A Little something for you

My Ukulele scores shy away from your mocha embrace,
My tulip impressions breathe vigorously when you hum 'flight of the bumblebee'.

The bluemoon flashes its cunning shadows,
But Melonpies and Walnut Quiches help maintain my calm.

Rome of the East

They were talking about Boureé the other day.

Yes! The French dance. Notice the elements of Spirituality, Somberness and Spaß?

Quintessentially, that is Baroque (ian) Bach.

The Composer depicts diversity.

The fact thrills me more as I stare at the canvas.

The Social canvas that portrays these transactions and disseminations, ordered around the motion of Identity even today.

‘Rome of the East’, I feel blessed to be your companion at the moment.

The trial of learning and unlearning is a daily chore.

Amidst such trials, absentmindedly, we reach the shore.

The Birthday Song!

As he strolled along the meandering curves,

The night sky greeted him with a loving lullaby.

The moonbeams put together a rhythmic exuberance.

The sparkling stars inscribed new dreams for him.

The silent sea gazed on, innumerable philosophies played on his mind.

Favorite flavour

Someone stole my favourite flavour and lurked away deep beneath the sea.
He even allowed himself the liberty to devour the daisies and the bright morning breeze.
But little did he figure out the perplexed Rover whose White boat he deserted. 
Along came the Robin. He crooned and cajoled her lest she fell into a slumber.
 
The Rover sailed away to a fascinating brook.
The mellow shadows and streaks of moonbeams set her free. 
Old flavours, accompanied by new records and Polka fancies swayed her. 
All she could think of was piecing together her broken thoughts and re-inventing her favourite flavour.

LaElLa

She walked in, longing for a tranquil moment.

La lluvia played with her thoughts, leading her to phases of glory and torment.

Characters flew out of those fantasy books, embraced her into their world.

She walked in, longing for a tranquil moment.

El Pájaro took her by surprise, introduced her to objects of affection and a series of omens.

A formless blurry image gave her magic cinnamon tarts, brought her to a small cottage.

She walked in, longing for a tranquil moment.

La Guitarra strummed out a dark melody, leaving her low yet content.

Life made sense now. She was prepared for the stage.

The Ocean Cat

Felinemar sees the world through his blue lens.
His whiskeyed whiskers embrace silence.
He drowns into nicotine nights and 'Pulp Fiction'.
This Lady-charmer is all wit and mambo.

"Mean reds"

 

She looked around. 

Her mind like the craggy bricks and the discerning wall-clock. 

An inkling, an appetite yet the delay. 

She clung to the soggy night and the resolute influence.