The Panchgani Pen

A poem as a Self-portrait

What kind of poem am I?

A Rare Encounter

The sun’s light slowly waned as the moon took the stage

Millions of eyes gazed upwardly toward the sky

Searching for answers to unformed questions

Mother`s Perfume

I don’t recall if my mother had a particular scent
Nothing springs to mind, she wasn’t fussy
Little time was spent,
Pruning, plucking, spraying, and tending to herself
Soft tones of her voice, never raised, mixed with gentle words,
Love off the shelf,
A note of kindness blended with a smile
Infused…

My Mother’s Perfume

My Mother’s Perfume

Wafts gently out with a sense of doom

I peek into her room

She gazes at the mirror

While I feel the terror

Day 17 in Quarantine and the weeks that follow

Mother is guarded like Mona Lisa in a museum
From behind the glass she shouts
Its like living in a mausoleum
And you are late, still not too old for a clout
Her bones are brittle and her body not so elastic
Outside the front door
On a fold up table…

The Balloon Seller

Raghu expertly scanned the cars at the signal and went towards the ones which had little kids or young adults. He knew who…

The Sulk

Unlocked lockdown: A series prompted by the lockdown that sees an unravelling in me.

Going home

Unlocked lockdown. A series written in the times of Covid