life, unadulterated
happy birthday to me!
:) I have little else to say except that I love the date November 20. It is so special to me. Too bad it comes only once a year! I will write more ... soon ...
Anitha Krishnan
Anitha Krishnan writes Indian-inspired fantasy fiction with a dash of mysticism and soul-searching. She lives in Burlington, Ontario with her husband and their cherished child.
poetry
psst! can I tell you a secret?
Hasn't it been woefully quiet in these parts of late? Where have the stories disappeared and the poems vanished leaving behind an empty slate? But mischief is brewing quietly simmering just beneath the calm facade Until the time arrives, and we uncover the cauldron then the fireworks will
poetry
an obscure view
Oh, yes, there was a time, not so long ago, when I could recall every crease of your beautiful face with perfect precision its smooth contour defined by your shiny brown skin how it crinkled up into countless folds and lines and I could see the laughter dance in your
poetry
the dance within
At the sight of you My heart leaps like a splash of raindrop on a roadside puddle Dances like frail flowers tenderly bobbing their pretty heads when the wind whispers sweet nothings in their ears In your presence, I am a maiden twirling around to an invisible melody My billowing
poetry
hide and seek
I look for her in midnight stars, on moonlight beams, In lazy afternoons and blazing twilights, In the melody of singing larks and gurgling streams, In the deep, heavy silence of the mountains I seek her in colourful marbles and seashells by the shore, In the sand castles she once
poetry
one for the wings
I am breaking through the shackles of my limited imagination as you show me the unknown colours of the sky cerulean blue to lapis lazuli but they are not more beautiful than the tender mischief in your eyes until now I was a prisoner of myself but you freed me
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the colour thief
Hey fire-breather, my arm’s length lover I’ve danced around you in ecstasy for a billion years, Never straying too far Nor getting any closer All day long you cast on me your roving eye Come twilight You rob me off all my colours And splash them on
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a song for a butterfly
O flittering butterfly Let your colours bleed on my petals Brush your weightless wings against my cheeks And make me blush crimson and scarlet Bring me stories from other gardens Tales from the fields you cross, Tell me about the fragrant roses you kiss And about the damsels who yearn
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the unwritten song
A melody somewhere drifting carelessly towards the setting sun leaving behind her abode in the bow and strings where the violinist had tucked her away, forgotten Where then are the verses, I ask All the stories are yet to be spun for the love, she says, is frozen in the
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imagine me
I am the wisp of the smoke That escapes from your lips in a whirl.. I am the ripple of the stream You touch me and I dance away in a whorl.. I am the dream you see with eyes tightly shut I play with your mind And die when
poetry
the song of the wild
Mine is the song of the wilderness The ecstatic dance of the untethered Pity not my caged existence True, Many lands I can no longer tread But my spirit remains unfettered by doubt and fear I am present and infinite as Time There is nothing to wait for, nothing to
poetry
what need have I?
What need have I for a princess’s jewels When I have a frangipani perched on my fingers? What need have I to swathe myself in velvet and cashmere When my skin is singed like sienna and burnished by the sun, And within it my heart is sheltered? What need