#7. Cold Mornings and Coffee Mugs

As I pour piping

hot coffee into my ‘Nox-

Lumos’ coffee mug

it doesn’t turn to Lumos,

stays at Nox, just like your soul.

Another poetic device at work! Any guesses which> It is one my favourites 😀


#6. That’s not how I meant it

Writers are peculiar creatures.

Rather than snuggle up in blankets

in one hand a coffee; in

the other, a lovely book, they are

enchanted suddenly, and start to bleed not

red blood, but words, killing the peaceful

silence with the typing and the rapid thinking.

I have tow poetic forms hidden here. One is enjambment. Can you guess the other?

#5. The Words Came Like Daybreak

We’re sitting across each other on the single coffee-brown sofa with the black coffee colour glass-top table in between us and I’m stirring in sugar while




No, I’m not nervous at all! My hands aren’t shaking or sweating with trepidation of wha you’re going to say, not at all!

It’s called exuberance and I




No, I’m not stirring in sugar so hard that my coffee spills, because i need to do something with my hands to prevent me from reaching across to you and show you just



I love you.

I’m only doing this because the damn sugar isn’t dissolving. You put your hand on mine stirring sugar and I look up sunnily smiling at you, even though I want to sob at you feet. You shake your head, whisper, “ಆಗಲ್ಲ*“and you walk away from me


as I sit still and stare off



* Aagalla: Cannot in Kannada.

The Kannada touch here because I felt i was losing it. Which is quite possible.

I tried prose poetry. I don’t know how successful i was i executing it, but I tried!

Day 2 of 10 Days of Poetry

Word: Face

Poetic Device: Alliteration

It’s you.

I see you looking at me with pride and tears

When I got ready for my first day of school.

When I walked up to the stage, head held high, to collect my prize.

You clapped the loudest; I know, even when you were lost in the midst of the crowd.

I call for you when I’m hurt; I call for you when I’m happy;

You stand like a rock on a stormy day at the ocean, cool, clam and collected,

While the whirl pool is churning all around around you, and inside of you.

If you are made of flesh and blood,

God must have added something special


There is no way all of us can be made the same.

It’s you, amma.

It’s you.