Make-believe
Between twilight &dusk, a moment returns,
In semblance of pledges &vindications,
Between the fall of pretensions & touch of truth,
The hour of reckoning arrives,
Steely dissonance ooze squandered pulsations..
Presumptuous veils of tender passion recoil in a corner,
The corroding strife between heaven &hell ascends in ardor:
An altar burnt moth wobbles on the window sill,
Shrugging it’s portion of dismay heralded by each day,
Fluttering spills transparent hues& takes to wings.
I sense the bees trapped in their nocturnal flight,
Wrapped amidst pollens &petals make a dash,
Decked in Nature’s bounty like Cleopatra,
Wrapped naked in a silken foil.
Premonitions ripe wedded to weary anticipation,
First the flamboyant fire-fly, with it’s erotic glow,
In the first intimacy of youth, the first blush show,
First teasing, then tantalizing slams into the door.
Slowly night’s phosphorescent purple ink curdles around,
Somewhere the leached out air of passion to discipline is bound,
Toads croak &shred the air, till the females call back in despair,
Bettles tap lewd gestures with their antennas to ensnare,
Night blossoms burst, with the first flush of love –pink lavender,
Slithering knave insects on marauding march, loot &plunder,
Rough pods pop open, release their succulent seeds & mourn
In the stillness of the night, swoosh embedded in their silken gown.
The rolling lands, interspersed along streams,
Like the lost years distance sparing,
Wind scuttles through the low-lying eroded hills
Whispering a tryst for the erring.
Lured the recluse spider descends, with his thread of silk,
Snakes coiled round her arms the drained jasmine catches a wink.
In aerial assaults, the lily-livered mosquitoes complain other’s business
Somewhere the leached out air of passion keeps up the pretence.
Bougainvilleas in the door-front stood, like a cavernous womb of immensity,
Paper flowers like paper men, in normal times &normal pre-occupations,
It’s fragrance forgotten &buried in my days of eternal vigil,
Nature’s deceit languishing on a fence,
The nectar gatherers too have learnt to skirt it at will.
Hot baneful, plump, burgeoning night, embezzles a chill.
[...] Read more
poem by Seema joglekar
Added by Poetry Lover
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