THE TELEGRAM

She squirmed on the couch,
   A faraway look,
   A telegram in her hand.
Wondering the words,
   The wires had brought,
   Were euphoric, or simply sad.
Her parents old, in the valley,
   Her sibling sailed in the bay,
Her lover, the soldier
   In the war,
   Her thoughts going astray.
Her pulses sped,
   Ol' fashioned way
   The sleepless cable ran,
The metallic clicks,
   Could end all woes, or
   Hopes could come undone.
She slowly toured, through the line,
   No heartbreak, no sad demise.
As thousand miles away, Atlantic
   Wired words, otherwise.
                                           -dp

SALVATION

So you lived through a broken heart,
Crumbling faiths and pall of gloom?
And the deaths,

Where you held your breath,
Tears dried, on a dying moon.

 If excruciating scalds and burns
Could not char the spine away,
 If nights struck vaccuum into the lungs,
Yet air crept in by the day.
When agony served was spilling the glass,
Silent despair felt like bliss.
Felicity failed to enslave you thus
Salvation, it is.

 

-dp

TORRENTS

Crystal shower from the blues,
   Or falling pieces of sky,
Brushstrokes of a master whiz
   Or tears of a doleful cry.

Washing away the grimy fence,
   Sooty roofs and soiled eyes,
Driving the austere minds indoor
   The blithe dances otherwise.

Curled up cats and jittery dogs
   And cuckoos swaying to jovial notes;
Few frowning eyebrows and wet ankles,
   Yet gleefully twirling paper boats.

Spread your hands out of the window,
   Feel music on your fingertip,
Or get drenched in the pouring sparkle,
   Or just snuggle up and sleep.

Some do hit the glistening roads
   With rusty bikes and sodden cheeks,
Bask in the wet kiss of heaven,
   Beam as the clouds make love to peaks.

It soaks the pauper as the prince,
   Spares no wisdom, truth or lie,
Washes away all muddled hues,
   Except the ones on a butterfly!

No syntax told, no musical notes,
   Yet a rhythm second to none.
By my window I behold the magic,
   As it whisks me to Wonderland!
-dp
  

More Than Much.

A life by the book
   Often dies etched in stone,
Too much of laughter
   Often aches to the bone.
Too many dreams
   Leaves you a wanderer,
And thus how the sun
   Gets scorched in its own.

A man too cautious
   The recipe for cynic,
Too much of hatred
   A powerless soul.
Limitless prejudice
   Often hides a loner,
A storm is, but, drizzle
   Gone out of control.

The light that kills darkness
   Can also be blinding,
A cup of tea ruined
   With too much sweet.
Too many gasps
   Often marrs a mystery,
And too broad an alley
   Is but an empty street.

-dp