DREAM WORDS OF THE HEART

"Where the beauty of our senses is realised" by DINESH R MAKWANA

Newer Poems

                  Image result for diamonds watches casino chips roulette pictures

The Master Rouletter

The 6.30 alarm, for the Master Rouletter, the precise 18.30 has hit, considered “Stentorian”,

Not really that loud but in the World of exaggerated winning, Stentorian holds,

Sleeping on one side, deliberate, allowing  movement under the bed and both mind rest pillows,

And as always both the carpet and cloth in custody of deadly arms, not arms but firearms!

 

The very rare sight you would see the lady that wins his heart and that has virtue, has value and holds his heart card,

Today was the day of another single side duvet but that hotel millionairess will seek his impossible ring,

Sought and wanted, sharp and shrewd, he is the unbeatable Rouletter.

 

Bleakness of darkness in the 5 Star suite, a controlled darkness ready to ignite,

He bursts to his favourite shower and highest of soap and lather, the creamy best.

Drying and grooming the dark hair to smile and smooth with Savoy in suit and wrist of ultrathin gold,

Pockets aplenty with the usual $50,000 Roulette stake, he leaves into the corridor and expectant echo of the millionairess proposal that will get the “No my lady, you are my friend” in reply.


Casinos don’t have windows or clocks, that is playing winning silly,

The Master Rouletter wears watches and seeks and breathes the tree fine air,

The Master Rouletter plays high to win and is not silly!

 

The Chips in $10,$20,$50 and even $5,winning has maths and even his lucky numbers 9 and the 29, both need any variable of maths.

He plays at the high tens, thousands and in one crest fallen Casino a cool one million found its way into his Ferrari account.

For twenty spins, now twenty one, The Master Rouletter won’t play, not even the green Zero; this is the class of the highest in his field, no play is also winning in his World of winning.

 

On the 22nd spin, he plays a cool $1200, the twelve choice spread  and swells his pocket by twice that in seconds,

Repeats the same, the same play and the same winning result,

Roulette at the top end is not about luck and it has many functions, many rules and myths,

Myths as crazy as every number 1 to 36 adding to the dark total of 666,

666 has no place in his super rich World of spin yet no spin!;and his lucky 9 and 29 both with the opposite 9 are pure thought and chance choices!


Two hours have passed and he has won nearly six figures and now is the time to walk, what some call “win and walk”,

The tip,a cool 300 is delivered on cloth,not hand; “winnings are on cloth not hand”,he always says!,

And yes, the elegant, model perfect millionairess graces the floor and asks the same,same,virtue must,

And again The Master Rouletter replies “No my lady,you are my friend”,

Macao in three and Japan in eight, number answers is the style not in descriptive days,

Numbers,numbers,numbers, the World of the Master Rouletter.

Dinesh R Makwana (March 2018)

Protected by Copyrights and Designs and Patents Act (CPDA) 1988


        

SMUDGED LIPSTICK

It’s the joy in the despair hour of leaving the unloved to my loved ones,

The frenzy,the smog, the sharing of the unwanted touch,sometimes from a stranger and maybe the no stranger to crime,

I endure, my child, my one husband, my one whole life’s value as I speculate what my two wonders will surprise me with,

I can’t read, it’s too crowded, I can’t study it’s too crowded, I can’t love because they are in await,

I afford the inconvenience to make my convenience,

With the screech of the now so common, the cabin glides to rest like the last ironing of the sleeve, neat and tidy and clean with a whisp.

I am late because those final accounts were out by the transposition of the factor nine,

I worked it out from the arduous care of my hub with the maths stub, whizz on numbers and useless on slicing the cucumber,

I’ll run in case his mind wanders to the creep in the office, so close at times, anyone would worry.

The kite of the neighbour in safe care of the sky, I “hi” him and smile and congratulate his untorn flyer, majestic in rule with the chant of the Pied Flycatcher,

No bell to ring, I carry my love key, my life key, it is my key,

My baby rushes at me, jumps to his heart and joy and my joy and heart,

If oneness exists as separates, it’s the mother and her child,

I seek the other; he seems to have left the welcome, something is in his mind,

Is it the lateness that enthuses the colour green, or the recall of the standard, modern, arrogant work creep?,

It must be one of his bouts of worrying, fiendish slander, not meant, not his armour,

Placed by the demeaning fears of the silent,prowling life’s disasters,

What can it be, what can it be?

Rushing to change into my house cloth, I peer into the mist of my twin, my mirror,

And find the smudged lipstick, haunting me again, having changed from the power of red to the distress of the separating green.

That stupid smudged lipstick. 

Dinesh R Makwana (August 2016)

Protected by Copyrights and Designs and Patents Act (CPDA) 1988

     

My Mummy Holds My Hand

I was in the park yesterday,

I pretended as the children played,

I guess they were the same face, the same grace and ate the same ice-cream,

Couldn’t let them know, couldn’t let them know my secret pain,

I can’t move further on this bench because then I would fall.

 

Everytime they laughed, oh I can hear, I smiled as if I was seeing them,

Couldn’t let them know as they played,

Please Mummy, walk me away but she’s gone for a minute looking for my ice-cream man,

I like the ice-cream, I like the ice-cream.

Hurry Mummy, hurry Mummy,

I can’t wait for their ball to be hit my way Mummy.

 

I know, I will put those headphones on, I can hear you know,

Where are the headphones, where are they?,

That way, they’ll think I couldn’t hear their ball call,

Hurry Mummy, hurry Mummy,

I can’t find the headphones.

 

My Mummy is here now, you know I can hear and my Mummy’s here,

She holds my hand, I have the ice-cream,

I am in no worry if there is a ball call,

The children don’t know,

They can’t know. They can’t know.


Dinesh R Makwana (August 2016)

Protected by Copyrights and Designs and Patents Act (CPDA) 1988


                                  Related image
What Am I Part One?

  From Geneva to the wild frontiers of the Arctic,
  From the sunny shores of California and the uncertainty of the Climatic or even 
  Climactic,
  This contemporary masterpiece is asking you to keep from the last line with fleeting,
  For even in the world of the weakest, and meek and useless and even thick....it is 
  cheating!
  The question is simple, what am I, what can I possibly be, what a challenge I have 
  set for thee.

   I'll start with clues that may puzzle many but give hope too,
   Primes are a start, seven, and five and thirteen and two and three or even
   the double numbered 23....
   Of those only two numbers play a role in my being from century or centuries ago,
   At the time I came into Earth being!

    Colours like green,red,brown,yellow are often talked in my presence,
    And often there is swearing and confusion and damn right intrusion,
    Inventors like Smith and Hubbell could be rightly in frowns,
    Hubbell as in the telescope is not the answer, it's way too big for my worldly 
    flounder!

    The "walls" as in the world of ice-cream could be too big a clue,
    So I'll avoid that clue, for something anew!,
    How about I am smaller than Empire State but bigger than a penny,
    I think you'll think I am being silly,
    At least it is respective and gives you some perspective!

    Pins is probably the best and easiest of all directions but then you may think of four 
    digits,
    Your credit cards, your passwords and computers and everyday marches,
    Everyday is the only word from the sentence that has any connection,
    And connection from that sentence has great connection!

    So, as many paragraphs have now passed to reveal the answer,
    I'll give one more chance to show you can be a Master,
    Pockets and Lockets and Dockets and Rockets,
    All rhyme with the great invention of the Socket!

Dinesh R Makwana (December 2014)


Protected by Copyrights and Designs and Patents Act (CPDA) 1988


Hopscotch Shoes


                        


Whether Monday or Sunday or hindrances of the Saturday,

The twists and turns of Saturn of the school of the devout Hindu,

Or the churns and merits and cries of the hopeful of Martian Tuesday,

I loved my Hopscotch, the streetwise game. My best mate,

Was my long haired fellow Hindu with no curls, no cute locks,

But the discipline of the knee length sacrifice, so enduring, so restless,

So meticulous but always protected by her vigour and her fearless endeavour,

What I liked the most that she was never careless.


We played the one two, one two diagram to ten.

In India they have the Stapu or the Kith-Kith,

In Russia, it's Knaccuku, in Serbian robes with its neighbours,

It takes the name Skolica and is adored by many as Perigrina,

In the lands we know as Cuba and Puerto Rico,

With Italy labelling it the Campana.

In the World,Hopscotch is as sober as the cleanest water.


It was an easy to draw game, most stones doubled as chalk,

As clones to crayon, as clones to pen as clones to the dart.

In minutes we'd have our snooker table or table tennis top,

Or our Monopoly board or our tennis court,

And if it rained, we made no losses as the stones gave us our choices!

Rarely could we finish our Hopscotch match in the rain,

Even when we were both so close to winning!


She would run inside and so would I,

We had so much to do, the homework, the chores,

And The painful truths of the fatty lady, one part of the ugly duo,

So evil, so crude that would insult my Hopscotch mate,

And her beautiful long hair at every tune.

They call her the life's incredible spear,

If you read down on the left side now,

Kind of cool happens with the word SWASATIKA!..nearly anyway!


I liked my Hopscotch mate whatever hatred the fatty woman showed,

I never got drawn into her disgraceful tones, however much pain,

However much personal acclaim she gained,

In furiously, separating innocent children.

Because,whenever and wherever, her garden or mine,

Our Hopscotch Shoes would  come to light,

Even barefoot I called them my Hopscotch Shoes.


Hopscotch never injured me or her or any challenging tree,

It performs for the Alps and its skiers twists and sometimes you fall,

It's a quick game, like the down-hiller and slalom thinker,

Yet it maintains its Libra hold, the balanced,

The scales stay the same, whatever number you hit.


Dinesh R Makwana (August 2014)


Protected by Copyrights and Designs and Patents Act (CPDA) 1988



The Staircase Man



I  push through the spinning door,

To a larger floor, a giant floor,

I've forgotten the number lights,

Or the number of floors plight,

I am automatic, Synchromatic,

I never think because I don't have to,

I do what I do because I do.


The violin case and the bona-fide tunes, 

Under my elbow, I don't see them in risk,

Why should I they've seen decades of this bliss,

I never thought I'd break my strings,

It's because it has seen those welcoming Springs,

Surviving the Autumn and Winter's sunburnt toe,

The miserable kind, full of dirt and that thing,

That rhymes with my bow.


I think sometimes, I wonder now and then, 

I sometimes stub the toe, make a bruise,

Thinking of booking my love's cruise,

I run,I sprint, I stretch,I grief,I worry,

I remember the number, the floor and then I don't care,

I'll somehow find my way there.


Clowns,Meisters and Lawyers and men with frowns,

Running and churning and thinking aloud,

Some have made noises, some have laughed,

Many have hurried and hurtled and cried,

Case histories of flyers and saints, CEOs that ruled,

Walking a case, not any case, the staircase, my staircase.


Dinesh R Makwana (August 2014)


Protected by Copyrights and Designs and Patents Act (CPDA) 1988


Departure Lounge


Ants with candles, when really cars lit in tandem,

My tied up state, as the plane is about to claim its glide to rest,

Suddenly there is a plethora of interest,

For the gate, no-one cares, even at their best!

Some will rush blazoned with free to across,

Others will pay fees, costs and the thunderous poundage,

For me no end, for it is the lounge,

No ordinary lounge,no royalty lounge, it's the departure lounge!


I am used to the routine of the paper, the confirm of smile,

The stamps,the picture,the glares, the eyes of the inspector!,

Lorgnette on the nose, I like the enquiring audit fellow,

I don't mind, I sleep well on my pillow,

Whether at pace or at the turtle's sorrow,

I am used to being destined for the lounge,

No ordinary lounge, no royalty lounge, the departure lounge!


Here we see the pretentious diet,

Careless to eat any cream,and the bite-size of fats,

And lards and sugar coated tarts!,

Where rowers could only diffuse on a wherry,

Not the word worry, really the word wherry!,

Here you see smells hidden in the flames of perfume,

Most need bathes, baths and showers and even heavens rains,

Believe me they are tired and in inconceivable pains.


And my journey is not an end,

I don't mind, it's my life, it's my journey to acclaim,

Sometimes I see and meet even fame,how I miss them.

I seek the solace of the caffeine,

Only after the splash and the mirror's confirm,

It's part of completing my term.


The numbers stream from highs to highs,

Seldom to near zero,

When that happened once, I fell asleep, 

With no work from my famous feather of my biro,

So I continue, life's rewarding minors,

I am no facetious fool, actually quite cool!,

As I watch and work and wonder in the lounge,

No ordinary lounge,no royalty lounge,the departure lounge.


Dinesh R Makwana (August 2014)


Protected by Copyrights and Designs and Patents Act (CPDA) 1988