The Isle from a Storybook

Let me take you en tour a tranquil little bay,
On the gleaming nib of a quill pen of a strait.
Bleached by tinted aqua, a carpet spreads the sand,
Freckled by sea-lobster, salamander, clam.

Glassy-eyed you will stare through a silver print,
That folds and creases to be knotted at the glaring tint.
A blend of mauve and nautical blue, a well-embroidered piece,
Rippling on the 'golden carpet' with 'seam-less' ease.

With commendable sang-froid the waves hold their jittery nerve,
And with the mildest chide give way to vessel, whale and more.
At the threshold of the tete-a-tete of the cruisers with the bay,
Thou behold a blossoming hope for company for the day.

When the weather-beaten face that seemed an enigma at first glance,
Begins, from the blackened-eye to the 'aye,' to beguile you out of trance,
And sides the smoking salmon with 'mincemeat' of your 'tongue,'
Aye, aye, with the captain and his folk, the hours with happiness have rung.

And when tra, la, la, hey diddle diddle, out of the blue, you fish out a fiddle,
Those that you have held in awe, nestle back to soak in melody raw..
Each note that ripples off the blue floats to take on a fresh hue..
Drifts away and beyond the hill, caressing bud and summery till...

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Still

A landscape of feathers The smoothest natural canvas, For Nature's painter- Alighting while parading its beauty Before retreating Into a well-worn easel. Soot-black, rust-grey, brown like tinsel, Folding up and pulling down the covers Over grace, beauty and space, Compounded with distance, Rendering known unknowns, beautiful art. Now mingled with unknown knowns, Streaks of color paint the marauded canvas Differently. Camouflage seems eminent, Unimportance, inadvertent. The marvels Of the aerial world, beget stupor as They transform into the pedestrian In the realm which is terrestrial. The miracle of flight now a bane, As for food they must forage With feet, not fly with feathers. I don't want to startle them. It is silence that beckons them to the ground. Startlement stirs them upwards, into the skies, Simpering, whimpering, not soaring and diving- Trespassers on a land where they are weak, Vulnerable- they know they can't win. Aviation is a weapon futile against...

The Tree Says 'Hi'

The tree says Hi! My balcony was briefly an arboretum. Windswept leaves splayed over the floor Like champion specimens -parts of a fine species- Careening into a welcoming sanctum That is otherwise empty- save for clothes on stands Or people on feet. When this tree paid its timely visit Luckily, there was nothing, no-one. It probably seized A rare chance- when it was out of anchor, fit and fine, In form- and the tiled floor bare. No sign of occupation. It bore its way past the metal rails that serve to Prevent our falls, but here cushioned the tree's. It rested its somber branches easily on the rail, Which is mighty strong and sturdy, as I can now discern. It snooped its slender branches threateningly over A cauldron of leaves. Green cauldron, green sorcerer. When I woke, there it was, unshakeable, unmovable. Oh, it was mobile alright. It'd have moved of its own will. It was merely enjoying its soiree in a forbidden land, Like we all do. But it just stared at me, with compo...

Clandestine

Sometimes we wait too long, To speak our minds. We let lingering truths linger, We let sporadic clocks, chime.. We allow patient seams to fritter away Like a sparrow does with the timber of the tune That she was shrouded by; shrill words tearing Ears, each word she utters, careful, today. While the first day it was a free reign, until Some unctuous winds carried to her, criticism. Just the same way as copper utensils in a house Of steel, are anyone's delight, until bronzed, With wear and use, both are the victims Of sundry needs and glances. Just the same way, some things, Are stowed away in careful pockets Because they have borne a lot of perusing When kept in the open. Like love. Like hurt. Like envy. Like silence. Trust and truth are two things I can list, That are given, that are l'habitude. I tell the truth because it is, it exists, It is what I perceive, it is what I've lived.. And I keep your trust, because I've learnt That it'll help you keep mine, it wil...

The Happy Wanderer

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