The coquettish full moon, on a cloudless clear sky,
apple of the eyes of lovers from far and wide,
impishly wicked you are, in that avatar enticing
your eyes seek only the one for whom your heart beats for.
At times you are an anorexic crescent wearing a misty veil,
flirting with fluffy clouds, you make each one go  crazy
Curiously I behold the village belle simple, peeping out-
of the window of her cottage, waiting for the lover,
who comes at odd hours with palpitating heart
My love, you are one of a kind, displaying myriad faces
an enchanting presence, I crave, each moment, in whatever form
how could I ever prescribe the way your love to reach me
your love is my never setting moon,
                                      whichever way you choose to express.

Pulling it in closer from the distance
So I can gain a better view
From me to you
A sight that brings the clouds to rain
Holding ties of ropes that are sparse
Enough to hold distance
Without collapsing
Pulling apart

Holding on
Letting go
Without a sight to gain
It lasts for days
The open air
The moonlit sky
Gaping wide unto itself
Bringing call to dawns way
Bringing fall to a close
Gripping its last threads to the sanctuary within
All closed spaces
Boundary dropped
Falling beneath the leaves
Breaking between the moment and the illusion
To perceive the means
Of what I’ve never before been able to see

Turning back the ***** (what winded you anew)
Beginning before the current life you knew
To hold and behold a past lying within
Projecting a path, following moments
Holding on
Letting go
The river that flows below
Seeing between the lines
Catching the tide
Reasons to questions
asking why
The sun in the sky
Never dies
Reach into yourself
To find the answers
You hold the key to you
seek to find, discover the reasons why

Somewhere in the lake
of deep sleep
is an island, dark and mysterious,
entangled mangroves here,  resist movements
where I snake in like a thief
excitedly breaking in to own house,
pretending to be an alien
and find
a body double living there
acting out one's secret-
fantasies and voluptuous desires.
I won't dare to speak aloud here,
where, the overpowering smell of
too ripe fruits of indecent passions waft.
The dark chamber,
the smoke filled ***** den of my mind,
is to  take secret refuge and be one
with a dream that flies me
to the border lands of psyche.

I left my shores in that fateful night,
my heart was torn in to pieces,
and blood rushed out, a red river
still I fought like an battle hardened soldier,

My old boat made of  seasoned wood was broken
in many places, lost my navigational aids
the sky was windy and overcast, the sun avoided my eyes
at dark nights, the lone star that loved you and me
and wanted us to unite, was covered with angry clouds
that wanted me to get lost in high seas
the storm that was brewing didn't daunt me
I set full sail and saw the island in my mind
listened only to your voice within me , firm and clear
you  are my rudder, light house, love song
Love, is the only light that's left for me
will I reach your abode against all odds?

They are all drunk, light footed, swank
spunky babes and daring guys once in campus
now yellowing leaves in slanting evening light
their dress, manners and assured pace suggest
"There is no need for any hurry in our lives any more"
all those songs deeply buried quickly surface
after all these years of total separation, can you believe?

They started from where they left, many decades back
memories poured out, collected in pools, happy faces
reflected on that clear surface like before,
and words regained their cadence of those days of yore
meanings deeply buried under the dead leaves of
fallen years surfaced, tickled, they giggled and shared secrets
once more as if still in teens they are
                                                        The last thing one remembers,
before slipping in to stupor is Happiness
a parakeet with colorful wings floating on the air,
lovingly calling each one's pet name in campus then,
magic that went missing from lives, all these years
was brought back by memories, they find what that means
there it was thick in the night air, past , chocking every throat,
a simulacrum of past, white clad ghost embraced them tight.

The hysteria of night, I feel
like a tug in my pining lovelorn heart
that pronounces her name again and again
her name flows back as a magic river
and I stand on a rock in the past,
time, I once told her, is magical
and meaningless as magic too is,
that amounts to nothing, yet we rejoice.

The hysteria of night is mellow wine,
she told me not to remember her again
she was magic, magician's special design,
appears and disappears at will, one would think
but no,  every magic lasts for a while.
The parting kiss was most passionate ever,
can interpret dreams, how can one explain this?

The hysteria of night begins when moonbeams
fall on us, she gets the message from
an unknown source, from the depth at first,
she makes me touch her left breast that transmits it,
I used to wonder about the need for rituals,
now I understand what it means.

We were possessed by the hysteria of universe,
to create, empower each other by our
frenzied caresses with fingers of love
that are long, long and search, reach to the depth,
long moments of love becomes a gooey broth
in which we flow, float, play and peak.

We search once more for the crystal stream
Where poets wrote and young lovers dreamt
Of the beautiful years to come

But no more now is the crystal stream
Where poets wrote and lovers dreamt
Of the beautiful years to   come

The crystal stream now a fetid place
Of sewage and industrial waste
The hedgerows long ripped out and gone
The once green fields now barren ground
What legacy do we leave to our unborn sons
Now that the beautiful years have gone

But we poets still can sit and dream
And write of things that might have been
In our minds we still see the crystal stream
And dream of the beautiful years to come

A spittoon!
onlookers
look confused;
it speaks
a dead language.

I wanted my passion back..
This was who I was, and I wanted her to visit.
Even for a brief moment, so I can kiss myself on the forehead upon my return.
And actually say goodbye when she decided to leave.
I wanted her back.
My passion.
I wanted my poetry.. Back.
She fled from me.
Lost underneath the city sky, with false illumination from street cars named desire.
There was no North Star for her to follow, no way for her to venture back to my heart.
Like a turtle needing the moon to be led to the sea, I doubted she would ever make it back home
Extinction was the roughest of all possibilities but to mourn the loss of a love held selfish tendencies
I only missed her cause of how she made me feel not because of who she was or who she could have been
The manifestation of my pent up frustration came to set me free
Just pull the trigger
Nobody will miss her
Oh say can you see- what I am saying?
All I wanted was my passion back.
And it wasn't until I found G-d that I heard three knocks on the door saying

Here
I
Am

There is a story to be told,
either we should attempt,
together or keep it a secret.
Pain is the glue that joins us,
the story has different narratives
that won't converge, in all places
hence it is less than joyous.

Joys are but a rainbow till evening,
the rains of happiness are sparse,
                           we still are waiting
the drought destroys everything green,
love is a dying stream in between-
ego trips and never ending pain.

Let us tell the story in one voice,
let go the pain of lost choices,
you should be lying on my chest,
sobbing and I must be  consoling softly,
"Honey, don't cry, it's not your fault or mine"
still you are inconsolable in your grief.
              Then you see my eyes are
              two pools flooding in pain.

The gardener gifted me a rose,
when I was gently passing his way
a bright smile lighted his face
"The best that bloomed
in this garden to day, is yours" were his words.

His sweet manner is a ploy, I presumed,
I plucked one I liked, on the sly,
once I was away from his eyes,
"The best is this, now in my hands,
No way you can deceive me, I've craft"

My love chose the first among the two,
no doubt, that's the best, in her heart she knew,
why did I doubt the gardener in the first place?
not just his eyes, his heart too was perfect.

Wasn't I
the reverberating
moonbeam
that seeped in to
your expectant womb,
in spasms
you wreathed as if
an electric ray
stung you unawares
when you were swimming
in depths of pleasure
seeking that peak to climb
and dive quickly to the surface.
We lay still
side by side,
that moment was
written in our cells
as remembrance,
that was the high point
nature told us earlier in whispers.
From that moment
we started to wilt,
bit by bit
though it hardly did show,
that's the nature's prompt,
when the seeds are well spread.
We are shadows
that dissolve at sun down
though you flowered
again, few times
and I made you remember
the intensity of the
first time,
in the history of our lives as
just plants in other forms
the eclipse starts
as the seeds seek fertile
land to grow
and claim their space.