Checkered black and white,
A galaxy of scintillating stars,
Faintly green and red hues,
Sometimes shimmery,
Sometimes even blue
A disparate world is found
When the eyes are rubbed and
In the colourful mirage of phosphenes
We are drowned..
~The colours of a disparate world,yes the world when eyes are rubbed~
Unfurling the draperies,
Offers ingress to a conglomeration of
Rarity or monstrosity..
Either the mating lady bugs,
With tiny black dots on red bodies
On scented geraniums…
Or a black crow
preying,
On a midget
nestling bird…
These prickles,they are the best part of your beautiful
Strong,yet bearing something so supple
Guarding you,as you be so fragile
They are feared and loathed for their appearance
But never commended or endeared for their intentions
Yet another homo sapien hypocrisy
We adore the beauty
But never the scars of that beauty
It is so unfathomable for us
To fathom out that
These scars, they are the best part of your beautiful
They perform the act of an usher so conscientiously
Still we contemplate them thinking that
They bring obloquy
They bring ignominy
Decidedly we are so allured and captivated by the beauty
That we neglect what makes it..
Staggering violet petals flabbergasted the baby goat
“That is monkshood, it is devilishly poisonous, never go near it!” – his mother warned
But the violet flowers beguiled the baby goat,
With callow steps he went up to the monkshood
In a noble and patrician manner he moderately chewed the violet flowers,
The resulting bolus, as it went down the alimentary canal of baby goat,
Odious poison mixed with the blood stream, pumped back again through the entire body.
In a jiffy
The puerile framework of baby goat turned into a venomous cadaver!
An individual,
Intertwines the fingers.
As one convolutes upon another
Fortuitous fortune is clenched,
Betwixt the two fingers.
The person then turns into an itinerant,
Inside the body of yearning and expectation.
Standing on the sea shore, looking through the gates of
Heaven
Indeed recollecting Pamela Johnson’s quotation
Sky breaking like an egg into the full sunset and the water catching fire…
Perception comes that sunsets are a proof, no matter what happens or how bad it happens
Everyday can end beautifully
With a hope, an assurance and an optimistic promise of a new sunrise…
Sun never shrugs of it’s promise,
It never leaves promises as just words…
But we banish this trustworthy kin from our thoughts
And expect abiding trust from confreres…
We are living in a phantasmagoria of chimeras
And often overlook the promises that the nature keeps with us…
Decidedly, to watch a sunset is akin to connect with the trust of divine
With a promise of not being shattered..
