A Communication Twonnet*

*(A Sonnet has 14 lines – so this Twin Sonnet – 28 lines - so called Twonnet)

The swoosh of the toilet flush
In the early morning hour
Breaks the eerie night silence
Who’s there? I ask
Only to hear footsteps
And creaking floorboards

The house is not haunted
I am assured
Then maybe just my mind
Playing nasty tricks
But the toilet flushing
Isn’t that too loud a noise?

Or maybe just my imagination
Going wild!

There is a lingering lethargy
A constant sapping of energy
The Feng-shui has gone all wrong
Perhaps, or just the mind-set
Stuck in an arroyo
Not able to let go

They say there has to be a bond
To be able to communicate
But some are just sagas
Endured, burnt and endured again
Who am I? Who is she?
None other than crafted souls

Some questions are mere ponderings
To dwell on and liberate

Apologies to the Deserving

Fathomless, treacherous horizons
The dos and donts
The etiquette, the manners
Curbing, controlling, calling
Assuring, assuming, accusing
A ritual all

A tactful thank you
A pleasing please
A submissive sorry
Create magical music
And yet to some, for some
These are delicacies

Coming to think of it
Do all deserve these fortitudes?
Aren’t some folks just amiss?
Why not be a Roman in Rome
And rise from ritual
For those few, foundering ferals?

The Visitor in a Womb

The front door stood locked
Bathing in the morning sun
Its glass shimmering
The light glimmering

Every day it looked the same brown
Neither smile nor frown
It was opened and shut seldom
As is common amalgam

The afternoon wind swirled outside
Swaying the shrubs, trees alike
I peeped through the glass
Half-expectantly, but the brick cochere was empty

Yet I opened the door
I knew someone was there
Sure enough on the outside
On the brown bottom frame

A green cocoon swayed
Holding on tight by a thin thread
Glued to the door with a black dot
The green lined with a golden ring

I stared in awe, in wondrous delight
Yet another Nature’s caricature
A fresh, young green womb
Holding within, Life

Now I open the door everyday
To check on my guest
Green with envy as it is
I ponder on its entity

100% Vegetarian

This is foolish, this is madness
Eggs and fish are not vegetarian
Eggs, the precursors of life
Fish with gills and fins
Very much alive!

I am a vegetarian pure
Chaste and contrived
Veggies and berries
Fruits and curries
Feed my belly

Only the divine chocolate éclair
In the bakery down the road
I devour with relish
The éclair, my sole fetish
Once, maybe twice, maybe four times a week
I willingly seek

The onlookers familiar
Gape and gasp
Even small whisper I hear
There “goes” the vegetarian
The éclair, far from my belly’s criterion

The Intellectual

Lost his parents as a young lad
Thrown to the big, bad world
He fended and he fought
Like no other valor

Little to eat, two shirts on his back
Created a little world
For his own clever,

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Texte: Varsha Halabe
Bildmaterialien: Varsha Halabe
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 09.05.2012
ISBN: 978-3-86479-672-2

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Widmung:
Dedicated to my parents, husband, and daughters who encourage me in their own weird ways.