I will write (a roseate sonnet)

I will write, I will write
until this world is a riot
until my funeral flames ignite the torch light.
I will write, I will write

until there are no more tomato hearts to bleed
until war Rests in Peace
until corporate conspiracy stops to breed
until the incessant plunders of earth cease

until the topaz oceans stink no more
until my rhymes break apart into free verses.

Rocks undergo metamorphosis too
Oh! human glacier hearts, will you not melt?
Slumber is a sly serpent, wake up!
Exert yourself, until then I will write!

Copyrights @Brindha Vinodh

Autumn

Autumn arrives like an elegant princess
wearing a tiara of golden leaves.
Burgundy, brown, purple and yellow
as sequin shades stitched like sleeves.

Winds unfurl like redolent memories
smelling of cinnamons, berries and fresh figs.
The musky perfumes of patchouli and currants
dancing to the whistling rustles of sprigs.

This Winter must be a wicked queen
like Shakespeare’s Lady Macbeth to slither.
Stripping off the mahogany trunk and twigs naked
as broken bread crumbs the leaves fall to wither.

Copyrights @Brindha Vinodh