Lens Mania

Art in Frame All poems copyright:  ravivchhabra.com Managing Editor:  fnbworld.com   Frolicking flowers photo by the poet . T he artist in me thrives on internal, unending fire and deepening distress.  Both creating ripples in the mind. My art is finetuned by pain. Sillyness of an unending and unreachable sullied love. Cutting off lush branches of innocent swaying trees...the artist laughs. Then there is silence. No pain but a blank mind.   I seek emotional wound. Almost like an addiction. Love is the drug. Pain is love.  Art is created in wilderness and in complete darkness comes alive my drawing slate.

All poems copyright: ravivchhabra.com   Managing Editor:  fnbworld.com   F lirting in rain and sultry wind are two tulips-like Lewis and Flora. Playing games and music to tease, bound in endless nature’s fragrance at ease.  Flora laughs, frolics and vanishes. Lewis looks around and holds her by the hand then by toe and feels her smooth, shapely hips... Porn is not born for Lewis. Touching her all over in the faded, worn out blue jeans worn in a hurry, the gaps are wide and newly torn. Lewis slides beneath Flora’s creamy thighs reaching new highs Two lips like newly blossomed tulips are arranged in hands with gloves of love. Flora slowly brings the drum-stick near her perfect bosom and bums. Lewis hands over the flute to Flora for soothing her shiny lips A tune they start to play in a garden ‘down under’ jumping together soon on a sofa meant for Flora. Lewis caresses Flora in her home making love after downing a few shots of concocted vodka.  Two sealed lips like one on top of the

All poems copyright:   ravivchhabra.com Managing Editor:   fnbworld.com A  cloudburst without the thunder; her perfumed body wouldn’t let me sleep a wink as I walked thirstily to my desk by the bedside.  I talked to her by myself at once holding her face, licking her pointed chin and reaching for her back rubbing my hand all over it. She didn’t stop me nor spoke a word as I ruffled her short-roughed up hair tasting her shapely, salty fingers back and forth that usually hold the pointed brush to paint music icons. My thick fingers in contrast brushed over her eyelids and caressed them to close. I slid my face towards hers and sucked her upper lip and paused to proceed for the lower. Her soft earlobe kept my fingers wanting for more. We smooched like I had never before. I felt at once the frisson in her delicate body and the sweat of her underarms. She sighed shyly and I looked into her probing eyes and confessed I shall put this daydream on paper. You seldom write poetry but I do rememb

All Poems Copyright: ravivchhabra.com Managing Editor: fnbworld.com B urray enters a new world lilac and green He got no sleep nor did he weep Lying down on knees he was weedy and weak He didn’t walk or hear or speak Never wanted her to be a sheep In such pincer duress just simple caress Seeing Burray sad I felt like his dad The fur and the broken pause He said it with frozen paws Her smile his best balm Bru is a corn He understands the storm Inside the house who plays foul Burray and Bru got no grouse Bru calls me Papa He loves Frank Zappa! The din is unlike the fallen pin No replacement after displacement Burray was meek Brù heard someone creep He stares and falls asleep Then again up for his meal  Lilac and green... Hurrayyyy! shouts Bru for Burray...

All poems copyright: ravivchhabra.com Managing Editor: fnbworld.com   A t once I am your grizzly bear though not entirely bare I shall soon be there at your stair to get  hair repair In front and rear, she is always near Somewhere if not everywhere I can hope to get trimmed my hair I begin to stare here and there in my lair Where is my cute mayoress so so fair  always willing to trim my hair?  Best at care she gave me the glare with caress and en clair, i s she nowhere? A n honest prayer for my hair There and here she is my compeer far and near and she alone can draw the waves of my hair threadbare She will trim my hair into a fine layer Pears  on a nearer tree  and free Me and she make a worthy hairy pair! C ome  now weave my hair with a bouncy, snappy flair Just she to trim my once lofty now crumpled, worn out hair.

All poems copyright: ravivchhabra.com  Managing Editor:  www.fnbworld.com H e lies under the shadow of the  reading spotlight  hearing  the glisten in the  eeriness of his soul Don't  mock the broken  man He smells of going  fishing with friends and his fine lass walking  back on the pale grass  The  memories keep playing truant not the  dreams he sees of them then and now... Don't mock the broken man He gets visions of her bosom and his hands never wanting to let go as she first helped him slide them inside her black denim shirt  Romancing to make him feel her under the skirt skin Don’t mock the broken man Rich forever he shall be. Memories for breakfast and same for  dessert. They in unison stroked and smoked weed and satisfied their greed Best  indeed Don't mock the broken man Has dawn knocked?   He hears the crows and parrots outside the balcony trying to peep  for their pointed beak feeling a w