We crossed sloping valleys. They felt as cracked and crisp afoot as nut-butter nature valley biscuits. They were scattered with leaves as crunchy as roasted peanuts. Though the leaves dried up, they were not yet powdery as their sinewy veins firmly bound up their membranes. They fluffed and puffed up like popcorn kernels rustling on crinkly beige baking parchment. The rocky roads we reached were smothered with soil as crumbly and moist as chocolate cookie dough. The bread brown ground was spread with leaves as brown as nut-butter. They were autumnal but not yet burnt toast, rough and ready to be crumbled into breadcrumbs.
Wednesday, June 29, 2022
Friday, June 24, 2022
Wilhelmina’s Whimsy about a Tiny Tulip
One morning felt tiresome and tepid,
and suddenly, I felt intrepid.
Saucily I stepped outside,
nothing could spoil my stride.
I found a tulip in a patch of green,
its crisp petals shimmered a clinquant sheen.
They are finely woven with golden thread.
They look like awnings for a fairy bed.
I wonder what sentient sweetheart would sleep there,
perhaps a fairy with a frilly sort of air.
She could be called miss Taffy Toole,
but others call her Frumpy Fool.
I feel horrified they inflict her such harm,
especially with her frothy sort of charm.
While she effulges like bejewelled buttons,
her bullies holler like bow wow muttons.
The petals might resemble fairy wings,
while they are fluttering in wispy winds.
Inside hides clusters of black seeds,
they shimmer like metallic beads.
A reed sways over with gilded fronds,
it bewitches me like fairy wands.
Or it could be an anemone,
which Toole uses to sweep her chimney.
After singing for this tiny tulip
I will sip a jolly good mint julep
Thursday, June 9, 2022
Junnu Joys and Date Dreams - Haiku
My hotel’s near Taj Mahal,
where the muezzins call.
Starving in my suite,
I order junnu to eat.
Staff tell me it’s sweet.
It’s wobbly and white.
Nervously, I bite
It slowly dissolves,
my droll tongue dances and rolls
Earth halts its revolves.
My mouth melts with suds.
They are soft as jasmine buds.
Junnu beats boiled spuds.
Savouring the tastes,
My lids slip sink in sleepy states,
until taste abates.
Luring me like bait,
were treacly dates on a plate.
Their smell swells my weight.
Dark dates will at last,
tether my sweet tooth so vast.
I reach for the fruit
I crush my cravings by root.
It brims me to boot.
I’m dying to dose,
so, I can rise like a rose.
Feel how morrow flows.
I’ll mount all step-walls,
fuelled by fresh date protein balls,
bought from market stalls.
Diya Dhari's Days and Dreams
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