Scattered Showers

Scattered Showers

Take me to the drenched lanes
in the remote hill side
that smell of aroma
of desi chai in old battered kettle,
preserved since grandfather’s time.

Take me to the rain-kissed leaves
That stoop from tree in joy,
Entangled with flowers
who have awakened
from the dewy slumber,
to smile at every passing stranger.

Take me to the rooms
Carpeted with clouds
A scent of jasmine
The window pane
Dressed with love remnants,
Alphabets and hearts
Of long lost travellers.

Take me to the serene pathways
Made afresh by summer showers,
Laughing with me
As I move my fingers
and write on the sky of language,
In my mind’s eye,
I have already arrived.

Sakshi Chanana
23rd May 2016


Maddening Row.
One Click-
Lives change,
Broken Hearts
and New Love affairs.
Less than sign with shift key
and ungodly three
and straight away
Your heart is delivered
Into another’s message box,
Either to be Seen with a Blue Tick
Or to sulk in Others Folder
Seen, yet unseen
Like an invisible lover.
What do you make out of it?
A virtual love
Or a Real life escape?
Only Mr. Delete knows.

The Comforter

The comforter,

Sneaks its way into the folds of my legs

When I feel ice-cold

with AC set at 16 ,

It slithers to reach

the bare skin of my voice

Where I sift the truth from lie

Or real from the unreal,


It slips away

With the Dawn of  surrender,

Oh dear Ego- Slid-

Pass  stealthily,

For my warm heart

Shall defy the cold logic

Of your tempting silken lies.


Sakshi Chanana

4.19 a.m

New Delhi

14 May 2016


All About a Kiss…

All about a Kiss…
A dreamt kiss
That almost skipped the lips
By fraction of a second.
Resolved to access the memory
Rooted in the subliminal,
She tries to sleep…
To sleep and touch
where she left,
To feel the honeyed taste
of his love,
To hold his face in her hands,
Like a long lost treasure found,
To experience his fingers run over her form
As a painter’s brush over a masterpiece,
To play upon his fancies
As a love smitten charmer,
To look into his eyes
and discover the worlds
Sought since eternity.
To conjoin
The Angel in house
And the mad woman in the attic.
A dreamt kiss…
Overpowering the flimsy roles
Of being a seeker or the sought
She chooses to sleep,
Till he comes back again
From the far away land.
Sakshi Chanana


Sometimes I wonder,
If I could tether my thoughts
That bind me
To the spiral of resignation.
Anchor the boat of futile rantings
To adamantine threads of determination.
Sometimes, the way home
Is not through
Moving on,
But staying.


Little coins
Make noise
As they juggle
to find a way
through the pocket,
to find its destiny
In an old beggar’s hands
Or river’s pristine waters-
More often than not,
Less is more.