My Pile of Things

A dog-eared book
With a scribbled smiley
Accidently splashed with water
Now a confused clown.

That dirty, stuffed pink rabbit
Clipped on the glass
Of a closed god’s shelf.

A dried browned petal of a rose
Pressed carefully between yellowed pages
Leaving behind silhouette imprints
Of forgotten, hazy memories.

A silver ring with multiple loops
A play thing.
A sign of impatience in coffee houses.

Old, discarded cellphone
With the plastic screen scratched.

A broken brown coffee cup
Used as a fancy pen stand.

Trophy for five years’ service
Standing proudly on an untouched mantelshelf.

Honeymoon wine bottles
Painted with sky blue and sun yellow
Fading in a corner
With spidery soft web spun around them.

© Shweta Taneja, August 2010

Poem: Broken Butterflies

Tittered, scattered.

Lying crumpled in old, forgotten sands

Are broken wings

Fluttered by the cold northern winds

Fluttered into awakening, they sing

Of bygone, forgotten worlds

Histories of great empires and grandeur

Of souls and decomposed bodies

Lying in the sands with them

Forgotten, splattered.

(c) Shweta Taneja, Aug 2010

A word’s journey

A Word’s Journey

She resides
On a quivering, moist lip.

From the broken, beating, dying heart
To the boiling cortex lobe
Through an ignited stimuli,
To the barking voice box.

She came with lightening-speed
Grabbing on-edge, electric nerves
An angry flash from the larynx
Tornado-speed to the brink
Of the quivering, moist lip.

She hung, desperately
Wanting to break free
Fly like a free raven;
Not become an Albatross.

But gripped she was
Against her will,
Plastered to the skin
By a remnant of good sense.

So she tumbled back
Into the empty sinewy depths,
Endless cycles and nothingness
An eternal past tense.

(c) Shweta Taneja, August 2009

Haiku Experiments


The inviting
Minty haze
Of papery greens
And China dolls.


Ringing in
At every corner,
Converting vapid moments
To memories.

(c) Shweta Taneja, July 2009

Old Friend

Old friend

A drop of elixir
Last night’s dew
A sighing heart
When I last met you

Whispering songs
From distant, dreamy lands
Tapping and frolicking
All night long

Ticks from a clock
Endless healers
On invisible scars
Of remembered past

Wiser eyes
Look across
Wrinkles of time
In watery smiles

(c) Shweta Taneja, July 2009

Plastic Doll

Plastic doll

I blink my eyes
Fluttering my curvy lashes
My sigh-worthy, limpid
Fake pools of desire.

My perpetual
Red-lipped, toothy smile
Teases and invites
Insipid fires.

My cheap plastic hands
Are servile and inviting
With chipped helpless nails
Painted to perfection

My legs are long;
Peaking breasts
Curved without a crease
Smooth, endless, synthetic.

Then i was plastic
Now i am broken
Lying unused
A tattered token.

(c) Shweta Taneja, July 2009


In a sheen of sparklers;
Broken, sharded jazz
Black night knights
Intersperce with
Dull light

Mingling, hobnobbing
With polite, elite nods.
Guzzling, sparkling
Sharp crystal barbs

Behind the air kiss
Venum moves.
Desperately seeking eyes;
Genteel, jealous smiles.

Light to dark,
Dark to light.

(C) Shweta Taneja, July 2009



1377546_10152318790723146_1065646424_nLike a dash of lightening
On a monsoon hotbed
A flash of naked limbs converted
To eternity and rest

Not with the baggage
Of rickety buses and potholes
Red streaks in wind-blown brown hair
A naked breast held invitingly
For comfort suckles

Saunter alone
Through intricately woven threads
Of lost lanes
Where a blinking lazy eye
Lights up new bylanes

Alive, glittering thoughts
Of never before wondrous lands
Swimming invitingly
In molten memories of mothers
And old wives’ tales

In action, in present

(c) Shweta Taneja, July 2009