Stargazer and Poetess

Beyond the olive green world,

Were two souls unspoken about,


Yearning to live a life of eternal bliss,

One a stargazer ,

the other a poetess.

Many nights at many roads,

Their interests met at the crossroads.

Drawing the souls

for eternal togetherness,

The Stargazer and the Poetess.

Seasons changed

and so did the constellations,

Only to find them drowned in each other’s admirations,

Little did they knew

about the subtle conspiracies of the Universe,

The Stargazer and the Poetess.

With moments

sometimes of insane laughter

and sometimes melancholy,

Slowly his description of the Galaxy became her poetry

And her words invigorating his starry vigil,

Only to untwine the strings of worldliness ,

And bond them in the threads so nuptial ,

The Stargazer and the Poetess.

The Circle of Fire

She twirled and twisted

wrenching in the urge

to find her way

through this wilderness

the sweat and blood

not did once dissolve

the fire…

the fire kept simmering

until, until it burned

every tissue, every skin

of her layered self

until, until it flamed

every dream of hers

in her eyes, vividly..

she thought to herself

as she woke up from one

(the dream)

yes this is it…

this is my beloved

desire ..

until, until it flamed

a realisation

to her ,

that her purpose

is to burn

and be the light

of life

till eternity….

– Nithi C J

The Enso

Just Randomly

a stroll in the dust cladded pathway 

a look into the empty driveway 

my fingers wipe 

an unseen tear 

a known finger tugs you near

just randomly…

and just randomly 

I pick that book 

flipping into its leaves

I looked hooked..

the bell rings 

I rush to the door

opening my self to the cold wind 

just randomly…

and just randomly 

I ink my nib 

An extra fine sometimes 

sometimes a stub

I switch between them

as if that will make my words better 

and scribble on the sheet randomly 

and just randomly I drop my hi

leaving not much space for a why

I ask my beloved 

hope you had a good meal

and some questions randomly 

with randomness 

I sometimes express my soul 

only to make the experience of life

more precious 

leaving the others bewildered 

I just gift them a smile 

just randomly….

No More in the Night Shine

I no more gaze into the glitter of the darkness..

I no more silence myself in the cosmetic laughs..

Yes I still relish few musical notes

with my intoxication..

But I no more ache myself into a drunken farce..

I be with people who are my own..

I no more smile at faces unknown..

I no more cloak my true self..

For ticking my social presence..

I have shredded that skin..

That skin we wear before we step out of our homes..

To mingle in the glitter and glamour..

To be accepted,


and ‘adored’..

And satiate ourselves

with temporary happiness..

I am happy..

I no more have to do that..

My space looks akin to solitude ..

But we are never alone!!

What about your soul ?

Which accompanies you..

In sadness and galore..

Tonight I sit peacefully

with a soul bonded to mine..

His calm presence comforts

more than wine..

Many a ‘-demics’

will come and go

Nothing can kill the joy..

Cherish it till you breathe..

Because you are the hero,

in this ploy!!

– Nithi CJ

On Days like this ….

I wander


digging the soil

of my soul

only to nurture ,

to care it more,

to let my true self


come to the fore.

I water it

with consciousness

thoughts and rationale

that strengthen,

my experiences

into impactful beliefs,

not letting them sore .

as wanders

through my gaze

a stroke

of imagination

I finally sit down


tipping the pen

on the paper

And slowly

my thoughts

feel safer….

Will to Write

Morning starts

with a crackling buzz,

Searching for the snooze,

I lazily rush.

“I am late again !!!”

says my usual gut.

Gobbling the breakfast on the table,

I look for my pen ,

stuffing my wallet with some roubles.

The ink is

a nice dark hue ,

A unique royal blue.

I struggle

with all my might,

To keep the flame alive,

Of the will to write.

The office…

a place a numerous activities ,

But still to me

a shade monotone.

Filled with people… yes

but inspiring ? None!

I wait watching the clock tick

till my work is done.

the Ante Meridian soon turns to Night,

nudging me harder

to write.

the sky turns ombré ,

and my eyes brighter.

the nib kisses the paper

with all its might,

Every single day

to keep up the flame,

The will to write…

The Windmill

Stood amidst

the shallow green tree line

a strong trunk

and it’s blades swirling

so fine.

Winds blew across them ,

big gushes

and quite breezes ,

a few.

Gazed at this sight

now and then,

both known souls

and strangers

whom no one knew.

Months passed by

ages too flew,

It stood still silently

swirling its blades,

In air both saline

and sometimes misty dew.

Life too blows these winds

of all kinds,

Few from the past

and few unknown new,

Here ! Stand still!

this wind too

will get through You…

Children of Blue Light

Lovely lonesome children of abyss
Frolicking in the rain
Jumping in the puddle
Here she peeks at your nakedness
Ashamed they run and hide for cover
Less they be embarrassed
And crushed
Under the walls of their own unforgiving judgements

Swaying as serpents and vines
Climbing fastidiously painfully
Throughout the music
With a straight swollen red eyed faced pantomime

Rock solid frozen jewel
Azure and solitaire
Chances of survival extend
From eternal to rare
Dare dare dare dare
Here there nowhere somewhere
Extended spread wings
Levitating balancing gyroscopes
Drowning innermost core
And the obsequious whisper in your ears

Clean and polished fragility
Perfumed immorality
Swept away under handwoven Arabian carpets
Retching stench of greed and gore
Dripping down pockets and souls

Love me love me cries out the child
Radiating and flashing
Blades and bullets in their
Desperate flights
Smeared with brutality
And armed with gadgets of divide
Euphoric glory stand atop
Maimed butchered and disemboweled
Silent helpless fragile
Children of bright blue light.

Written by Guest Poet and a dear poet friend Philomath

The little Old Console

Delicate chunk of willow,
it stood quietly ,

in the passage.

Intricate carvings

varnished with definition,
It subtly adapted to the family

without any inhibition.

It carried beautifully,
Yellow Flowers

in blue Chinese pots.
Mother warning the children

‘treat it as a touch-me-not!’

In its journey

from a log

to a sculpted beauty,
It witnessed both life

and immortality.

It was there, there always,
in the echoing chuckles

and noisy fights.
in silent perseverance,
and epitomised delight.

Not for once, not at all,
It never creaked

or crackled.
It just aged,

aged with grace,
either to be treasured,
or sent into shambles.

To its unexpected surprise,

on a crispy summer morning,
it had to change homes,
Not of new strangers,
but of faces old known.

Three decades now,

now it had faith,
‘Neither will I be trashed

nor insensitively sold.
I will remain,

an eternal memory ,

their precious console.’

– Nithi CJ

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