To become Fire

my heart has begun to rhyme,
it’s committed the solemn crime
to begin the walk taken alone,
stepping on land that moans
with every blink of yellow eyes,
I’m finding stars that never rise,
I am in the wilderness of desire,
I am reaching out to become fire.

touch me where it hurts the most,
I am ready to pay all the costs,
there is no meaning to the sea
that perspires in moments of glee,
I am sea foam, salted with desire,
I am reaching out to become fire,
that pardons none and forgives all
I am giving away to you my soul.

my heart has begun to rhyme,
it’s blossoming with dirt and grime,
there is no penitentiary for lust,
it is the fuel that never combusts,
the journey ends where it begins,
innocence dead, the demons win,
I am lost in wilderness of desire,
I am reaching out to become fire.


Written in consideration of dVerse Poetics where we are writing octets. I did not follow the syllable structure. I was reading Bilbo’s Last Song (At The Grey Havens) by J.R.R Tolkien, written in three octets. So, I came up with this verse which can be called vulgar in comparison to Tolkien’s verse. But that is what I am. Vulgar. 😀
I haven’t been writing much lately but for some empty verses which I scribble on the book that I am reading. I hope that you have not forgot me already.

Image source


A Mid-Day Summer Dream|the Sun melts me…

the leaves, brittle by the hands of the sun

sway like a thirsty bird in the afternoon loo,

the streets empty of travelers, a distant voice

of screeching tires, on the melting coal tar

and the gurgling of coolers exhaling a breath

that sustains life, as June heightens into

a derogatory mark for the residents of city,


I let a beam of the celestial torch to hit me

and burn that spot where my fears hide

so that they dissolve, dissipate, rather

finding their place in some others’ abode

(I engulf selfishness, as the entire world)


– soon I retreat back to the insides as sweat

slithers along our fates, down my brow,

there is a news, I have received a provisionary

admission letter from a college managed by

a council under ministry of tourism,

the heat flushes my cheeks, I’m deranged

while making a decision of such propensity,

there is a solemn expression I see in me

twinkling in my eyes, for in order to

catch a dream, I have to shatter all others

and leave them combusted into fires of sun,


a day would come (if it would, my mortality

glares at me, while the living alludes me)

when to look back, I wonder what I’d find:

the dead remains of those dreams I left out

or a face that is of me, beaming and mocking,

as the sun sets down nowhere when I’m asleep


Image source

Orb of Occurrences

Flame Orb by Deborah Glessner

smoldering in the fire of life,

my heart has revolted against

the sensible steps of society,

stipulated of, obsessed with time,

and thus my identity twists itself

into patterns, of pain and flame,

to fuel my passion, to feel, and

understand to believe, that

circles do not complete themselves,

every single time, they can be

arcs broken apart, inverted,

dispersed into shards of pictograms,

of criss-cross lines, deluged in colors of

confusion, representative of straying

from the path, becoming one

with the ostentation of this orb of occurrences,

out of control, beyond my hands,

thrown into the arms of air to last,

as long as it lasts


This is linked with Imaginary Garden with real toads’ Artistic Interpretations with Margaret- Orbs.


“I feel like having a smoke.”

“But I don’t want its stench anywhere around me.”

She gave him an incredulous look, “Oh my sweetheart, you are such a baby.”

He didn’t respond and kept on reading his book.

“Would you sometimes get out of this imaginary world of the books?” She asked, bringing the cigarette to her lips.

“And would you please not smoke? Anyhow, smoking isn’t allowed in the building. So, please respect the rules,” he lectured.

She ignored him laughing and lighted her cigarette and took a deep breath.

“Aha!” She exclaimed, exhaling out the horrid smoke.

“You are disgusting.”

And then it rang, the fire alarm.

“Please evacuate the building now. This is a fire alert. Kindly use the stairs, instead of the elevator. Thank you.”

*Well, the story does not compliment the photograph much. I just took the smoking part and introduced it into the story, to do something different, rather than writing about the gangs/drug lords; the idea I got when I looked at it for the first time. For VisDare 28.

Hanabi (Fireworks) Haiku

gleaming bright colors

hued with the paints of sparkle

fireworks in the sky


fun festival times

a play of fire all around

the burning night skies


radiant ablaze

reflecting back the beauty

still river waters


the dusk approaches

warding off evil spirits

with glazing fireworks


across river bank

looking for the hanabi

come hoards of tourists


a boom and a bang

piercing silence of the dark

the lights of glory

*Written in response of Carpe Diem # 229.