We were clean. Pure.
Trekking from pine needles to sand
time slipping away from
the mountainous routine of
laughter and tears smeared across cyberspace
when I was younger
my Mother told me
that when the people we love die
you can still see them
the brightest stars breaking through the night sky
we were wandering away from smirking academia
clawing our education from
the comedies and tragedies of early mornings
calm like the kiss of diamond tides
and long nights
weighed down with thoughts and drugs and alcohol
shutting off each night
on each sunrise
drifting with nomadic intentions we
raged for rage’s sake
on green lawns with signs painted
dig deeper into the blazing structure,
the momentum is shifting,
and the Kingfisher is watching
proclaiming from mountaintops
that killers hunt these city streets
with a pocket full of bad ideas
the prey a sparkling barfly
clean and holy beneath a neon color palette
potential squandered in a scream of confusion
knowing that not every leap
is a leap of faith

At the potter's village we met,
the dawn was only breaking, ominous,
young we were, how exciting a time it was,
shadows never made us frightened,
I made her, the way what she thinks she is,
in turn she made me the way I wanted myself,
there were no original or model, we both were
creations of each other, isn't that unique!
when we left each other, with our hearts  still smiling,
no one could, believe our words
they searched for the mark of tears.on our cheeks,
Standing on the river bank, we embraced the last time,
then, on our ways we went,
we didn't regret a bit, in a boat
called love we further sailed.

The strains of flute, touched his inner being,
                   lifted him up, held aloft like a feather,
the music in gentle waves,  
                     took him through many lives he lived before
loosing all his mooring on here and now
                    he moved to the pinnacle, an unattached effulgent particle,
a sea of colors that kept changing, took him in,
                    he was liberated, from all bindings.
felt a joy exquisite, on being one with the music of the cosmic waves.

The bud feels a nip,
tender,soft, by naughty mist's
creeping fingers of desire,
defying the diktat
of  the  morning sun.
The flower within
folded under a cover
bustling to come out,
refuses to remain coy and inert.
She is unabashedly eager
for more intimate touches
by the swirling playful mist
that seems to have
a hundred fingers.
Each touch has
made her bold,
expectant, she blushes.
Quickly awakened
from slumber, she'll
wait till evening light,
fades in the garden,
when her eager lover
will again make waves,
in the air, drawing  
forms with smoky vapor.
Moving mist will tickle her
till the morning light
that has a keen eye
on this child of rose bush
in his care,
drives the amorous mist afar.