quixotic unicorns,a toy train engine emits a shrill whistle as its chugs away with its courtier cabins along versicolor tracks, Shops with dissociative identities stand winking in neon lights, their faces hidden by eager children and harassed haggling mothers, their windows casting gaudy cajoling grins. and their rates outlandish. Aromatic potpourri from food stallscarried by teasing wind on piggy back tickles nostrils of starved appetiteluring me scrumptious promises. A balloon man stands in a cornersinging in a hoarse tenorto sell his colorful restless wares,while he wears colors long bleached by sun and time. An ice cream vendor sellswinter dreams chiselled in milk, sugar, chocolate and moreon a balmy perspiring afternoon,as crowds throng for a cool treat. A circus stands wearing painted smiles, and often I wonder about the actsbeing inacted inside, remembering vague eavesdropped talesaired by excited children, of the clown, the trapeze artists, lion and its trainer, bearded womanand the incredible magician. I yearn for just a sneak peek inside. And there is me highlightedas the fasted and largest giantwheel in the town fair history, puffed with pompous pride I whirlin the glutton breeze overfedon aromas, tastes and gossip, feeling the stars start in surprise and the dozing moon looks startledas I seem like a whirling wheel of fireflameswearing strings of winking lights.In my vast embraceI cradle children shouting with gleeand screaming with fear, placating haggard parents and loverskissing in passion at the acme, making me blush, hooligan teens hooting aloudand girls' giggles are riddled in innocuous stage whispers. I churn myself for long hours, and am deadbeatwhen the last ride ends at midnight, I sleep on my tired feetunder a moon crooning lullabies, and a breeze caressing by exhaustionwith feathery fingers, till a plum faced dawn arriveswreathed in irksome cacophony and I open reluctant lids to drink inthe pouring photons of a new morning.
#trafficlight #redlight #greenlight #iamatrafficlight #poetryontrafficlight
Tale of the Daydreaming Traffic Light
A strict traffic lightI discipline erratic behavior of the delinquent automobilesracing on the whimsical road, controlling their speed and gaitwith my winking chameleon moods. preventing traffic jams and accidents with quicksilver perceptions. An insomniac I am always awakeguiding mood swings of racing traffic with intuitive skill inherited from an ancestry of conscientious traffic lights,always endeavoring to prevent catastrophes on the roaddespite quixotic whims of weather. But I have a trifling flaw, I love to indulge in daydreams, brief interludes of fantasy are my only viceI find stolen moments, when traffic lags,to ascend cerulean heights, meandering over cloudy moustaches of a hirsute sun,to find a little fairytale to sprinkle stardust over my grimy lifefrom the land sparkling sunbeams. In these moments of respiteI forget my duty as the traffic sentineltaking short flights of fancyto fill hip pockets in twinkling photons, sometimes at midnight I fly to the moonerasing the shadows on its faceI dance with the lunar hare in moonlight, plucking planets to play as marbles on the crosswalks.I sometimes envy the streetlightit can enjoy long hours of restfulness after its nocturnal vigil, while I am destined to be always alert to guide relentless traffic,I am proud of my responsibility but at times I resent the stringent rulesand yearn to play hookey as those willful children at school. I know I shouldn't daydreamit is a dangerous flaw, yet often when the road is quiet I tendto encourage my illusions, but one day at dawn as I stood preoccupied gazing at sun spilling molten lava on treetops freckling verdant foliage in gold coins,a truck came swerving downthe serpentine road at high speedgliding forwards as a juggernaut bent on destruction, and snapping out of my reverie I cast a scarlet glare at the offenderstopping him in his tracks just before it could hit a mother pushing her baby pram across the zebra crossing.I was mortified and promised myself to neverever indulge in careless daydreams again putting lives in reckless jeopardy...©smitanand
I am a Scar...
The emblazoned sigh of paintattooed on alabaster skin,shriek of a sneering wound echoingfrom cobwebby catacombs of yesterdaysImprints left by a cataclysmon the face of reality. A proof of endurance and survival etched on the sinewsproud laurel of resilience,insignia of undaunted courage, memory of a deception smirking on the being, as harsh remiderof the price paid for gullibility. An imperfection adding character and depthto simplicity and gauche naivete, lingering sigh of a love songlong erased by fingers of cynicism, a crescent moon lurking from undiluted nights of haunting despair, on the blushing morrows of hope. A besmirching allegation of betrayal taunting as a slant grin, like a divorced clause from an argument still existing on today's being, a moment refusing to blend into the ambiguity of an obscure past,Shadow of twilight fleetingon vermilion panorama of dawncalligraphy scribbled as dark poetryfrom the pen of whimsical timea nascent thought faded butstill pestering an irked reverie, a grimace that is silently streakedon canvas of existence forever...©smitanand
#comet #meteors #birthofacomet #asteroids #iamacomet #poemoncomet #cometpoetry #cosmos #illomen
Being a Comet...
A dirty snowballborn as an idiosyncrasy of the eccentric cosmos, it travels in a stardusted hyperbolaspewing fuming expletives and shrill profanities as a combusting pressure cookerwhen attracted bythe sun's unparalleled gravity. It grows a tailas inner demons are borninflating the egoof a once docile frozen sphere,emitting a fussilade of burning sparks in the infinitein sheer envy when it witnesses a flourishing earth, it melts awayin vociferous sunflames,like a moth infatuated by fire, or collides into an unsuspecting mooncarving craters on sublime skin. Simmering with rageit reiterates its steps attacking like an insane being, showing up with its blazing tailat either dawn or duskwhen the earth is a mellow painterspilling pastels on celestial canvas and the sun good natured, spluttering and grumbling in sparkling syllables of premonition as astrologersfrown predictions of evil omen. Then at last it is quietenedby a complacent time, and after a billion eons of enmity it becomes subdued and indifferent metamorphosing into an asteroid that follows a stereotypical orbit no longer a harbinger of catastrophes...©smitanand
#mirage #falsemirage #iamamirage #miragepoem #miragepoetry #poem #poetry #abstractpoetry #writersnetwork #pod #poemoftheday #mirakeepoetry
A Day in the Life of a Mirage...
A moodswing born from apprehensive introspectionsof a bipolar atmosphere I take birth at noon,when nature's thermostat goes ballistics,under a sweltering sunsizzling and spluttering on hot skillet skies. An alluring illusion fleeting on unsuspecting azuresI lurk as an idiosyncratic error of lightas photons have heatstroke and I am created as a counterfeit promise of verdant oasis in barren ariditygiving false hopes of satiety to thirsty travelers and beasts.I shimmer as a distant reflection in hallucinating skies,crumpled and fleeting likea water body mirroring lushnessbut it is a lushness stolen from afarlife an erratic bulletor a disillusioned jigsaw piece,and parched, tired beings chase mea phantasmagoria of nature's whimsy. Always they feel I am nearbywhile they keep following me like an elusive dream, from noon to dusk then when the sun retreats with its blazing spitfire sunflames the atmosphere coolsand I am erased as a foolish ideafrom its graffiti horizons, and the traveler or beast loses hopedying forlorn on callous sandsstill simmering with recollections of a noon now lost...©smitanand
#sombrero #hat #cowboyhat #poemonsombrero
Adventures of a Sombrero...
I wasa cowboy's dream,desire of a swanky mariachiand my maker's delightdark as sinful chocolatemy felt skin smooth as silkas I hung in the shop windoweyes painting bleary rainbowsin the harsh sunshine.I was cocky,dreaming of horse ridesfarmhouses and country barsthat I'd heard of fromthe gregarious customerswhile eavesdropping on boring days,and which I'd soon visit.One morning,while hanging onmy accustomed perch,I smelled blueberries in the airand wisterias mixed as an exotic blendand found myselftaken down by handssoft as the caress of zephyr.I saw an angelic facesmiling, her hair an aureate haloas she examined me,and then she paid and I was herstoo shocked to voicemy indignance I wasa masculine hat nota lady's frivolous frou-froushe couldn't buy me.Yet petulant and helplessI lay on her carriage seat too pissedto enjoy my first ride,I fumed with furyplanning to scratch her browor just fly away to escapeand find a handsome male owner.But my fears were futilefor she'd bought me for her spousetall, dark and handsomeas can be,and then I lived a realitymore amazing than any fantasy,riding horses over mountain trailsperched rakishly on his head,visiting inns, bars and offices,I become his bosom body.Growing oldermy shine mellowedand I was wrinkled, threadbarebut still I was wornas a fond presentfrom his beloved wifesoon however I was replacedby a younger hatits visage reminiscentof my faded youth.I hung in a corner,riffling through old memories,forlorn but resigned,and then one day I feltagain a caress on my beingas tiny hands fondled me,so I was worn againnow by a little boy,his head was small, I sat askewriding bicycles and ponies,running downhill andplaying in the orchardI enjoyed another adventure- childhoodas I became a legacygiven from father to son... ©smitanand
Escapades of a Cookie
I was bornon a mixed feelingsSeptember afternoon,balmy and wet fromflirtatious breeze romancinga cheerfully lazy sun,lolling on raincloud swings,from the wombof blazing aromatic warmth.Came outin the sunshine, with a shrill beepof precision,and was greeted witha whoop of unadulterated glee and aweeven before I openedcrispy eyelids to drink in the sightsof the sepia afternoonits breathe an exotic blendof petrichor and cinnamon latte,waking to find shiny almond eyesand a buttery grin welcoming meas chubby hands clapped their delight.Such an ecstatic responseleft me gooey and warm from ovenglowing aureate,and I smiled in return,while I listened to tempest's rapechoing from corrugated rooftops,and smelled an autumn tinted monsoon,of shivering nutmeg sighs,it was a wonderful homecoming.Filled within confines of an ancient jarpainted in frangipanis,with my oven siblings I lay curledin a fetal position,while sunshine filtered inon prismatic footprints,lulling me asleep in my new homeas I dreamt of butterscotch morrows.I woke up tothe sound of a thud,as my glass abode landedon kitchen table after a air swoopand its lid was opened,I felt the caress of morning breezeon my streusel cheeks,and movement of delving fingers nearby.Fear of the unknownclasped my being as I witnesseda brother of mineemerge from the jarand being eaten by a little girlwith swinging pigtails,with gulps of milk as she enjoyedevery mouthfulwhile my fellow cookiedisappeared as a waning moon.Every day passeda dreaded apprehension,as I lay curled in nooktrying to resign myself toa scary fate,and one afternoonwhen prodigal sunbeamsetched chiaroscuro on windowsand air was echoingwith sounds of playing childrenI found giant fingers hold meas I tried to squirm,pulling me out of my alcove.I was frozen with fear,as I found myself being placedin porcelain platter,with my other kith and kin,and laced in molten chocolate-proverbial dressing of the lambI thought, my pulse a staccato beatin my brown ribcge,I mumbled soft prayers.Another hand picked me upas I tried to be brave,yet hoping for a miraculous escapewhile I was dunk withinhot fluidity of a swanky cappuccinosporting a stylish stubble,I found myself meltingwithin caffeinated realms,and was gulped downwith a mouthful of bittersweet coffeeand I found meaning of my lifein the rapture etched on the faceof a stranger as he savored me- a sumptuous chocochip cookie...©smitanand
#whisper #whisperpoem #iamwhisper #moodsofawhisper #poetry #poem #poemoftheday #POD #writersnetwork #mirakeepoetry #Mirakee
I am a Whisper...
I linger on wings of windas a soft sigh of nascent words, a sentence wrapped in mystique and mystery, I am the butterfly flutterof a dialogue, sibilant sister of silenceI have dissociative identities,I am awea surprised gasp wearingan exclamation point, voiced in wonder, the alphabets, nouns, verbs allstunned to uttera louder response with an awestruck tongue .I am a secret like translucent mistdraped in ambiguity the words often unintelligible, like a code yet undecipherableto the casual ear, I am fodder for gossip milloften salacious and scandalous or just mildly amusing in content. I am an endearment shared between those belovedthe sweet nothings adorning a romantic interlude, when the lipskiss the ear with a phrasesighed in redundant syllables felt more than heardin throes of passion. I am a monologue that finds a frail but audible voicesomething spoken to selfthat requires no speechjust the bare bones of thoughts, but was utteredas inadvertent error, its footprints like those seenafter the tide recedes, barely legible.I am a prayersighed with reverence,send heavenwards as a wispy feathera desire, dream or hopesent on wings of faitha communication of the soul and the almighty, meant only for his ears. I am dejection, an amalgam of pain and despair, words uttered without vitality lifeless and colorless, when darkness hauntsand hope succumbs to pessimismpainting dawns grey and forlornand no rainbow concludesashen musings of tempest clouds.©smitanand
Thank you so much @writersnetwork and @mirakee for the kind repost. i was trying to create the origami of my smilefrom the wings of Caladriusflying towards crestfallen heartsteleporting the universe to the seventh heavenbearing the heart spasmsfrom dusk to dawnafter shifting unknown emotionsmeeting me at the intersectiondeep into my cavernand your were writing elegies to lifekeeping them in sheath of poetriesnarrating your story as theBad orphan bird condemned to live in darkness beneath water your words pricked my night's sleepso i rushed to the magical island of Buyan gathering the enchanting melodies of Alkonostand singing them to youscribbling the song of rebirthyou caressed my speckled feathers turning them all goldennaming me Garuda, the king of birdstogether we painted the Halcyoncalming the mayhem of our liveswith dazzling strokes of red one night, i read about Boobriesi told you about their art of imitationhow they mimic the cries of injuredfor their act of huntingyou asked me if i knew about Stymphalianand i didn't nod my headyou grabbed me by neckand reduced me to vestigesscreaming out loud"I'm one of them" now i sit in a voidwith closed eyeshiding away from the skytrying to draw the wingsof Phoenixlooking for myself Ps : Name of ancient birds - Caladrius, Alkonost, Bad Orphan Bird, Garuda, Halcyon, Boobrie, Stymphalian Phoenix is the bird said to have rising from the ashes@mirakee @writersnetwork @writersbay #pod #birdc #halcyonc #writersbay #mirakee #writersnetwork #write
Before we met, I was trying to create my smile from the wings of Caladrius,now I'm trying to find myself, drawing the wings of Phoenix.©thunderbird__