I could be the river meandering the countryside
To flow with you with eternal brilliance
I could be the lovely home on a tree-shaded street
To be a part of your visual field
I could be the only mystifying rose among thorns
To caress your bleeding finger
I could be your muse , the moon
To shower you with poise and pleasure
I could be you, your forgiving soul
To mend your thousand hidden cuts

When in September sunshine
The yellowing leaves mounded over our memories
Under the beautifully - painted tree
It made a noisy rustling
Humming sweet talks
When the world was still a magnificent dream...
Under the blanket shade  of date palms
Rosy sunshine rained on us back and forth
The seeds fell in harmony
The world was not yet awake
At the lustrous dawn
We slipped into each other's hearts..
I close my teary eyes leading to a vaulted tree
That world was a debilitating dream
The yellowed leaves and fallen seeds laid bare
As someone crushed the two ants parting  way
The tear trickled down my cheek..

I cultivate my soulful dreams
In dark, frozen hutments
In the tearshedding trauma
In the dignified sweat of labour
In repressive impairedness
Among intangible delights
Of a repaired lease
I penetrate into a blissful radiation
Radiation of ever-lasting candles
While dreaming an unsustainable dream
Among rags and foul trash
Poverty is a dying breath
A haunted house of lows and lows
A ladder's step wherein is a deceptive delusion
What I brazenly reap
What I surrender
When generosity will prevail
When coins be miniscule
Shall I bravely reap
Yet I surrender..

Between two extremes,
Two poles of universe
Heaven and Earth
The void is the messaging conduit
The breathe which retains
Middle of breathe in and breathe out
The void is the calm realism
The subtle connectedness of love
The gentle glory of balance
The void fills it all..

An overladen birch
Roots of which stimulate,
Shake, with a stony breath
Under the carpet of wilderness
Stingy insects rushing their way
To the broken heart,
Shattered as much as twigs around
Crumbling of which rustle,
Rustle with sweeping breeze,
Breeze that marked the end
End, a devastating one
Under the hanging birch
As the beetles sung the death march
The paddling flocked together
Dancing in a monotone of calling,
The silence of which silenced them..

Rains bring benevolence
Trickles to spurts
Blowing love and life
In that dead sun's blot
In the beautiful garden
Rains glitter the indigo blue
Harbouring the drainage
Invidious with stroke of brush
That never seem to suffice
Hands that rub jocular sunsets
The bounty of nature's fragrance
Are the hands that are crushed
Crushed into pieces by the creator..