how much has been burnt
the lips of the aalpanaa
by the heat of the blue letters

the absentmindedness  
that can penetrate this flavour  
gets hullo-cut
coming to the wedding-relation

do fly oh bird
yet you flow with faster steps
in the deep of the wave
with a long hanging bag on your shoulder

let more horse-carts be composed
for the clouds

let the gate adorned with a figure of lion
be immersed for some time more
in deep-meditation

he who is fallen from the wings of the deer
has a chest of 42 and a half inch

you should look it
coming how much nearer to the talisman
that serpentine lane and that tasty loose-hair
becomes totally blank


you should also see
reaching to what kissing-point
the glacier of the versification
can vanish
without leaving any trace

1.
the crystallised handkerchief
of one’s span of life

your handloom-bird brings with its lips
some musical notation of the nimbus  

holding that waves within the heart
how much growth does occur
to the sandal-line of a man

or
it does
fall

the blades of grasses are known well
to be vegetarian

the eyes of the reindeer
have cent per cent smelling of fish

then what translation would you suggest
for the fingers of wild titlark

the shirt
they have put on the body of this night-stone

what best word-meaning does match it
but land-lotus


2.
i’ve re-constructed
all the trees and plants

with
the dry straws grass twigs collectively
fetched by beak

and the monsoon
as well

the full-brim of *****
is deep in the palms

in that moonlight
a sleeping-tablet
does take a dip-swimming

within her enfolding
there may be the whole works of rabindranath

from the breathing of cd-player
spreads around
the sound of horse’s hoof  

there is the bed-sheet of dusts
on the anger
kept bound within the cover of rexin

it’s true
our vineyards are still
prone to stones

then it does not seem
that the boiled moon sets  
into the tea-cup  

3
in your songs
still lies
immense green

the bed-room is too
very bright

the walnuts
walking along the path
that touches the rain-shore
make me think likely

on a sunday
kept in an envelop

when the bed-cover of the early morning
speaks frankly
what’s in its mind
to the soap-water

the ears of the horse
in the wall-calendar
look very crazy

i can remember
one day
the sun-boats would tear their wrappers

their whisper would want to discover
the inclinations and thoughts of the creepers and herbs
possessed by the lady-volunteers

their yawing would notice
so many unused handlooms
taking a run-away on the clouds

now
would the cat  under the beautiful jersey
finally think of waking up

then i’ll go
to deposit the clever apples
along with
all the triangles accompanying it
to the nearest cold-storage

…thus riding on a memory-bicycle those people who used to go to pick up dry straws, grasses, twigs from the daily-wage of the squirrels  are neither the husband of any wood nor the wife of any wood-apple … at the best they may be one page full of must-dos regarding keep-fit practice of one’s health…

around the grazing field of the night-gowns
in course of a long-journey by train one has to cross
so many grass-hopper-points

one-piece of life is this

in its daily hopping to pick up the pebbles of
which is the amplification of what
the bodies of all prose and poems are touched with
by the sunshine… by the wind… by the rain…by the water

it-may-be-for-you afternoon
is running

running
is the people after the office-break

running are the broken people

the sullen public
due to late-running of train

before the darkness sets in
on bare branches of the tree
clusters of crows
are running

forward steps of the return-home people
are running

many invitations has been remained
unattended … accumulating…

accumulating…
so much anger… many secret pains… tears…

the life is running
in the  rows of the flying birds

the life is running
in the meat-houses…
in the shopping-malls…
in the churches…
in the wheat-fields…

running … running … running…

salad poetry and salsa-dance
are also running…

in the letters of the alphabet…
in the swarm of mosquitoes…

from William Shakespeare
to Rabindranath Thakur

the sky is running …
the air…
the sunlight…

you’re not adams apple

the  fruits from tree of the knowledge
of good and evil
in the centre of the garden of eden
in genesis

yet at you
the round oranges of this afternoon-town
i stare

and my pate gradually
becomes pregnant

the  wind that comes after
having a touch of your lips
puts the waging of its tail on my forehead

and my guava-leaf begins to melt

thus my hardware-business is going
into liquidation

the physician to the king is telling
it’s the symptom of an awful fever attended with
the morbidity of the three humours of the body

used… and used… and used…

your smile has not yet become
stupid

so from where the lamp-posts of the
town start

there are the cutlets  
and the bolster

they are not the only ones
to utter the last words
about the pill

i’m too
in this summer
trying to  decorate
the gate of my cage like wedding ceremony

if any silent dew-drop comes
to prepare and feed me
my birth-day frumenty

but i’ve no tongue
at all

all over the face there are only the eyes

and to the fate of my staring-at
has ever
so much blessings been available

across these lands of varied minds,
live creatures born of different kinds,
each of which is taught the way,
to live and love, to work and play,
this knowledge is, without a doubt,
impossible to live without,
knowledge, given by another,
mother, sister, father, brother,
no creature can learn this alone,
the only way is to be shown,
and so we all must co-exist,
and never must we try resist,
for every creature, man and beast,
must try to live as one, at least,
if we fail, we all shall be,
no longer part of land or sea,
but if we try, and we succeed,
we all will live, for this great deed,
for peace is not a foreign dream,
nor as impossible as it would seem,
if we can all just make it work,
no longer will an evil lurk,
no longer would we live in fear,
no longer would we shed a tear,
peace is not up in the skies,
it's here if we open our eyes,
see not the world you're told to see,
but see instead what it could be,
a place where we can all be free,
man & beast in harmony,
and so I leave you with a choice,
to put unto your inner voice,
live in peace, or die at war,
we all decide the final score,
I do believe this is the way,
we all must live from day to day,
if we all wish to survive,
cast aside your doubts and strive,
to bring together all the earth,
regardless of belief or birth,
the choice is yours, and yours alone,
at stake, your life and all you own.

Angels on a fiery wind,
screaming down at all who've sinned,
eyes a-gleam throughout the night,
frightened by unholy light,

the lord looks down upon the world,
a blackened darkness now unfurled,
no holy light can penetrate,
this cloud of sin will not sedate,

alas the world is at an end,
no mortal being shall now transcend,
the gates of heaven bolted tight,
the door to hell is now in sight,

Satan guards his world below,
he welcomes strangers, friend or foe,
to enter this, the world we've built,
a world of pain, of endless guilt,

a world to which we bring the young,
eternal torment now begun,
we live alone, no hope in sight,
enslaved in this eternal night.

Sunrise on savannah plain,
graceful flight of noble crane,
silent wings of gliding bee,
drifting leaf from ancient tree,

wonders for the world to view,
lost to all but special few,
modern man with savage ways,
counting down our ending days,

worker ants we slave and toil,
ignorant of sky and soil,
lost in pointless task and deed,
wounded planet left to bleed,

die is cast by dark desire,
destined for eternal fire,
hellish flame engulfs us all,
man and beast together fall,

sunset with atomic dawn,
empty lands of hope forlorn,
blackened soil of absent trees,
silent world no birds or bees,

wonders lost before their time,
man the cause of epic crime,
savage man of modern days,
grieving for their former ways.

a call to bring your armies forth,
the old, the young- so soon from birth,
they come from east, south, west and north,
from all across the distant earth,

a cry, a scream, such aweful sound,
the pain and death rage all around,
so many spread across the ground,
the battle lost- no glory found,

a hush so soft you almost cry,
it gives you wings so you can fly,
high up above all those who pry,
your head from neck in just one try,

the silence sings your soul to sleep,
and takes you from that ancient keep,
your mind from in this dream so deep,
into your waking life will creep.

As the tuna swim by,
and the manta ray fly,
hear the sound of the mer-maiden's wail,

When the turtle looks out,
from its shell at the spout,
of the ship with the white shredded sail,

In the eye of the shark,
there's a smile in the dark,
at the glint of the mer-maiden's tail,

As the lobster ***** scuttle,
'cross a broken glass bottle,
the weakened girl surely must fail,

The hunter now gone,
like the mer-maiden's song,
and the turtle returns to the sail.

Step into this place of shame,
Pray your heart remains the same,
Lead the way through this dark game,
Leave the place that has no name.

Step into this void of pain,
Drench yourself in crimson rain,
Wash away this mortal stain,
Leave me here alone again.

Step out of this cloud of hate,
Hide yourself in tears of fate,
Walk the path from Heaven's gate,
Leave before it is too late.

Step out of this lofty place,
Feel the cold and open space,
Back amongst the human race,
Leave your soul to Heaven's grace.

She lies upon these scattered sands,
As scarlet streams run down her hands,
Her memories blurred by distant lands,
As slowly, softly, drained she stands,

She stares out on this foreign scene,
No sign of life, nor hint of green,
A charred and broken land picked clean,
No place for her, once so serene,

She leaves a path of crimson trails,
In lines across this path of nails,
Her vision blurred by smokey sails,
In panic as her balance fails,

She lies upon these bloodied sands,
Too weak to raise or feel her hands,
Her memories cleared of other lands,
Too late to see what darkness plans.

Running through this foreign land,
Sifting through the dust and sand,
Digging in a frenzied burst,
Nothing there to quench my thirst,

Tripping on the rock of doubt,
Ground is cracking all about,
Falling through the clouds of hope,
Grabbing for life's fraying rope,

Time is lost in blinding light,
Earth and sky lost from my sight,
Terror echoes through my scream,
In my bed, naught but a dream.

A Strange Land



dropping like a feather from a building,
down down down we go.
softly fluttering like an angels wing
down down down we go
through the mystical garden,
down to the fairies we go.

a short thud with everything looking,
big eyes, small eyes, tall and low.
too and fro looming and jeering,
one with a cruel eye, another a green toe,
staring at us, as our courage hardens
‘til finally one of us goes out to meet our suspected foe

The cruel-eyed beast looks on gazing,
through us, above us, like we were aglow,
we gazed on, half worried, but not cowering.
we crept on a few steps, but ducking down low,
we stepped through the passage, into a garden
with tiny little objects frittering under toe

I saw them through my looking glass writhing,
I saw to the vegetation of twisted brush, high and low,
though in the midst of a labyrinth a tower lay looming.
but it lay on its side, as tho it were dropped to below.
the mice talked and walked together in their own jargon,
I watched them go away and down the tiny road

Winding through the labyrinth following the mice intriguingly,
they knew their way well, we can see by the way they go,
then, simply, they disappear among the vine, leaving us gazing,
with our machetes we cut through the vine,
but the mice are nowhere to be found,
oh what a predicament we are in. the maze is vast and flowing

we look up to see the tower, now upright and *****,
as if a chess piece, it looms,
we make our way through the maze by cutting,
but the vine grows back thicker behind us.
we reach the gate of the tower, no turning back,
A gargoyle stands at the foot of the gate.

He glares but, knows we mean no harm,
we walk through the gate to find a winding staircase.
At the top, a vast kingdom of sand and coal,
pierce our our eyes with wisdom.
I look to peers and cannot help but to weep,
the intricacy of the life below, smothered by the bland view from above.

It is a strange land we come across.
nothing is exactly what it seems,
the cruel are the beloved,
the castles so tall above,
the the small beings below,
everything is beautifully grotesque