I just slipped on your teardrop
at the entrance of your heart
Obvious : I made a stop !
You cast a hesitant glance,
as promptly you were alert
I slipped on teardrop per chance !
Please ! Please do reciprocate
Do not put me just apart !
I'm rejoicing on my fate.
Soft teardrop, but acts ruthless,
rippling and I'm getting hurt,
making me very restless.
Please do not stay indolent
All my amount, I'll exert
I slipped ! A sweet accident.
I couldn't resist myself.
I'm at your door : Please don't shut.
It's only you, who can help.
Your nice eyes are now shinning :
I'm sure, you are. not inert !
I fell in love : My Darling !
The pool unfolds like a satin strip,
a tapestry of turquoise stillness.
Sunlight stuck on its facade,
a glass sheet spread to shatter.
A maroon reflective house
shadowed by two leaning palms,
their hushed fronds, the indolent onlookers,
impersonate the silent sky.
A violent bloom of serrated purity
in the stretch of sapphire serenity,
stillness splintered by the frenetic spout.
The splash, the chaotic vista,
a coronet of fluid wonder,
epitomizes the geometry of fading disarray,
interlacing the memories of elation,
rolling over the painted silence.
Inspired by A Bigger Splash by David Hockney (1967)
Written as a tribute to the departed painter.
No Guts, no Glory’ : Have courage ,
whether young or in old age.
If you sit indolent with fear,
Life will turn stagnant ! No charm , Dear
Meet challenge at each step
Never try to escape.
Try again and again.
Remember ! No risk, no gain.
The homeless are not unskilled.
The homeless are not unlearned.
The homeless are not indolent.
The homeless are not lackluster.
The homeless are not those unready to embrace the dawn.
The homeless are not hesitant to walk into the daylight.
The homeless are not feeble or sleep-drunk.
They are not oblivious to the voice that speaks in the tranquil night.
The homeless are not afraid to journey into the unknown.
They are not uncalled or undesirous of a new beginning.
They are not frail-gifted.
They are the unprivileged.
They are those who have faced unfortunate circumstances.
They are the voiceless.
They are armed but unshielded.
They are a dim light waiting to shine.
They are those in the depths of the stygian night.
They are those seeking the stars to illuminate their long night.
December 31, 2025.
Rainbow rhapsody
morphs into morose mélange
of fractured fervor,
sordid shades of blue
paint linen of love, frayed.
Sanguinity songs turn
into nonsensical noise
echoed by soul, arcane.
Leitmotif of life seen
through indolent cynic lens
of distorted essence,
magnifies manifold
into crooked contortion
of convoluted conscience, aberrant.
I was born into the pastel of Spring
But lived so long in Winter’s grey
That I forgot almost how to sing
Or how to dance the night away.
Our life it seems is into seasons divided
Not measured out like those of nature’s
Some are overburdened, rather lopsided
Others have short swiftly moving features
Years of Winter’s stormy chill
Gentle Spring blooming in an instant
Indolent Summer so tedious and still
And Fall a hurried picking – reminiscent
All in all it rounds out full
Although unbalanced be,
So when it’s time to say goodnight
It’s a fine furled farewell to thee.
our indolent yawn
transforms as a sneeze
just as onset of dawn
offers soul release
simmering intent
hones creative instinct
that granting love consent
heart is bliss inked
we are not the doer
yet all doings are done
we cite force majeure
unlike the glowing sun
to meld with the source
whilst poised in repose
applying no force
radiance of heart grows
we walk the pathless path
strewn with rose petals
each breath a holy sabbath
where our presence settles
My country, it is not the sweet Portugal
AND yet I love Fado, the wine of the Douro,
My country is not beautiful Italy, nor Rome,
And yet I love Naples, Palermo, and Florence,
It’s not Haiti or Salvador de Bahia,
It’s the Dolce Vita and Eight and a half, in black and white,
I like all the films by Fellini or Antonioni,
My country, it is not the illustrious talkative France
AND yet I like Jurançon and Monbazillac,
I like beef bourguignon and duck with orange,
My country, it’s not California, or Utah,
AND yet I like Monument Valley, Hollywood Boulevard,
I love the Grand Canyon and Los Angeles at night,
My country, it is not so political Turkey,
But I love Istanbul and sleepy Cappadocia,
It’s the Dolce Vita and Eight and a half, in black and white,
My country is the cinema, it’s the privileged place
Where will the train stop from your indolent and black eyes,
It is beyond, the bridge of lascivious embraces, the bridge of the Iroise
It’s the country I like when you play for me alone, O my action.
NB La Dolce Vita and eight and a half, are two masterpieces by Fellini.
see the busy streets
strewn with scraps of human souls~
f
l
o
a
t
i
n
g
indolent
Meticulously petitioning the Divine for renascence,
From the trepidation of my solipsistic ways.
A renascence into the sempiternal.
For a moment, I was indolent.
But mercy is not optional,
Love unconditional.
Seeking the Magnanimous One,
The Luminous One renders me numinous.
Promised blessings falling like raindrops,
Sheltered by anointing,
Like Daniel, before whom beasts capitulate,
Like Shadrach, untouched by flame,
Like Job faith unshaken by self-fame,
Oh, my soul bless the Omnipotent name.
In the opaque night across the space of silence,
enfolding the languid landscape of my existence,
bereft of the beguiled essence in indolent life,
my pathway meanders in the labyrinth of torment.
Trudging at the fringe of trying forbearance,
I hear listless the whispering wind of wisdom
tell me, this journey has no meaningful end.
I’m entangled in the nebulous mesh of ambiguity.
The ill-conceived venture of the errant mind
finds gloomy dead end in the introspection path.
That’s when the serpentine force opens the innate door,
releasing the feminine energy of yogic awareness.
My soul shines then with the ethereal radiance
in the infinite depth of the discernment space,
like the flaring brilliance of dormant tantric power,
flashing through the seven chakras of perception.
In my self-searching spiritual odyssey
toward the edge of the enlightened eternity,
I perceive the acuity centres configure consciousness
and turn it into living beacon, lighting my inner self.
ingrained inbred ignorance ignited Ivan
infuriating infatuated Inez, Iowa’s individualist
indulging Ivan’s inebriated indolent mother
who initiated Ivan’s inexorable, inflexible ideas.
Get a life to enjoy in full,
Propel life on charm, being cool.
Dynamic active life at best.
On canvas of life, love to paste.
Always prompt, time never to waste.
Grief and joy to come turn by turn
To stay strong life long : Your concern.
Meet challenge of life at each step.
Overcome troubles not to escape.
Arrange life to get a perfect shape.
Try to explore life on new ventures.
With wobbling heart don’t sit indolent
The right moment always to capture.
To take prompt action, be competent.
Proceed in rapture, not to lament.
atop
a garden wall
striped marmalade throw
feline
lazy time
under sunshine
interlaced visions
a weaving
paws dangle in indolent ease
reach
underlay deep
whiskers sense sparrows
muscles tense in their plush
carpet shag
then
drowsy textile head slumps
sun-drying kitty-mat
basking
2 textured images twilled
to fade together forever
later
cat-rug carried away ~
sun settles in a deckchair
‘ Seize the day ‘ ! It’s carpe diem
Every day in life is a game.
Life to enjoy and to explore :
Any moment not to ignore.
Each day appears as a gift.
Utilise, being perfect fit.
Be dynamic, no stagnancy.
Be joyful, no despondency.
Proceed always to progress.
At any cost, not to regress.
Ups and downs in life : more or less,
yet consider each day to bless.
Accept each day as a challenge.
It’s up to you, how to arrange !
Never sit indolent, at all.
Respond to every moment’s call.
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