Garden Of Poetry


My poetry rarely contains much symbolism. However, my desire to improve as a poet urged me to pen this little write. (The symbolic meaning of every flower mentioned can be found at the end of the post). The inspiration for this piece comes from Nandita’s “The Root Of Life.”

Garden of Poetry


Strolling through her stunning verses
the aroma of rhymes entices my lungs
as poetic sunflowers generate warmth
and her love blooms in flowery tongues

Her windblown kisses of Baby’s Breath
Are love florets providing a sweet motif
As we exchange our primrose affections
For I am her stem and she my adoring leaf

She will eternally be my sacred lotus
Planted inside the deepest part of me
As I’ve become the photosynthetic sun
‘ever nourishing her garden of poetry


The image reminded me of you N. Eye liner, touch of lip gloss, and of course the flowers in the luxurious black hair.


Sunflowers (adoration, longevity)
Baby’s Breath (purity of heart)
Primrose (eternal love)
Sacred Lotus (In Buddhist symbolism it represents purity of body, speech, & spirit)

Providence, My Friend

Untitled collage

Providence, My Friend


Hey babe, why don’t you post somme-in on the LA blog one of these days?

o-k-A-Y and what kind of a piece you’d like it to be?

Anything…about you, me, us, just burp your thing baby

You sure? Remember what happened the last time I did that?

You mean the bio you did of me?

Uh-huh. THE statistical fiasco of the century, that had over 900 views in less than 5 days and an average of 5 likes per zillion views. God, you were sulking for days, Papi, worse than those folks PMSing over our love. And I’m telling you, the ladies must have cursed me so hard I still haven’t recovered from the hiccups they voodoed on me. Half of them fled from your blog life, one fourth took up Yoga and the other one fourth burn my effigy every time you post my picture or mention my name in your post. Hey, deflate that chest already, they hate you equally!

Hahahah, Mamasita. But hey, come on, I didn’t sulk…I was just disappointed..are those two the same?


At this point, A Tangle of Weeds crosses her arms in a very business-like manner (she even borrowed his necktie and tied it around her night shirt collar) and looks straight into the eyes of her (not really) Lonely Author who gives her his “damn baby, I love you” look. (Yeah I will have to make a video next of the Lonely Author’s mannerisms. Then, we might as well shut down both blogs and renounce the world. Such is life, sigh!)


Providence, my friends! I mean LA’s friends. Hello and a grossly un-timed welcome to yet another special edition of A Tangle of Weeds being exclusively aired here on the LA page the first Mondays of every month. Yes, your raised eyebrows are justified. I just created that slot. But not without consultations with the CEO of this blog, i.e. Andrew. Oh pardon my impudence, I forgot to introduce myself to the newbies here. Ahem ahem, damn this phlegm! I am the Managing Director and you’ll see my name if you are patient enough to read till the end. I tend to pee never endingly on the LA blog. Alpha feline trait, that’s right.

So what I’m really saying is that I’m here today for an reason. Not that I’m anywhere for no reason (LA is giving me an appalled look of “Babe, did you flush your sense of humor too? Yes I can hear his thoughts). Anyway, the reason is My King wanted me standing at the balcony of our castle alongside him waving at his smiling, seething, laughing, fuming (all kinds including the ones who come to watch from behind the bushes) but still loyal subjects. Bloody hell, who just threw those rotten eggs?
Sorry guys, that took time…(not easy to wash off egg smell, you know….the things I have to endure for love, sigh!)

Anyway, by now, most of you know (well now you know) that he’s given me all rights to this blog, including the one of investigator. Oh no no, don’t get me wrong, I’m not the possessive kind (LA almost choked on the Pepsi he’s drinking)..let me complete alright..not possessive ..umm..unless I’m compelled to be, under the following two circumstances:
1. By those who keep trying – to our utter dismay – to hit on him. Did you know, jellyfish are amazing creatures? Oh it’s related. I never speak incoherently.
2. those who disrespect/disregard our relationship. May your life be filled with abundant love so you can feel happy about ours.

Having said that, it is my birthright to be the poet in tattered jeans who rescued him, to continue rescuing him from the hazardous side effects of his erstwhile reputation of being the heartthrob of WP (No need to lie on that pretty ass with that wicked smile and rub your thumb over your sexy cleft, LA. I said “ERSTWHILE”).

Keep writing you guys, continue enjoying the poetry on this blog without any prejudices. And keep love and laughter high on your agendas. I sincerely thank those wonderful supportive friends and readers who are genuinely happy for us. And the rest, well you gotta take me with a pinch of salt, my friend. Because I am the staple of his Cuban diet.

So long. With love. Going off the air in

Endnotes: (for the convenience of those who might be scratching their heads)
The Lonely Author (LA) = Andrew = My King = Papi = Him = He (Yes, they are all ONE person)

A Tangle of Weeds = Nandita = Babe = Baby = Mamasita (Again ONE person = Me)
There are ONLY two people in this post, irrespective of the different names and addresses (not location address, phew!)





The deep stitches that mark my flesh
Are medals from battles worn with pride
The wounds that line her battered heart
Moisten her breath with tears she’s cried

Me, the lonely beach boy surviving broken love
She, an indigo child tangled, a hand without a glove

It was my role to be the valiant knight
To rescue her from the pain of broken dreams
Bravely fighting off the slings and arrows
I was rescued by the poet in tattered jeans


I normally don’t post on Fridays, but my Poetry Muffin needs to read my words.  And her wish is my demand.

Photo credit:  Nandita.

We Fell In Love In A Metaphor


We Fell In Love In A Metaphor


We met in a poem as poets often do
Cause our words opened poetic doors
As we slowly fell in love in a metaphor

This love has grown with every rhyme
As verses carry the pain and hope that
Our meters will stand the test of time

These red feelings will eclipse eternity
For long after we have turned to dust
Our love will live forever in our poetry.


This was for you N.


unnamed (1)

Somme-in a little different.



It was a lucid afternoon
Straight out of my dreams
We laughed and loved
Feasting on Pepsi, popcorn, and poetry

Drawing her a warm bath
I attempted to read Neruda
Yet she had other plans

Reciting pink verses
Red rhymes cascaded from her glossy lips
Like slippery suds of passion
Soaking me with love

Words floated like translucent bubbles
Washing my flaws, fears, and pain
Rinsing my body, purifying my heart
Baptizing my soul

My beloved took a bath
It was me that she cleansed.


This poem came from a prompt from my mentor Nandita Yata.  Hopefully, she will approve.


The Way Things Used To Be


The Way Things Used To Be


Our home has become as lonely

as the last leaf on a dying tree

laughter no longer reverberates against walls

we consummated with our love

old arguments replay themselves endlessly

like a scratched record avoiding the next beat

the eerie shadows of who we once were

turn us into restless spirits of the night 

as we haunt ourselves with stained memories of

the way things used to be


Photo from Google Images


Beyond Repair


Beyond Repair




With love I recovered

all of her broken pieces.

With kisses I attempted

to heal her wounds.


trust never appeared,

her tears never ended.

How could I have known

she was broken

beyond repair.


Image borrowed from Google Images