Two New Poems



I linger unperceived
in the labyrinth of solitude,
not knowing the onward path
or the path of my return
I see a flight of stairs
a portal to a past forgotten
the contours of shadows
create a landscape of dreams
something forgotten stirs,
a lost memory returns
from between somewhere and nowhere
seeking something nebulous
that is always out of reach


Copyright Tikuli


two a.m. on Delhi’s post-rain Sunday
I try to wash away the sleepiness
from my insomnia laden eyes
pick a fresh sheet of paper
spread clean water till it sheens
like fresh snow on a sunny day
clean and load the brushes with colours
drop and watch in wonderment
as the colours bleed and waltz
into the white stillness
the ripe colours of autumn,
a drop of sea, the harvest fields,
the washes of sunsets layer after layer
and a moon laid on lake waters
a tender breath of green
a river filled with apparitions,
here now—then gone
wet roads winding around echoing hills
the crisp autumn breeze
floating across the valley
steam rising from a coffee left at the deck
my eyes closed I feel the calm glow
of lights at the water edge
the silent shadows
the peace of the submerged river banks
I dip my brush again as the pigeons rise
followed by the squirrel
and the upstairs neighbour
pounding fresh ginger for morning chai
the trees rise, the day rises
night slowly walks towards summer morning

Two Poems

Poetry is..

Winter sun
tangy sweet
in my garden

Mandarin Orange


poetry is
clutter on desk
laundry in basket
dishes in the sink
Victoria’s secret on the chair
upturned book on the bed
fresh brew of coffee
birds roosting at dusk
the pin wheel over my bed
a cricket match below my window
a sugar crystal
walking back to its home in the corner of the wall
corn kennels popping inside the microwave
butter pop corns
the spider meditating in her web
the wasp caught between life and death
the drone of the refrigerator
the sizzle in the pan
poetry is
the meal cooked together
never eaten
it is silence of things
poetry is
the unexpected
and sometimes the expected
Poetry is
a simple joy
a surprise call
from a faraway friend
poetry is
what and where you want it to be




while a poem sparks through a seed of wonder 
and reaches up to the sky
another swiftly travels
deep and beyond 
in complex tangles 
under the surface of the soil
proliferating out below and in all directions
under debris and filth of cities, 
along the grassy river beds
further down 
into the ocean bed
slithering beneath countries, continents 
into the deep forests
under the desolate deserts
through the heart of frozen mountains
birthing new poems 
conjoined by the same consciousness
same essence 
of Earth, Water, Fire, Wind, and Void.