Word Porn...

By Dr Smita Sriwastav

Words whirl within my grey matter convolutions churning within my innards they are living things variegated butterflies fluttering stained glass wings within my surrreal introspections, twinkling, winking fireflies adding their ephemeral sparkle to dark straits of ambiguity. A poem emerges from the chrysalis of enceinte thoughts freckled in sun-kissed metaphors, its gossamer wings inscribing lyrics on celadon skies, and when birth of a verse is impending perceptions writhe in agonized frenzy eager to purge in a fusillade of emotive verbiage lest the muse be lured away aborting the poem. Elusive vowels and effusive consonants together give voice to mute sentiments forming words like garlands of the alphabet, thoughts are like vagrant gypsies, nomads unshackled by dogmatic time, emerging in speech or script at their whims, unknown to moods of hourglass.

Floating as fragrance under candy floss clouds in spring, running over the pebbles of contemplations as a brook in summer sunshine, flying like vagabond russet leafage over barren courtyards of fall and peppering the sublime brow of winter as a soft susurrus of snowflakes, words are like chameleons adapting to changing seasons. At midnight when stars doze off and moon yawns in lethargy, in a crowd of unfamiliar faces, or on silent afternoons lolling over hammocks of reverie, words just erupt magma of conceptions flowing out as lava of poetry...

By Dr Smita Sriwastav