The fly

 

Invisible threads woven in air

They shine only when a ray gleams on them

She didn't know that it was a web,

Till she couldn't move a limb

Every time she made a feeble attempt to crawl out, the arachnid jumped to spew more threads from its underbelly

The entire web hangs in the air lightly, but is robust enough to hold an insect

It's watching her from the corner of its eye

She's stunned and feels its predatory presence all the time

There's no ancient fly wisdom to get her out 

No fable or myth that she can latch onto

No fables care about flies anyway

Fear engulfs her from all sides

Death is just a sting away

It's conjuring more silk to wrap it around her

He can't see her very well

But he can feel her throbs and pulses

She sees what's coming with a million eyes

And musters all her strength and before she is about to be coiled

She flaps and flaps 

And jets off.

The view of the mountains

 

Mountains are beautiful from a distance.

One can wish that the beautiful hues of sunrises and sunsets blanket the green and brown contours.

And wish the stars create a net of constellations over them,

Watching over them as they sleep gently.

But, 

There are dark caves underneath these towering figures.

And dormant magma sitting at their core for years.

One can wish for hovering murmurations in a myriad shapes around them.

Waterfalls gurgling and gushing down in excitement.

Watching the mountains for hours may just seem like a second.

Hollow hours filled with a view of the mountains.

A rainy evening

It roars as it zooms down the zigzag road
While, I am quietly peering over the side at the mushroom growth
And I see a snail slide by,
And collect some red gems in my potli pouch.
Walking slowly under my blue umbrella.
I continue walking as usual.
Submerging in the verdant canvas,
Leaving not a single bubble to the surface.

 A woman clutched him tightly while it accelerated further.
The dark heavens ripped up.
And sun beams pierced my naked eye, unfiltered.
My eyes were forced to avert gaze to the valley.
Sizing up its depth.

A minute froze and I collected a drop of his essence tangled in the breeze.
I filled it hurriedly in a tiny bottle,
Corked it tightly.
And hid it in the folds of my dress,
And then further in my closet.
Behind my clothes,
Beneath the velvety ones reserved only for special occasions.
Then I went about doing the chores.
Day after day. Year after year.
Letting my clothes wrinkle as I worked,
Except the ones tucked in safely for the special occasions.

Again on a breezy, dark evening, I would go for a long walk down the same road
Waiting for the bike.

Haikus

Showers on parched slope
Moist, but surface crept
Now a long chasm.


Barbet perched on gulmohar
Fiery canopy bloomed
Spring sun beamed.

In deep sleep the child touches her mother
Feeling her presence lulls her
I too touch you in my sleepy wakefulness
I try to calm my dishevelled being
I too anchor myself in you
I keep coming back to you endlessly

Raa

That one day I was late
The seat was prickly
It was sweaty and sedate

A breeze swiftly pushed me
To open the sky's dusky shell
I gently unlatched it to see
A glowing citrine
So magmatic and mighty!
I was enchanted by its design

It melted away my breathless dive
Into its shimmer
Wave by wave
Breathing waters of this infinite sea,
I kept falling in a bottomless cave.

I am married to a rock
Dark and solid
Stationed near the dock

I keep riding the waves
And floating on the calm turquoise
From time to time I venture into bat caves

I love the sea,
 so vast!
I love its infinity
It's seductions last
 It has no end
It doesn't have boundaries
It's depths transcend
This land and that

But I have to come back to my shore
Being fiercely loyal
To perform my chore

Yet time and again
I keep going to my beloved sea
Who has ordained
Me as the desire queen

The world does not need them

The world needs slaves, servants, janitors.
It needs gratification workers.

It doesn't need dreamers and lovers.
It needs deliverers.

No. Definitely not food sharers.
Not even cooers, gurglers and cuddlers.

It doesn't need the soft moistness of the damp earth after showers.
It fears the bog for hours.

It doesn't need more birds or the boughs.
They'd better be caged, labelled and owned and won in rows.

It doesn't need a broader horizon.
Just this one narrow keyhole vision.

It doesn't need deep, dark, clear oceans for a dive.
It needs ores, minerals and the dime.

It doesn't need mystical beasts and enchanting story tellers.
It despises the spells of the fairy-land dwellers.

It's jealous ways have ensured status quo all this while.
Has it realized that it keeps making a dynamite,
The one that it sits on
The one that it has caressed all along.