Vagueness encircled
Fragmented aspiration!
Vagueness crafted
Fadeout the dream of living!
Vagueness designed
Slaughter the humanity!
Vagueness contrived
Maneuver division!
Vagueness persuaded
Project masculinity!
Vagueness indorsed
Homicide creation.

It was a sunny afternoon
You identify what is new with me,
I was in puzzle, unable to internalize
“What new you talks about”?
Then you underline on my notebook ‘
Put a margin remarks,
It is different here
Appreciate ‘humanize dimension of nature’
Be careful
“Do not replaced nature from the frame
Never forget about identity of culture rooted in nature! “

That’s you are, a curator of younger
And Pater for many one!
I know you become tired
In the long journey of loving and living!
I know you become aide-de-camp
By rapturing of your beloved one!
I know you want to go for a long sleep
  Please take rest in peace!
We will run-through the practices of curatorship for young
But not for incubation!

The road was all mud
she slipped with the drizzle
and you couldn't tell
the color she wore
but her big awed eyes
colored the land in all colors
making her lose breath
gazing at every little thing
till over the noise of lightning
boomed her father's voice
be fast girl before the rain is harder
when she would run for his hand
and slip again and again
counting fun at every fall
her eyes a glowing island
from the mud scarred face.

Once in the market
the man gave her a good wash
little knowing she was drenched
with all the dreams
eyes could ever see.

she gave me her nudes
she was bare
and naked
and so out
and open
and i willingly
accepted it
because it wasnt the nudes
that showed her body
the physical aspects
that made her beautiful
it was the words
she didnt choose
and the spontaneity
that left her
either from her lips
or her fingers
or ink

she was as bare
as her nudes
and i accepted
her for her.

Could go by February, or even March,
The way she carries on her wintry game,
Her laundry's cold and wet, stiff in snowy starch.
She promised us firsts, left us with seconds,
Spent herself, it seems, in company of Winter,
Petulant, credit spent, she left her tenants
Freezing blue 'til nearly May.
Robins shiver, lost in snow and sleet
While budgies safe in kitchen cages
Tilt their heads and shift their feet,
Perhaps to wonder what do robins eat.
Desperately slog we the winds of Spring,
Encouraged little when the robins sing.

My lover asks me:
"What is the difference between me and the sky?"
The difference, my love,
Is that when you laugh,
I forget about the sky.

Behold! My sorrow storms straight through daylight.
And not on the last stroke of midnight, when demons sleep.
To entangle me with its invisible ropes, ropes tugging me tight.
Twisted, Swooned, crushed, haemorrhaging deep.

Labyrinth of shame, heralding my doom, looming ever close.
Earning waste with each second more, till sudden salvation.
That scarce shall cast upon my dim verse hugely verbose.
Inside this too stagnant a mind flows nothing but indignation.

Malaise made manifest with the profusrness of a poet's pain,
Entitled as imbalanced brain, a fresh sign of insanity.
Idle hours thrown away like confetti and time spent in vain
Narrow words written by young hands but a spirit of mundanity.

Morbid fascinations of mine with this lack of hope.
End so soon as I leave this world, unable to cope.