A & E

By Ashvin Mistry

Cough, wheeze, splutter, sneeze,
Liquoirish allsorts in A & E.

Slouched, hobbling, whisper, breathe,
musical chairs at 20 to three.

Me or you, peek a boo,
Playing bingo with the ladies in blue.

Jabbed, prodded, peeled, dripped
Bring out the box of magical tricks.

Up, down, high, low,
Diagnostic shuffle from Dr Know.

Your Sigh

By Ashvin Mistry

Your sighs,
sighs I believe are there to deceive,
to make the pain subside in me.

Your words,
words framed and presented with care,
is just a snapshot of my dispair.

Rabbit

By Ashvin Mistry

Pointed ears that droop to a mellow yawn,
soft chestnut brow that waits for the dawn.

Whiskers that question each sound in the yard,
hurry my young one before the light reveals all.

Film Noir

By Ashvin Mistry

Shreds of strawberry hair curled
coyly about her face,

flickering and floundering with a
smokey southern haze.

Projected on a 2 by 2 a cinematic great, 

immortalized frame by frame,

a film noir lost in space.

Battle Letters

By Ashvin Mistry

Then a letter materialized,
coaxed and pixelated
hovering before my eyes.

Waiting for my errant finger,
to place it next to a supporting soldier.

Line them up with ardent candour,
march them over quick athunder.

Send them charging with vibrant grandeur,
to commandeer a gigantic scoreline,
for it's victorious master.

Dishyness

By Ashvin Mistry

I thought of you, in aisle number 2,
Amongst the sweet peas and passion fruits.

Marked as bruised but not past it's sell by date,
dropped by a healthy 25%.

Yum yum I thought, I'll take you to my place,
you're sure to liven up my dishy plate.

Kitchen Choo Choo

Precious silence sliced with anarchy,
rumbling and tumbling inside her head.

Stand in submission to the bubbling frothing pans, 

that drains her afternoon zest.

Bathed in scrumptious ailments of carrots stew and bread, 

drowns her sweet perfume a la toilette.

So Tic toc labor's on, 

school run begs come on! 

Lamb roast wants 20 minutes too, 

sinks flushed to the grim brim ...phew.

Table set for 2+2, 

fork, knives but where are the spoons.

Stop, breathe and turn about too, 

hubbies home, kids in tow, 

with stories told of another day lost in servitude.

by Ashvin Mistry