Party Thaw

Free flow
Of wine
Loosened
Tongue

Undid
Knots
Lulled belly
Butterflies

Reined
Frozen
Feelings
Rained

Colors
Of truth
Trickled
Out

Stupefaction
Opened jaws
Icy expression
Thaw’s fallout

Wine thawed
Your frozen
W(h)ine, icing
Their opine

Falling Headlong

Falling Headlong

Peering at my horribly expensive
Embroidered pashmina shawl
all the while caressing its soft
skin, I searched with x-ray eyes
for any offensive moth bites

A single gaping mouth
Jeered at my shocked eyes as
In horror I looked at its maw
From all angles and wept
and then I smiled

through the hole I entered
childhood’s hideout, grandpa’s
closet bursting with fine silk shirts
and one with front button holes held
together by a string of gold buttons

in sheer nostalgia I rubbed
my face in its loving folds
even as whiffs of hookah fumes
entered my tender nostrils and
his walrus moustache tickled

fascinated we’d watch his
luxurious pride bristle in anger
even as he lovingly combed it
with tiniest of gold combs after
drying milk droplets from each hair

deep rumbling voice dripping with
love and strength beckoned as we sat
in his lap happily licking away at endless
cups of vanilla ice cream to beat summer’s
sizzling heat, munching other delicacies

whoops of exuberance and pitter
patter of tiny feet shook the ancient
staircase touching the skies with its
triple roof terraces filled with pickling jars
getting weathered simmering in sun’s heat

we would quickly untie the cloth covering
the gaping mouths of the jars and extract
spoonfuls of raw mango slices, chutneys
slurp it with gusto, laughter renting the air
as we retied jar mouths hastily, guilt ridden

masticating the semi soft inner core of
quartered green tender mangoes, enjoying its
tangy tartness, saliva filled our mouths like an
unexpected torrent triggered by this headlong
fall through the moth hole of pashmina shawl

sheepishly coming to, reluctantly climbed out of it
emerging to present, not worried about the damage
any more as the moth hole was now a portal to my
wondrous childhood, a time travel widget, not a loss
and even as life takes, it gives back in full measure

 (pictures from internet)

The Spice Bazaar (Turkey)

Spice Bazaar

(Turkey)

brilliant pungent pices

Smoky red, muted earth,

Greens captive in plastic pouches

Holding hands tight,

spices hang in rioting streamers

A dash, a smidgeon

In marinated food,

forces taste buds

A mountain of dehydrated

Desiccated fruits veggies

jostled amongst glassy blue eyed nazars*

Let me help spend your money”

Startled I glanced at his shop

I beat a quick retreat

Dragged by spouse

Emerging empty handed

*Nazars: they are blue color glass eyes found all over Turkey to ward off evil covetous looks

Time Stilled

Two ancient green papers thin
Spidery cobwebbed palms
Delicate talon hooked digits
Weaving lace
Exquisite
Gossamer
Whisper
Wafer
Thin

Astride full throttled boat
Gliding playfully in deep blue
Competing with deeper blue above
We landed
On the island
Where time
Stood still
History
Centuries
Unthawed

Ginger bread house
Multi hued unsubtle
Framed in doorway
With cucumber innards
As a Still life
Posed
an industrious
Lace maker
Nonna

~~

fotos from internet- we visited Burano, Italy in ’07 and picture is imprinted in my head

Misty Musings

Misty Musings

Washed by the soft golden light of dawn
Rinsed to sparkle by erring cloudlet in morn
Peals of happy-go-lucky laughter abound
Grandpa’s house echoed such gleeful sounds


Deeply embedded in halcyon days of summer
Golden months away from home sans murmur
Kite flying and exploration is every dark cranny
Ever chided and cajoled by a frail doting granny



Those horse and buggy rides to the park
Rivalry with cousins and siblings sparks
Amidst sounds of cow moos n mews n barks
Always on the lookout for more daring larks

Bitten by the muse held many impromptu shows
Amidst sudden outbursts of furious raging rows
Calming gentler tones of elders to mollify n cow
All come rushing to fore in pleasurable waves now!!
Those lazy crazy days of gone by summers
Knock on memory’s door in soft murmurs
Foggy mind n misty eyes recall times sublime
If only we could go back in time often times
—www.binaguptapoetry.com

(picture by Komlet)

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