Monday 1 March 2021

Three Poems by Jyoti Nair

 



Flotsams

 

Fins sprout from the nape of my seared agony...

My body is a smouldering scarlet sky, 

Hauling a conniving cumulonimbus...

Can fins mutate into reticent squalls... 

Sweeping the scattered flotsams of my mind... 

Into some trash bin, to be mixed with tarmac... 

An urchin tore a few veins of mine, 

with his dexterous fingers...neatly across the perforations... 

My veins: purplish palpitating poise...

Platitudinous peonies, often burrowed and belittled... 

His fingers bled as my ballistic bludgeoned irises morphed into screeching splinters... 

He threw my strewn yearnings, now ornate as splinters...In a poetic shrill... 

At the amethyst azure, that nibbled her toes, with her playful fangs...

What we call thunderbolts, then gargled with a glass of pungent mojito... 

 


The Crepuscule

 

The crepuscule smiles, 

she has been asked to muddle

the coquettish mocktails of our days. 

Her dimples filling up to the brim, 

of those surreal glasses. 

Each glass holds the cue... 

Yellow, Orange, Red, Magenta... 

Paradisal puzzles knotted in eclectic hues. 

Being poured by her dainty fingers. 

They await, all agog... 

Albeit, they aren't tricksters, 

they don't try to entice. 

 

Serene zeitgebers they are... 

Learn their foot tapping patterns, 

you will need those

to foxtrot with the ensuing obsidian shrills. 

For now, she is the translucent gaze, 

the first promise of your dawn. 

How discerning is your palate? 

Will some sips suffice... 

To distil the anticipated, 

gravel groans of your path. 

Will a few gulps have the prudence... 

To foresee the savoury see saw

being churned by swirls, 

in those chosen glasses. 

 

Until then tread along

the seams of that crepuscule, 

where sunrise blooms write

to the withering foliage

as dusks emit sighs of relief. 

Where empyrean landscapes

peep into each other, 

their glances stirring up

the microcosms that we call life. 

 


Banshee

 

Creased-clandestine bellowing, pummelling the gongs of our connaissance

Our conscience: a capricious canopy straddling, 

Spring-sauna, Banshee-shrieking... 

Cudgelled into wryly whimpers, wheezing wings... 

Mangled-magma, hitherto swerving macadamized masonries

Clambering out of their plunging moralities, those plummeting precipices... 

Their asphyxiated tongues and wrists ricocheting... 

Quercus coccinea: blithe burlesques of languished limbs

Limping pirouettes, our souls pivoting...Souls dribbling... 

Through their capitulated cacophonies, awashed sighs... 

Sanctimonious soul-screams, battered at the seams... 

 

Appendix:

Banshee: In Irish folklore, a female spirit whose wailing warns of impending death. 

 

©jyotinair




The quintessential transformation evangelist, Jyoti Nair has acquired professional prowess, in the capability development and project management gamut, incessantly catering to rapidly diversifying business needs. She currently spearheads multiple operations for L & D and Quality Assurance, spanning across HR and Recruitment, while being employed at an Indian Multinational Technology Company, acclaimed as global leaders in IT services, Digital and business solutions. She finds the process of writing therapeutic and nurtures the poetry raiment as her second skin. Her works feature in numerous, global poetry anthologies and distinguished poetry journals, has won many laurels for her literary pursuits, however she inherently cherishes her solitary quill and fervently whets her pen in stoic resilience. In her modest opinion, our rusted souls are beckoned, hearts feel more alive, if we engage in some literary tilling, day in and day out.

 

 

1 comment:

  1. All the poems are superbly penned. I find short of words while writing about them. You are so blessed with the gift of words. Love reading your work, it always inspires writers like me.may God bless you with much success. You deserve it.❤️❤️

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