Small Poems

September rains
Shiny puddles
Diddle Daddles


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I bet you'd know
It's not autumn yet
Just a Passage

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Draw the short straw
Take a walk
It's just a blazing hot noon


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Elm Shadows
Linger about
A deserted walkway


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Anant Dhavale

Boredom

Among other things
Boredom is one
Continuum

A perilous thought

Precariously naïve.

-

Anant Dhavale

Copyright © Anant Dhavale

Ennui

A mall
Closing down


A phone number
Forgotten long

Estranged siblings
Dead fathers
Houses sold to complete strangers

Cryptic longings for
Voyages afar

All things add up
And become this one bohemian bubble
One inept, giant bubble.

--

Anant Dhavale
Copyright @ Anant Dhavale

newagepoems.blogspot.com1

Selfies

Selfies of disillusionment

From gloomly lit bars
To the streets and nooks

Kind of sort of
Search for the self
Gone awry

Of languid disenchantment
Scattered across the walls

Selfies of question and doubt
Stuffed
Throughout the phone.

Un needed.


--
Anant Dhavale
Copyright @ Anant Dhavale

Perplexed

Days I have wasted
In contemplating
Thinking it over
Making sense of

Algorithms laugh at me
Pikes
Trees, homes
A whole gamut of things. But I am
Not as perplexed as I was -
Let's say back in my twenties

Dewdrops of culture
And playful age
And abundance
Bounce around me
In a maze of,
Rather
A string of sub-cultures

Sub-terranean seas
A sub kind of a social
Paradigm
Underneath,
Beneath everything

It's not that laborious
To gauge
If you were to, and
Preposterous as it may sound
You are never too far from it

Homes are warm, away from the
Winterian wrath
Restaurants bubble with people
Colour floats around
Dark of the night
Darkening further
Things with colour
Touch and melt-
All around.

--

Anant Dhavale

Outsider

Once you become
an outsider
you remain one

there is a certain degree of
being an outsider by choice involved here
(or not)

going back is always an option
to the circles and
the cracking hinges of
culture
alleys of age old notions
held tight

pieces of your own

in the faded

scarlet yonder

often though
you choose not to;
a certain vehemence
keeps telling you
you were born
an outsider

and then it matters even less


--

Anant Dhavale

Melancholia
Shreds of Sunlight
a brooding sigh