All posts by ippljournal

The Splash on Walls I thought of painting my walls with colours bright and gayA Splash of Sunrise from the European May,Some lusty green from the African Bay,A heart of dreamy red; seductive on the lover’s bed.I rather chose to paint with words;Some new, some known of distant whispers and near roars.I searched for the…

When I will meet you When I will meet you one day.You will look into my eyes and what will you say?Will you welcome me with open arms?Or bless me with open palms?Will you cherish my being with you like my loved one?Or just look at me and go towards the Sun?Will you depend upon…

A Botanist’s Life In a cleaved dream, we are standingall afternoon near an ancient medicine shop with coloured window panes – the Belgian type .Is it a church? We take a trip, in turn,to watch it in subsequent dreamsIn its courtyard,the mobile messages of the whole familyrebound like ancient ping pong balls Just opposite the…

Silence in Love Have you ever felt the silent clouds?Embracing the silent moon,Hiding her each time he envelopesHer with his dark clouds. Have you ever felt the silent whale?Playing underneath the silent ocean,Being killed by the silent harpoonSilently she undertakes the pain. Have you ever felt the silence of the forest?Silently the wind brushing through…

A Warli Art A Warli art you did long agowhere you depict an evening scene,where skeleton men and womendance and skip around a peacock,a white crescent moon on a darkbackground creates a luminescence…There’s so much of serenity capturedwithin the wooden frame that Iwonder if these centipedes ofacrylic strokes on cloth actuallydepict a real scene from…

AnOther Legacy Angela left her diaries,Chandara left her silence,Women’s voices reverberatedDown the throes of Existence.Clashes, smashes, gnashesCould still pull a wallpaper down,Violence saw many facesOf many kinds and shapes,Yet the common strainIs wreaking of suffering, a pain.Time has ushered in a freshCentury through the ghastly sieveBut the legacy continuesWe, women do believe.The pen spills the…

Old Love I saw you last nightIn a sudden dreamWas it a garden-partyOr an open-air showYou came with someone I didn’t knowAnd didn’t bother to likeI noticed you wore your curly hair longTied at the back with a bandFastened with clipsYou had even aged somewhatBut smiled the same smile I hid behind the chairs and…

Architect A poet is an architect,textures out a piece.In its myriad forms itbreathes in her pen tobecome a tree.The newborn is abeautiful “poet-tree”,christened as poetry. A poet is an architect,juggling with soundsand syllables, tracingout a form in rhymeand rhythm.The outcome is abeautiful “poet-tree”,christened as poetry. A poet is an architectshuffling with metaphors,figuring out a language,unique…

Evening Metaphor Borrow those silken happy hoursI want to count the time layers, Smell the minutes and tiny secondsFloating like petals in dense tequila, Under the blue death light, the imagesQuivering in a halo fire, And late evening metaphors come in torrentsWith curved smile and wild laughter. Like a pattern never hides in brewing stirThe…