I am a housewife from India, mother of two boys, aged 12 and 11.

I have a master’s degree in English literature.

Till my boys were born I worked in various sectors of BPOs as motor claims and health insurance handler and was also content writer for simulation management entrance examination papers in the field of deductive logic and reasoning in English.

I have also worked for a short term in the hospitality industry as a receptionist at a five-star hotel, while awaiting results of my English honours examination.

 I love life, like tumbling headfirst into it, and then doing a double take to step back and observe it.

I have written over a thousand poems on genres including, Love, Spirituality, Family, Religion, Current affairs, Human Rights, short stories, humorous pieces, essays as well as funny poems and tales for my children.

I love collecting rocks on my day trips to hills, photographing nature and natural moods. Indulge in taking selfies and decorating them with punk art.

Teaching my children how to tell jokes with a dead pan face for maximum impact.

In Musical Meristem

There is at the core 
Of a certain music
A part that states
No part of a past
Forever ended
May be repeated
A soft implacable
Poignancy to the croon
That tears your pith
Clawing cloying essence.

The softness of morning breeze 
Distributes then dispels
Gloom, dawn is both
Hope and despair.
Everything dewy lies in danger
Of Imminent sun burnt death.

We are cooking glycates
And
The cooked goose is
Death.

The musical rhapsody 
So through composed
Chants the refrain
Of forever endings
Of locked up past 
Boudoirs
Of hope spilled heaped
Love chests.
Even though you open them
Again, and again,
All you hold 
Tattered shawls, threadbare 
Mildewed scarves of moth eaten 
Memories.
Haunts of madrigals and tenderness
The sacred vespers and matins
In eternal “Sandhi”
Jointure of time’s madness
Defying death space.

The deafening music luring
Deluding delicious, of
Mortality’s potency, infused
With Divinity.
Hint of things to ever be, yet
Never come. 

Hollow Wooden Journeys of Shree Krishna’s Flute

Fill me up dearest
Dusky blue skinned God
Peacock feather glints
Emerald upon Indigo
On your gold crown.
The hollow wooden flute
Held in Vishnu mudra
Speaks thus:

Enter and entwine
Into the realms of acceptance
With no expectations
Love like I do
With a twinkling smile
The world is all over in 
Only an instant,
A blink of Brahma’s eyes. 

I love like this
Now.
After my broken heart
Mended itself patched,
With shredded wood fragments
From flute of the rustic bucolic 
Cowherd-god.

As Palm Sunday crosses 
Pierce my heart
The hollow pith inside
Reverberates.

I love through lengths and depths
Of my fragile vessel,
For 
Nothing else transcends 
My mortality.