A Failed Poem


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A failed poem I am.
Simple, yet complicated.
The more I untwist,
The more it goes winding on its curve,
the rope of life, by which I hang.
…Yet I hang. Till I fall.
Fall everyday.
Hurt, bruise, tire, yet hang on.
And wonder why.
What for.
Even after all the undoing,
it would come to the same point.
Fall why dont I? Fallllllllllllllll !!

~ Purvi Petal, © May 24, 2011

roped Capture







P.S.  : I wanted an image where a woman is unwinding like a rope does, opening itself, emerging from the rope is a woman, hands held up like its two strands, spinning as it untwists. However I got this one. The pic above is taken from LA MANŒUVRE: MUE. There’s a scene in Mue where a woman with a mask on the back of her head—a mask with shoulder-length hair that obscures her ordinary face—climbs a rope, straddles and inverts and turns. There’s a life inside, there to be glimpsed.


Everything I love


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Candles strung in lanterns flicker
On an evening as calm as this
Scent afloat lavender, hither thither
& your hand in mine is pure bliss
Amongst flowers purple and ivory pastels
Music spreads as butterflies engage in a kiss
Wafts a stray note of crackling timber
as the embers sparkling in the bright bonfire hiss

Out of the lush scenery of several daydreams
into the jungle of glass and green
from the dream’s craft I disembarked
onto the embrace of your heart that gleams
childlike awestruck, surrounded by trees
we dance a ball into the night, spinning on our heels
and like the wind I am whisked away,
held in arms light with delight

Above us the clouds part to give way to the moon
tender and dripping delicate diamante dew,
remembered only by the shine that lines our paths
As your eyes engage in dreams together we sew
Listening tiptoe to the wet droplets hiss on the fiery embers
are gathered all around the forgotten hills and forests
witnessing silently the whisperings of these hearts of ours
when envelops us the quilt quaintly familiar of a pearly mist.

~ ~ Purvi Petal, © May 09, 2012

The Magic Of Art


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I am, the poem.
The poem is within me.
It flows, uninterrupted
Humongous, to an eternal sea.
I am drenching in the rain
Sometimes it is dry
Where wisps of thoughts in cotton
Hang loose or fly by
I have to build a dam
And hold it below my hair
To keep it all from flowing
Or mixing with the air
I am learning learning learning
Its a language new yet known
Ancient wisdom to my rescue
In realms dangerous and dethroned.

~ Purvi Petal, © Oct 23, 2014; all rights reserved.


On Writing


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I realized you don’t need to have a plan for a story to unfold. It can come out just as it is, like life does most often, without a whimper of suggestion, without an iota of its imagination. Characters lend themselves and bend themselves to build the stories of the story, the building crooked or ugly or amazing just depends upon who chanced by to place a brick in the place it is.

~ Purvi Petal, © Jan12, 2014

Writer Capture

Estranged Love


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My eyes burn
the sting is stubborn
the smoke is stifling the heart
recalling all the moments,
put to fire
despite desire
it was no mean art
I strangle the emotions
Swallow potions
as portions seethe the mind
Oh I wonder
what a blunder
to have then
gone so blind.
I wish I knew
You were not
stock to the stew
but a sly by on the prowl
I took quick steps
in my breathless progress
and stumbled in plans foul
You were so sure
of emotional overtures
you rejected them in style
you minced no words
you fielded swords
you killed me
with mean smiles.
Oh how fake
was your take
in love and faith
I regret of no redress
I wish I could
go back and puke
on your yellings
when so often
You had yourself riled.
Only now I see
what I couldn’t then
you were not one
of those chivalrous men
you deserved not
the respect I offered
the grace I
on a platter proffered.
I close the file
of bygone days
and open it only
once in a while
Oh how I know
i will see again
you agitated and mad
armed to bombard
your filthy mind,
recoiled &
ready to revile..

~ Purvi Petal, © 2014



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