frozen

snow like petals
line the path to twilight-
a crystal like sky

~

polished-
the mirror reflects again
the moon at night’s door

.

Image source

Written in consideration of Carpe Diem Encore # 15

This is to be counted as Poem # 6 for my 30 Days, 30 Poems Challenge. I am really tired and sleep deprived; I am thus not able to write a verse poem. Though these two haiku took a lot of my energy as well.

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Within the twisted lanes of insanity, there exist such wide and glorious fields of understanding and clarity, which are but a product of a resounding confusion clouding the eyes, shattering the peace of the mind, almost killing normalcy. Almost.

You feel most alive when you are nearest to death. Similarly, you are most sane when you are close to insanity.

tilting sideways
the glorious fields of gold-
like his mind

I remember standing close to a mustard field, inhaling pollen and exhaling my last attempt at keeping myself sane. I had this desire to fish. To capture a fish from somewhere in that river of yellow and gold. The sun burnt my left cheek and I kept on waiting for someone to bring me a fishing rod.

No one ever came. I am still waiting. In some alternative world. I know that I am still waiting there after these four long years. Because I still want that fish in this world. I lost everything because I never captured that fish. And thus, things can never be right.

I caress the burnt mark on my left cheek.

remembering-
calm of mustard fields before
the onslaught of frost

Within the twisted lanes of insanity, I exist. I am a smiling figure atop that beautiful building you see from afar and you miss out on the spectacle as your line of sight changes. You miss out on the spectacle of how that smiling figure takes a leap from that beautiful building, burdening the air with all his weight.

You do feel that weight with every breath you take.

small buds protrude
out of the damp, heavy soil-
the cold wind picks up speed

~

taking in a whiff
of the remnants of warmth-
I feel cold in my bones

.

Inspired from Bjorn’s Haibun Monday prompt at dVerse. I have molded it in my own way.
This is Poem # 2 for my goal/challenge to write and post a poem every day of this month. The painting depicts the wide, sprawling fields of wheat, but somehow, the yellow/gold reminded me of a mustard field sparkling in the winter sunshine.
Image source: View of the Church of Saint-Paul-de-Mausole by Vincent van Gogh.

Wet Day

sky riddled with clouds-
they rival fog’s foam blanket
on this wet day
~
ah, a travesty-
the pale blue sky reflected
in a pool of mud

.

A gentle effort to write something, after reading this awe-inspiring haiku by Sogi:
ah, for coolness,
it rivals the water’s depth –
this autumn sky

Linking it up with Carpe Diem Special # 125.
Image source

Last Year


last year gone-
a new night shadows
the usual talk
~
barking dogs
trail my shadow
like last year
~
last year memories-
ablaze in the orange flame
of the street light

.

Linking it up with Carpe Diem # 639 and Heeding Haiku With HA: New Year(click to participate now)

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It is 2015. I wish you and your loved ones a joyous and prosperous new year.
There are certain blogging resolutions, I would like to make, for this year:

1. Write at least a 100 posts this year.
2. Poetry must be the focal point but I would also like to consider writing reviews(books and music albums) and simple thoughts coursing through my mind.
3. Renew friendship with the bloggers. In 2014, I lost touch with many bloggers. I would like to renew contact with them, while at the same time, making some new friends in the blogosphere.
4. Participate exclusively in the prompts of poetry and blogging communities.
5. Reach a wider audience through my writing, with the help of other social networking sites like Twitter.

Soaking

unheeded
soaking the grass greener-
December dew

.

Linking it up with Carpe Diem Special # 122

Image source

The thoughts also become foggy just like these days sometimes. I remember such incidents which are of no significance anymore. They are smeared with the ink of the past, which one can’t change.
The dew of hope soaks the memories and dreams, making them appear brighter than they ever were or would be. This grass still grows within me, as December is passing by, and another year would soon be erased from our lifetimes.

Anm