Mirakee
Shenanigans of Scarlet Stilettos...
She was exquisite
slender and elegant,
the colour of dewy roses,
or cherry blush sun
aglow on fiery tongues of smoke
at dawn,
a chiseled statuette
amid grotesque figurine,
she was like a princess amid
rabble and snooty too..!
She preened
in the shop window admiring
herself in neon reflections,
and maintained a reticent distance
from the other footwear,
aloof and narcissistic she was
lost always in herself
and dreaming of morrows
gilded in gold.
A diva herself
she craved to adorn feet of a prima donna
dreaming of ravishing lifestyle
and haute couture attire,
days scented in frangipani
and nights bubbling in champagne,
looking down on
pragmatic platforms, sneaky sneakers,
plump pumps and perky peep toes
she indulged in admring escapades
before the mirror at night .
She'd hide behind grotesque boots
when some ingenue searched
for that sleek scarlet number she'd seen
from afar, in the shop window,
away from shrewd gaze of the clerk,
and pushed some other
unsuspecting and pretty pair in front
but posed coquettishly otherwise,
teasing window shopping eyes
with a sultry come hither pout.
If tried by someone
she thought didn't deserve her
she'd pinch and bite those poor feet,
and become clumsy and trip
to be left with scowl and a swear word
while she smirked to herself,
But one night she found herself
taken down and packed and wrapped
without being given a chance
to assess her would be owner,
and apprehension clogged her throat
as she lay squirming
within a suffocating shoe box
for what seemed like eons,
feeling herself being thrown in air
and landing oft with a thud.
Finally she emerged in sunshine
and peered with bleary, myopic eyes,
at her environs and found herself
in gnarled, masculine hands,
to her horrified dismay,
and was put in a dark corner
of what looked like an archaic shelf
amongst scores of other shoes,
making her weep in despair.
Haunted by nightmares,
and shaking with unknown fear,
she lay shivering and lonely
until someone picked her up
and she found herself under harsh lights
being strapped on the feet
of someone who looked like a goddess,
was giddy with rapture
till she was removed with a screech
and discarded as itchy,
while another scarlet pair
gloatingly replaced her with a wink.
Life was a frenzied, rollercoaster ride,
she was tried and worn
for a dance sequence or a scene
and discarded unceremoniously,
she danced on the prettiest of feet,
walked down glittering ramps,
went to shows and parties,
for she was part of the props
of a movie production house.
Everyday was an escapade,
she was worn or discarded to
bipolar moods of divas she'd once revered
she was a part of the glamour world,
her life a paradoxical amalgam
of neon lights and dark cobwebby solitude,
as she became a flamboyant lie,
-an inanimate masquerade item,
Her dreams were a sneering hoax
and her idols had grown clay feet,
while she remembered the caress
of the longing eyes of a gauche girl
she had hurt with a shoe bite
once in her ruthless vanity
to now nurse an unhealing wound-
foever scarred...
©smitanand
smitanand
drsmitasriwas280.wordpress.com/
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.
-
smitanand
15w
-
Summer is Beautiful...
Have you seen summer?
she is ethereal,
with her voluminous, blond mane
of 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 eyes
changing to her whims
like fickle weather,
sometimes her gaze is serene
and turquoise,
as vast cornflower skies
unblemished by clouds,
or hurling with myriad emotions
as bountiful rivers,
At others grey thunderclouds
churn with riotous expressions
in those unfathomable, stormy depths
the blazing ember sun
burning amber on turmeric latte noons
smoulders in her eyes in rage,
and they sparkle with fireflies,
when amused.
Her veil is vermilion like dawnsky,
gown a sonnet of colors
sequined in dewdrops
and she wears a tiara of constellations
while silver anklets of monsoon
are 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 breeze
and she crotchets poetry
as prologue and epilogue
to every day she lives
on the ambivalent blues...
©smitanand -
smitanand
16w
Life of a Ferris Wheel...
I stand tall a garangutan
seeking to fondle the gossamer clouds
looking like vast soap suds afloat
and indulge in a dialogue
with the snobbish sun
looking down its nose at us lesser beings
from its lofty celestial perch,
while birds sit chattering on my head
assuming I'm some weird tree.
Surveying all around I see
a carnival of colors and resonant music
echoing as a rapturous beat,
there is a merry go round revolving
on its axis as children squeal their delight
saddled 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 stalls
carried by teasing wind on piggy back
tickles nostrils of starved appetite
luring me scrumptious promises.
A balloon man stands in a corner
singing in a hoarse tenor
to sell his colorful restless wares,
while he wears colors long bleached
by sun and time.
An ice cream vendor sells
winter dreams chiselled in
milk, sugar, chocolate and more
on a balmy perspiring afternoon,
as crowds throng for a cool treat.
A circus stands wearing painted smiles,
and often I wonder about the acts
being inacted inside,
remembering vague eavesdropped tales
aired by excited children,
of the clown, the trapeze artists,
lion and its trainer, bearded woman
and the incredible magician.
I yearn for just a sneak peek inside.
And there is me highlighted
as the fasted and largest giantwheel
in the town fair history,
puffed with pompous pride I whirl
in the glutton breeze overfed
on aromas, tastes and gossip,
feeling the stars start in surprise
and the dozing moon looks startled
as I seem like a whirling wheel of fireflames
wearing strings of winking lights.
In my vast embrace
I cradle children shouting with glee
and screaming with fear,
placating haggard parents and lovers
kissing in passion at the acme,
making me blush,
hooligan teens hooting aloud
and girls' giggles are riddled in
innocuous stage whispers.
I churn myself for long hours,
and am deadbeat
when the last ride ends at midnight,
I sleep on my tired feet
under a moon crooning lullabies,
and a breeze caressing by exhaustion
with feathery fingers,
till a plum faced dawn arrives
wreathed in irksome cacophony
and I open reluctant lids to drink in
the pouring photons of a new morning. -
Tale of the Daydreaming Traffic Light
A strict traffic light
I discipline erratic behavior
of the delinquent automobiles
racing on the whimsical road,
controlling their speed and gait
with my winking chameleon moods.
preventing traffic jams and accidents
with quicksilver perceptions.
An insomniac I am always awake
guiding mood swings of racing traffic
with intuitive skill
inherited from an ancestry
of conscientious traffic lights,
always endeavoring to prevent
catastrophes on the road
despite quixotic whims of weather.
But I have a trifling flaw,
I love to indulge in daydreams,
brief interludes of fantasy are my only vice
I 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 life
from the land sparkling sunbeams.
In these moments of respite
I forget my duty as the traffic sentinel
taking short flights of fancy
to fill hip pockets in twinkling photons,
sometimes at midnight I fly to the moon
erasing the shadows on its face
I dance with the lunar hare in moonlight,
plucking planets to play
as marbles on the crosswalks.
I sometimes envy the streetlight
it 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 rules
and yearn to play hookey
as those willful children at school.
I know I shouldn't daydream
it is a dangerous flaw,
yet often when the road is quiet I tend
to 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 down
the serpentine road at high speed
gliding forwards as a juggernaut
bent on destruction,
and snapping out of my reverie
I cast a scarlet glare at the offender
stopping 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 never
ever indulge in careless daydreams again
putting lives in reckless jeopardy...
©smitanand -
smitanand
16w
I am a Scar...
The emblazoned sigh of pain
tattooed on alabaster skin,
shriek of a sneering wound echoing
from cobwebby catacombs of yesterdays
Imprints left by a cataclysm
on the face of reality.
A proof of endurance and survival
etched on the sinews
proud laurel of resilience,
insignia of undaunted courage,
memory of a deception
smirking on the being, as harsh remider
of the price paid for gullibility.
An imperfection
adding character and depth
to simplicity and gauche naivete,
lingering sigh of a love song
long 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 fleeting
on vermilion panorama of dawn
calligraphy scribbled as dark poetry
from the pen of whimsical time
a nascent thought faded but
still pestering an irked reverie,
a grimace that is silently streaked
on canvas of existence forever...
©smitanand -
smitanand
17w
Being a Comet...
A dirty snowball
born as an idiosyncrasy
of the eccentric cosmos,
it travels in a stardusted hyperbola
spewing fuming expletives
and shrill profanities
as a combusting pressure cooker
when attracted by
the sun's unparalleled gravity.
It grows a tail
as inner demons are born
inflating the ego
of a once docile frozen sphere,
emitting a fussilade
of burning sparks in the infinite
in sheer envy when it witnesses
a flourishing earth,
it melts away
in vociferous sunflames,
like a moth infatuated by fire,
or collides into an unsuspecting moon
carving craters on sublime skin.
Simmering with rage
it reiterates its steps attacking
like an insane being,
showing up with its blazing tail
at either dawn or dusk
when the earth is a mellow painter
spilling pastels on celestial canvas
and the sun good natured,
spluttering and grumbling
in sparkling syllables
of premonition as astrologers
frown predictions of evil omen.
Then at last it is quietened
by 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 -
smitanand
17w
A Day in the Life of a Mirage...
A moodswing born from
apprehensive introspections
of a bipolar atmosphere
I take birth at noon,
when nature's thermostat
goes ballistics,
under a sweltering sun
sizzling and spluttering
on hot skillet skies.
An alluring illusion
fleeting on unsuspecting azures
I lurk as an idiosyncratic error of light
as photons have heatstroke
and I am created as a counterfeit promise
of verdant oasis in barren aridity
giving false hopes of satiety
to thirsty travelers and beasts.
I shimmer as a distant reflection
in hallucinating skies,
crumpled and fleeting like
a water body mirroring lushness
but it is a lushness stolen from afar
life an erratic bullet
or a disillusioned jigsaw piece,
and parched, tired beings chase me
a phantasmagoria of nature's whimsy.
Always they feel I am nearby
while they keep following me
like an elusive dream,
from noon to dusk
then when the sun retreats
with its blazing spitfire sunflames
the atmosphere cools
and I am erased as a foolish idea
from its graffiti horizons,
and the traveler or beast loses hope
dying forlorn on callous sands
still simmering with recollections
of a noon now lost...
©smitanand -
Adventures of a Sombrero...
I was
a cowboy's dream,
desire of a swanky mariachi
and my maker's delight
dark as sinful chocolate
my felt skin smooth as silk
as I hung in the shop window
eyes painting bleary rainbows
in the harsh sunshine.
I was cocky,
dreaming of horse rides
farmhouses and country bars
that I'd heard of from
the gregarious customers
while eavesdropping on boring days,
and which I'd soon visit.
One morning,
while hanging on
my accustomed perch,
I smelled blueberries in the air
and wisterias
mixed as an exotic blend
and found myself
taken down by hands
soft as the caress of zephyr.
I saw an angelic face
smiling, her hair an aureate halo
as she examined me,
and then she paid and I was hers
too shocked to voice
my indignance I was
a masculine hat not
a lady's frivolous frou-frou
she couldn't buy me.
Yet petulant and helpless
I lay on her carriage seat too pissed
to enjoy my first ride,
I fumed with fury
planning to scratch her brow
or just fly away to escape
and find a handsome male owner.
But my fears were futile
for she'd bought me for her spouse
tall, dark and handsome
as can be,
and then I lived a reality
more amazing than any fantasy,
riding horses over mountain trails
perched rakishly on his head,
visiting inns, bars and offices,
I become his bosom body.
Growing older
my shine mellowed
and I was wrinkled, threadbare
but still I was worn
as a fond present
from his beloved wife
soon however I was replaced
by a younger hat
its visage reminiscent
of my faded youth.
I hung in a corner,
riffling through old memories,
forlorn but resigned,
and then one day I felt
again a caress on my being
as tiny hands fondled me,
so I was worn again
now by a little boy,
his head was small, I sat askew
riding bicycles and ponies,
running downhill and
playing in the orchard
I enjoyed another adventure
- childhood
as I became a legacy
given from father to son...
©smitanand -
smitanand
17w
Escapades of a Cookie
I was born
on a mixed feelings
September afternoon,
balmy and wet from
flirtatious breeze romancing
a cheerfully lazy sun,
lolling on raincloud swings,
from the womb
of blazing aromatic warmth.
Came out
in the sunshine, with a shrill beep
of precision,
and was greeted with
a whoop of unadulterated glee and awe
even before I opened
crispy eyelids to drink in the sights
of the sepia afternoon
its breathe an exotic blend
of petrichor and cinnamon latte,
waking to find shiny almond eyes
and a buttery grin welcoming me
as chubby hands clapped their delight.
Such an ecstatic response
left me gooey and warm from oven
glowing aureate,
and I smiled in return,
while I listened to tempest's rap
echoing from corrugated rooftops,
and smelled an autumn tinted monsoon,
of shivering nutmeg sighs,
it was a wonderful homecoming.
Filled within confines of an ancient jar
painted in frangipanis,
with my oven siblings I lay curled
in a fetal position,
while sunshine filtered in
on prismatic footprints,
lulling me asleep in my new home
as I dreamt of butterscotch morrows.
I woke up to
the sound of a thud,
as my glass abode landed
on kitchen table after a air swoop
and its lid was opened,
I felt the caress of morning breeze
on my streusel cheeks,
and movement
of delving fingers nearby.
Fear of the unknown
clasped my being as I witnessed
a brother of mine
emerge from the jar
and being eaten by a little girl
with swinging pigtails,
with gulps of milk as she enjoyed
every mouthful
while my fellow cookie
disappeared as a waning moon.
Every day passed
a dreaded apprehension,
as I lay curled in nook
trying to resign myself to
a scary fate,
and one afternoon
when prodigal sunbeams
etched chiaroscuro on windows
and air was echoing
with sounds of playing children
I found giant fingers hold me
as I tried to squirm,
pulling me out of my alcove.
I was frozen with fear,
as I found myself being placed
in porcelain platter,
with my other kith and kin,
and laced in molten chocolate
-proverbial dressing of the lamb
I thought, my pulse a staccato beat
in my brown ribcge,
I mumbled soft prayers.
Another hand picked me up
as I tried to be brave,
yet hoping for a miraculous escape
while I was dunk within
hot fluidity of a swanky cappuccino
sporting a stylish stubble,
I found myself melting
within caffeinated realms,
and was gulped down
with a mouthful of bittersweet coffee
and I found meaning of my life
in the rapture etched on the face
of a stranger as he savored me
- a sumptuous chocochip cookie...
©smitanand -
smitanand
17w
I am a Whisper...
I linger on wings of wind
as a soft sigh of nascent words,
a sentence wrapped
in mystique and mystery,
I am the butterfly flutter
of a dialogue,
sibilant sister of silence
I have dissociative identities,
I am awe
a surprised gasp wearing
an exclamation point,
voiced in wonder,
the alphabets, nouns, verbs all
stunned to utter
a louder response
with an awestruck tongue .
I am a secret
like translucent mist
draped in ambiguity
the words often unintelligible,
like a code yet undecipherable
to the casual ear,
I am fodder for gossip mill
often salacious and scandalous
or just mildly amusing
in content.
I am an endearment
shared between those beloved
the sweet nothings
adorning a romantic interlude,
when the lips
kiss the ear with a phrase
sighed in redundant syllables
felt more than heard
in throes of passion.
I am a monologue
that finds a frail but audible voice
something spoken to self
that requires no speech
just the bare bones of thoughts,
but was uttered
as inadvertent error,
its footprints like those seen
after the tide recedes,
barely legible.
I am a prayer
sighed with reverence,
send heavenwards as a wispy feather
a desire, dream or hope
sent on wings of faith
a 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 haunts
and hope succumbs to pessimism
painting dawns grey and forlorn
and no rainbow concludes
ashen musings of tempest clouds.
©smitanand
-
thunderbird__
29w
Read MoreThank you so much @writersnetwork and @mirakee for the kind repost. ����
i was trying to create the
origami of my smile
from the wings of Caladrius
flying towards crestfallen hearts
teleporting the universe
to the seventh heaven
bearing the heart spasms
from dusk to dawn
after shifting unknown emotions
meeting me at the intersection
deep into my cavern
and your were writing elegies to life
keeping them in sheath of poetries
narrating your story as the
Bad orphan bird condemned
to live in darkness beneath water
your words pricked my night's sleep
so i rushed to the magical island
of Buyan gathering the
enchanting melodies of Alkonost
and singing them to you
scribbling the song of rebirth
you caressed my speckled feathers
turning them all golden
naming me Garuda, the king of birds
together we painted the Halcyon
calming the mayhem of our lives
with dazzling strokes of red
one night, i read about Boobries
i told you about their art of imitation
how they mimic the cries of injured
for their act of hunting
you asked me if i knew about Stymphalian
and i didn't nod my head
you grabbed me by neck
and reduced me to vestiges
screaming out loud
"I'm one of them"
now i sit in a void
with closed eyes
hiding away from the sky
trying to draw the wings
of Phoenix
looking 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 #writeBefore 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__
