take a seat and see

rolled sunset crawls
to kiss whale’s home,
persimmon spilled.

wilted leaves arch
towards foliage tomb,
autumn fulfilled.

cold keys hang
void of fingers, warm,

bite the seed of hope
will it burst some
bitter crumb?

consider the possibility
of wings once
our breaths

succumb

11.17.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
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For dVerse Quadrille #116: Poem Those Possibles

in three lines (short poems): out now

Close to seven months now, the pandemic situation has kept me inside a cream-colored, four-cornered room inside the belly of a city with tongues not of my own. Alone.

The first months caught me off guard, I got no printed books to keep me company. Hence I took to subscribing to virtual ones like @scribd .

This gave me an idea to create an ebook with short poems, providing a quick read for hearts looking for comfort, such as mine.

With the help and support of the husband, @shubhodeeproy , I am happy to share with you my third poetry collection, “In Three Lines”.

Unlike the first two, this one is exclusively available as an ebook via the following links:

PDF (Philippines) – https://forms.gle/RksK6AJCHp5y6thZ6
Amazon Kindle (India) – https://amzn.to/2GsINhE  
Amazon Kindle (global) – https://amzn.to/379k2Qd

All support will be highly appreciated. ❤


©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Shubhodeep Roy
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cheese moon

if moon is made of cheese
i will call it mine,
every night, i’ll sink my teeth
to its gooey-divine.

if moon is made of cheese
i’ll swim in pools of wine,
to drown the emptiness
of our mattressed-shrine.

if moon is made of cheese
i’ll drink its yellow shine,
to cheer the longing of
my autumn, drooping spine.

if moon is made of cheese
i will call it mine,
for you are too far away
tonight, my darling sun.

10.09.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
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For dVerse MTB – Lists that Google give us.
It has been almost a month since I did dVerse. Happy to be able to write again.

on decaying days and pumpkin soup

Monsoon rain
welcomes you,
on my side of
the world.

I hope your
crimson hair
isn’t damp.
You can leave
your slippers out.

I made some
pumpkin soup,
well, this lockdown
taught me how
to cook. Perhaps,
aloneness teaches
humans better
than any book.

I saw some photos
of orange lanes,
your touch is
turning leaves
as gold as wild
wheat’s grain.

Look outside,
nothing much
changed in my
tropical space,
yet, I do feel
the slow decay
of days.

No, don’t ask
me how am I.
It’s a question
dreaded even
by birds flying by.
Just tell me if
2020 will be kinder,
before next year’s
crossover.

Just wash our
fears, October,
let this year’s
extended Halloween
be over.

10.01.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
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For dVerse OpenLinkNight #276

shedding: a haiku

choir of crickets hum
tonight’s final song, a clown
sheds its mask, alone.

08.20.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
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For dVerse Poetics — Clowning Around

praying nets

waka

mix mud and heavy raindrops,
a murky puddle void of
the skill to mirror even
the slightest silhouette,

pour some more, pour some
more, until it overpours into
a snake-shaped waterway
flowing gently in May,
in a rugged rush on
monsoon days,

either way, on it, lays
the floating wood and
men with paddle arms
away from their thatched
huts they sail, and sail,
and sail, before even the
first breaking of  day,

throwing their nets with
their lean, chocolate arms,
add a whisper, begging
the god of fishes for
a good harvest,

to let this day fill
the chipped, cold plates
waiting back home.

08.12.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash
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For dVerse Come sail
The prompt today made me remember the days in my childhood town where the river is within arms reach, where my grandpa was a fisherman among the many men of our town.

steady anchor

nega-YdyhHbWZ1V0-unsplash

As of the moment
You surely know how
our hands feel powerless,

as if we sailed too far
from our familiar land,
stuck amidst the blue

vast sea of uncertainty
we are not sure how
deep, how long will this
salted wilderness be.

An anchor weighs heavy
yet can keep ships steady
amidst a brutal shore.
You’re mine and more.

Here are my palms lifted
as far as one can reach,
open our ears, our hearts for
the lessons You want to teach.

08.09.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
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mer-made

jeremy-bishop-gqpkafqLTwk-unsplash

gone
are the days of a
clear, singing underworld
now
icebergs are made
of forgotten plastics
half
way, photographed
before it fin’lly sinks,
sea
turtles’re choking with
once-kissed resin straw
have
we peeled your rainbow
scales with our cruel claws?

06.24.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
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For dVerse Poetics: Sounding the Siren

our shining moment: a haibun

DSCF3071

A few days before this moment, online weather forecast reported not just rainfall but a thunderstorm. More than half of June was eaten by the summer sun, it should not be surprising if the Philippines’ monsoon is here to take its part of the pie. Still, palm to palm, my love and I send whispers every night before this day, asking for some sunshine.

I was not able to sleep that night, not because of nerves but because the camera crew and the makeup team have started to arrive as early as 2 o’clock in the morning. With surprise sighs, I watched the queen burning ball leaving its slumber, at 6 o’clock it has reached its full glory.

As my feet walk on the sand-aisle lined with baby’s breaths and asters, there were summer birds singing, some gentle waves crashing, but my favourite thing was his eyes, his Indian eyes, wet but smiling while waiting for me to reach him. I thank God for him, for this moment free of thunder and lightning.

Two lips utter vows
with glittered sea as witness—
tall, palm trees giggle.

06.23.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
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For dVerse Traditional writing – on a shining topic! 

 

come in, June

brian-patrick-tagalog-Zcl9rMwflmw-unsplash

Come in.
I am sorry for the
lack of energy,
would you like
some lukewarm
tea? Well, we
are tired zombies,
avoiding (or wait-
ing) for the wind
of death, we are
suffocated not by
the unseen killer
but the cruel knee
on our throat for
centuries, (we
chose to close
our eyes on) well,
probably you know
what May did, and
all the months before,
yes, there were
some cherry blossoms
blooming, some
midnights with
crickets singing, but,
our muscle wings
are quite rusting, our
tiled feet itching, this
year is a candle
dying, fading like a
half evening
moon, so June, can you
please bring healing

soon?

06.01.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
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Creative Commons License
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