Indian Poems - Poems about Indian

Indian Summer

Heat, like fog, engulfs the environment.
Flora and fauna burn in the sunbeams.
Clamminess-filled vapor goes virulent.
Mirages glimmer like unending streams.

Tempests brimming with dust and debris blow.
Unquenchably thirsty, the parched lands crack.
With abstract sky paintings, dry evenings glow.
Thunder peals, on and off, like an earthquake.

Days taunt. Nights haunt. We burn in the furnace.
Sleeplessness and nightmares pervade our

Geronimo - 1829-1909

1905
Geronimo went to Washington
to meet the Great White Father
(where he hoped to bury the hatchet)
and save his Indian Nation...
checking into his hotel, the desk clerk asked,
"Do you have a reservation?"
The perfect poker face when playing cards
(his guards were nearly always broke)
said to be blood-thirsty, his winnings used he
to pay for educating children of the Apache.
He

Maharishi Mahesh Yogi - 1918-2008

The Indian guru's
mantra of the day,
tho' somewhat strange,
goes this way...

'When words fail
and at a loss,
contemplate aural hygiene
with transcendental floss.'

Is Ashwin the Indian Don of Spin

Where do you begin with Ravichandran Ashwin...intellectual impresario

Red ball romeo... conceptual maestro..the Kingpin of spin..leather lothario

Perpetual taunting...teasing..bubbling cerebral cauldron formenting..haunting

Troubling.. flaunting...tormenting..vaunting..fermenting..pleasing

Luminosity...but another one of the band of badger brothers

Reeks of unique chic tweak at its peak

Bare faced cheek of genius geek cavorting

Discerning pastor preaching while yearning for learning 

More about turning…..curiosity pique...sleek sporting freak

Mythical master

A Little West Indian River History

"There's a river meandering through the mind,"
older than the Englishmen who raised a bridge 
over its Constitution, a nude Indian sped away
from a warring Englishman behind 
absconding by canoe to an adjacent isle
but smallpox caught the indie afore ammunition

"There's a river meandering through the mind,"
that witnessed the grapes of wrath in '37
and suffered its wine,

Indian Paintbrush

Indian Paintbrush
 Cinnabar to rum.
 Bluish to a pink rose.
 Curious toward a new path.
 Waltz through painted daffodils.
 Crystalline ruby sky.
 Scarlet blood red devine.
 Indian Paintbrush.
 Open fields, red sun.
 Thine crimson deep.
 Fall asleep, can’t speak.
 Mesmerized by reverence.
 Rows of labyrinth.

Western Indian Tan

Soon be a beautiful brown color
For naturally brown lover.

Indian Wasteland

It is the world of Shiva and Shaitan
It is the world of Krishna and Kant

Devi on Nandi holding Demon and Son
Devotees, Deities, Ash, Claps and Fun

Fragile girl carrying child in her arm's
Not mother but a sister’s virgin palms

To Die for him but not a bruise to touch
Just Bottom pinching nothing too much

Anguish in her arms

An ode to an Indian nightingale!

The Clown fish had brimming eyes, a montage flown back to
Jaflong , a memory lane

I wonder I felt overwhelmed, as if yesterday’s incomplete hard
and fast, rituals and alone

Over pouring overboard, ornate orange diva and monsoon rain and
Jaflong time and greeting say

Holistic a rueful an encapsulation, by the by a rare tracing cue
with a poetic erotica,

Biryani

Blended spices mixed and
      boiled with chicken and rice, 
Best with mutton or prawns, 
      but tastes good even with
basic fresh vegetables! 
      Blast of flavoured richness! 
Bewitching special treat!

Indian Summer

April brings more than
showers 
Spring sometimes
cowers 
To Winter after 
flowers

Indian Giver

Years ago, in Budapest,
I bought ceramic mugs
As presents for my son and wife;
They thanked me and gave hugs.

The pottery was quite unique;
I bought some for myself,
Which sits there in my kitchen
On a front-and-center shelf.

I couldn’t carry too much home
But always did regret
I didn’t buy myself a mug
(Or two, to make a set).

Yet since that time,

Indian War Horse

 

high upon a jagged cliff
a painted horse of many colors
stands under a cloudless sky . . . 
a native girl gazes at the vast land of Canada
as one eagle feather from her Indian war horse flutters away
lost . . .  it glides, it dances in the wind, it soars, it floats

Indian Summer

All through December the days were warm
creeping into the high sixties
Grass was green and roses blooming
Nights gave warning with cold
below freezing soon after the sun sets
But the days made for walks
and lawn chair visiting with neighbors
Kids playing outside but still with their phones
and birds chirping away away away
Like a secret spring time layered between cold

Indian Pitta

White Supercilium, black face mask, 
White collar, 
Dark buff head with Black central stripe,
Dark gray stout bill,
Gray eye-ring with white awake – eyeliner,
Buff crowned,
Glossy blue, dark green, Turquoise-Blue,
Shocking white wing-coverts, 
Thin black trace, garish scarlet Underbelly, 
Black blue-tipped tail,
Toned, endless, enviable strong pins 
pink

Divine ensemble apt for
Wallpapers, earrings, motifs, art, stamps and study
 
They sit

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