The flowers looked decayed…

Day 8….

day 8

I was hanging in the store today
and everyone looked dismayed
I think I’m going insane
but no one is to blame…

And the flowers looked decayed
coz there’s a lockdown underway
I promise not to disobey
though I feel like flying away
and swimming across the bay…

My hands are raw from spray
and everyone is going grey
they’ve rubbed out all our shame…

But humans will prevail
for we all have microwaves,
though this I can’t explain
I’ll just send you the email
and then we can celebrate…

I told you I was going insane
I’ve got contagion on the brain
this is uncharted domain…

Let’s have a little chardonnay
maybe then I’ll feel okay
or some sparkling lemonade
and we’ll dance to Reggae
to the bee Gees
and Marvin gay…

But hey
there’s a lockdown underway
and I can’t get pink champagne

But who am I to complain
every day is just the same
and it feels like a holiday
though no one wants to play…

and I can’t even buy takeaways…

Hallways of the night skies…

Day 7. I can’t wake from this nightmare, so I may as well dream…

hallways of the night skies

I stood at the entrance of sleep-walking,
of the night skies… galaxies spun around me
with love
I was being baptized…
and the air
was quietly nimble,
my form was indistinct
I saw throngs
of Earthlings
eternally linked…
one with all the Angels
in a nebulous glow
no separation was visible
in this divine overflow…
And the Pleiades
whispered softly
ushering me home
this was a timeless dwelling place
for no more would I roam…

nat poetry

Fading into black and white…

Day 6. in the underground
Day 1. in poetry land…

I used to work in a bank, say no more!

an artist by nature

I fade with the ink
into black and white

hiding under mountains of doubt
scatterings of a creative mind
gone to sleep

my hope
is frozen in time

dusty tatters of a dim view
I’m buried deep
under piles of unbelief

Once I fled from lifeless banking halls and queues
to pursue imagination
accepting just token offerings

but I gravitated back to figures and numbers
with no words to celebrate
just echoing chambers
of a humdrum world

and scribbles in scarlet
a pedestrian beat

Oh, prosaic woes

Call me back to splashes of paint
and words
that make me feel alive again

in paperless daydreams
my mind wanders to other things
to creativity
Abstractions and songs

colorful landscapes
made of wishes that do come true

I feel faint-hearted in this pursuit
But It’s fifthly lucre that keeps me fed…


nat poetry

Hanging in obscurity…

“Sell your cleverness and buy bewilderment. Cleverness is mere opinion, bewilderment is intuition.”
― Rumi


Day Twenty-two…

Hanging in obscurity
light and darkness gathers 
in a dance
of elements
colors scatter…

and the moon plays its part
by beaming
across the plains
holding onto dreams
of treasured remains…

an artists rendition
of radiance reborn
light envelopes
in whispered form…

and textures play
fusing with the skies
bewildered impressions

in darkness
luminosity streams
incantations of twilight

#wrappedinlight #darknesstriestohide

The Alphabet

Day Nineteen…



image courtesy of PixaBay

Fell again…

“Sometimes it takes a good fall to really know where you stand”
― Hayley William

Ascend five, not really very good at this, but here goes…

So I picked myself up and fell again
the jagged rocks broke my fall
while attempting to ascend…

Nothing to recommend
feeling very small
so I picked myself up and fell again

in the depths, unrestrained
breaking into an easy crawl
while striving to ascend…

Lying there in the mayhem
nightmares I can recall
so I picked myself up and fell again

much of this I can’t explain
foolishness my downfall
I need assistance to ascend…

So I thought I should forget
at rock bottom waterfalls
then I picked myself up and fell again

waiting to hear the call, in doing I will transcend….




Swan Song

Day thirty….


“They say that all the swans in England belong to the Queen”…..

When she was just a little girl,
she wanted to take over the world.
They told her she wasn’t qualified,
with crocodile tears…she cried and cried!

She stamped her feet and went quite red,
and the Palace guards shook their heads.
“Whatever a Princess wants, she gets”
the Royal household placed their bets.

So they told her she could own every swan,
though the King felt rather put upon.
You do know she was Daddy’s girl,
the sweetest child with delightful curls.

To this day in her Queenly glory,
she recounts the same old story,
that swans were never really her thing,
she was just trying to vex the King!

I wonder who will be next in line,
to inherit this feathery goldmine?
Perhaps the Princes’ will draw straws,
or hand them over to some worthy cause!

Image courtesy of PixaBay

poetry month