Pictured as bloodshed
The word 'war' is fear by all
Everything that one can think of
Environment, Economics,Politics
All joins in the fray

Country against country
War begins
Sending dancers of death into the battlefield
Changing the landscape, death to all
Leaving behind a stage , full of agony

What can we say,
When wars are waged,
Both sides are equally just.

Hibiscus flowers are cups of fire,
(Love me, my lover, life will not stay)
The bright poinsettia shakes in the wind,
A scarlet leaf is blowing away.

A lizard lifts his head and listens —
Kiss me before the noon goes by,
Here in the shade of the ceiba hide me
From the great black vulture circling the sky.

There's no replying
To the Wind's sighing,
Telling, foretelling,
Dying, undying,
Dwindling and swelling,
Complaining, droning,
Whistling and moaning,
Ever beginning,
Ending, repeating,
Hinting and dinning,
Lagging and fleeting--
We've no replying
Living or dying
To the Wind's sighing.

What are you telling,
Variable Wind-tone?
What would be teaching,
O sinking, swelling,
Desolate Wind-moan?
Ever for ever
Teaching and preaching,
Never, ah never
Making us wiser--
The earliest riser
Catches no meaning,
The last who hearkens
Garners no gleaning
Of wisdom's treasure,
While the world darkens:--
Living or dying,
In pain, in pleasure,
We've no replying
To wordless flying
Wind's sighing.

The monk shows me the scar
where he took the bullet
the 70s fiery rebel
is now a Shiva-ite by faith.

I try to see in his eyes
remnant of youth’s spark
believing the fire never dies
from time now buried in the dark.

The March wind blows the dust
banyan trunks make a cool shade
in the lull he relieves a past
no way could he obliterate.

A time was I held a gun
the police was hot on my trail
day night I was on the run
in the pride of being a rebel.

Cast shadows an eerie silence
now evening could no longer wait
I wave to him from a distance
Shiva waits on him to meditate.

Voice feels spent this day
when death is a quarter away
and life has passed real quick
without a voice worth to speak!

Have I it properly harnessed
raised where most needed
or have it always compromise repressed
its urge for truth kept unheeded!

Did I war to blow it genuine
hushed it when demanded silence
or wore it with a fake coating
to buy peace with vain pretense!

Voice is ever enslaved to me
used as I chose to be
never able to utter its core
and life may only be a quarter more!

Loyalty is fleeting
Fragile to the touch
I’m scared of being
Trusted too much!

For I too am tempted
To seek new pasture
I’m not exempted
From greeding luster!

Old brew is fine
But thirsts this lip
To taste new wine
A forbidden sip!

So I ventured
As secretly willed
Tried adventure
On greener field!

But lo I returned
A hole in my heart
All fingers burned
Soul ripped apart!

Can’t hide from her
She knows it true
Healing my scar
Needs her old brew!

So the only thing you lay claim to
is you are a poet.

He was referring to my CV
where it was mentioned boldly
the art I dabble in.

But that’s no skill
shrugged the questioner
doesn’t hone your ability
in finance management
or marketing strategy

can’t fetch one good deal
for the company
your poetry

but to be frank with you
I too wrote a few
only to dump before it got me
your poetry

otherwise I fear
I would not have been here.

Outside were faces in nervous wait.

I wondered if among them
was another poet!