Everytime I look at you,

My heart skips a beat.

In this lost city of dreams,

we are the ones who roam here without a clue.

It's weird how we never talked

but now we stay up every night

Hoping to see each other's face in the light,

and watch you hold my heart which you caught.

Let's light this place with the fire in our eyes

We are lost birds but yet we continue to fly.

The spark of rebellion inside us refuses to fade.

Go ahead and try,

We will never be trapped in chains.

Maybe someday we might forget how we used to be

begging to the cold hearted for mercy.

Memories of yesterday will live on in our minds,

we vowed to change the world

and never pick up a fight.

So here's to us and promises to last forever,

it may take us a while

but we will escape from this glimmer.

We are so far away from each other,
but something keeps us close.
Honey, we are not gonna last forever
and this isn't a joke.
Seeing your name flash makes my day
but can't you see that I am scared?
If I come any closer,
it would be a big mistake.
I know I made promises
and couldn't fulfill all of them
but darling you don't know
That my world is a complete mayhem.
If I come closer,
Will you welcome me in your trap?
The day I say forever,
Will you leave me and never come back?
The silence between us deafens me.
When I think about you,
something inside suffocates me.
I want you to look past this ugly body of mine.
Take my heart which beats for you,
and look me in the eye.
Can't look past the shame and guilt.
Deep down inside I know the chances are slim.
And I hate myself for not knowing that loving you was a sin.

Night, one of the babbling of "aakaasganga*
sleep, the spine of sands awaits ever
dream, the wish of the ancient river
the voyage pulls, like the freaky star-dust
the dream knows everything, and,
so much is known to the flow

only after the ship-wreck
the self-critic awakes
"why this much ardent desires stuffed?"

for sailing, surely, the load is not "the need"

get drowned once
get wounded once
it is realized how to be valor
how to defeat the humility

a little soft drop, the seed in the fruit of soul,
a tiny sweet brook spreads
like the flow of human emotions in veins
gifting you the feel of the first navigator

that eternal smile of "aakaasganga"
that is poetry
that only is the art !

*aakaasganga=== the river of heavens , milky-wave.

If I did not notice the Silence,
I would not know varieties of Sound
If I did not know of barren desolation,
I would not meet with Wonder the Nature of The Mother
If not blankets of numb Paralysis take Me
I could not feel Elation of Sensation
If not He, then not She
Duties of Duality is precurse to Selfless Compassion
To Change the World, One must know the Scales of Balance that Mediate the Self, once in Centerline, the Soul can Shine a brilliant Intention that Manifest in Action an Energy of Transformation aligned with Earth. Our Prayers be Heard and appreciated, accepted in Heart of the World shall cometh forth a prosperity and Worth Divine for You and I
So all the Children will Understand Intuitively, merging Mind Eternally. Destiny entwined with Currents We Ride, You decide the Destination.

if the cloud
exits from the stage absurdly leaving the confusion--?
if the seed
shrivels in the green-room like a meaningless season--?

if no celebration of germination? it is painful -- so, painful

if -- existence of no dialogues, no emotions, no encounters
no colour scheme, no tantalizing episodes, no appeasing music?
the sky and the soil as the actor and spectator
if no purification of souls after annihilating each other--?

if no event of rejuvenation? it is painful -- so, painful

the stage of disdain -- only the disdain
that is the tragedy -- that is the sin !!!

you and i
like the eye and eye-lid
if not brawling and embracing
how the world be a scenic charm ?

you and i
like the cloud and seed
if not flowing like the rivulets in veins
if not raging like the life in grains
how could you and i
split into million future dreams ?

you and i
be the rain of some memories
be the offering of some poems
before planting our mortal frames...

if not----
that is the tragedy .. that is the only tragedy
if you and i cannot offer ourselves to germination----
that is the tragedy ... that is the sin...... !!!

feeling sultry,
the air encircles the fan palm trees

afflicted stray cloud,
stipples in vain on banal sky

the presence beside the window,
hangs between sleeping and awakening

the soul starts to chat
with your images on window glass

the lithe summer night journey,
embraces the creaks of mind

the thirsty sleep,
drinks the dreams heartily

the grieved ship,
itself becomes the consoling sea

this summer night-
this journey-
the first inclination
towards each other-
these senses recall you

as i tie my heart-beat to your anklet
as i accomplish the wings to meditating caterpillar
as i trim the curves of rainbow in water-drop
as i gift the freedom to the breeze

you become my word
you become my journey
you become my love
you become the wait at my destination!

the lithe summer night journey,
embraces the creaks of mind
negotiates with the memories of bodies
it is an attractive incomplete devout journey !

Are you ?
a monotony of the calling bell to dissolve like any other sound?
No --- never--
you came
like the blossom of lily and brought in the silent serene scent,
like the ever desired guest to add purity to each corner of my abode

Are you ?
the round mark of the bottom of the cup on marble top to wipe out?
No --- never--
you embossed
the sweet chirping of birds along with the shades of seasons,
nodding in vase, to tickle the dreams of my drawing room.

Are you ?
the bed that soaked with the longing of our curves
ever it be dried not to trace the spirit of glimpses?
No --- never--
you taught
the tranquility of coition of souls
pollination of mind and heart in the flower of body ----

Are you ?
the fare-well marks of feet on the dew to vanish in time?
No --- never--
you are
the navigator, rowing upon the tide towards the east ---

you are
not a simple land-mine to blast in the quietness of grave --
you are
the red signature of every encounter on the tender green forest--
you are
the red-sun on my fore-head of future
the native tribal song on my lips
you are my companion.. my guide..
you are the call of the dawn..

I am the anxiety searching for your news every second.
I am the fear not willing to hear about any martyrdom !!!
And I love you as I love myself, awaiting the serene scent ...

nothing is so sad
rather than coming across
an eye that is not an oasis in your desert
nothing can be a mishap
rather than meeting a dried heart ----

my body, the heap of sand
becomes the shore, the soul,
when your finger tips of tides
creep on my spine
the fragrance of anesthesia crawls like crab
the aesthetic flame circles like sea-gull
on the shore
the dawn and dusk compete to copulate
with their own fate
gifted are the shells
the sweet memories of the garland
the secrets of our love
that simple open secret of happiness

nothing is so sad
rather than coming across
an eye that is not an oasis in your desert
nothing can be a mishap
rather than meeting a dried heart ----

O black beauty !
o wayfarer, unaware of destiny !
anguish,how long ?
like an ancient river challenging the stars?

come, come with me
will collect the shells of dreams
quench our quest of melancholy

going to loose nothing, come!
at all , will rest in the ocean of time
will copulate with harmony

when the thoughts of beloved are sown in my body
the wisdom of passion spreads like moonlight,
when the grim reaper smiles
glittering memories and tears are left on shore,
when the fallen leaf sounds like her anklet
the belief of spring and faith of life are restored

come, come along with me....
o black beauty !
under this moon only
siddharth became buddha
in the lap of this moon only
omar khayyam tasted the nectar
the same moon
i am walking holding you under the same moon !

o black beauty !
the ancient wayfarer !
come, come with me.....

We will grow old,
You and me,
Grow back in time,
To where the bicycles
Were lopsided
And the streets very much
Old brick road,

With the oil lamps
And quiet nights spent
By candlelight,

With the weeping parchment
Blown to dry,
Scratched meticulously
By a dancing feather, oh

We will grow old.

And come back to the little
Park bench where we used to
Sit. Count the cracked, granite
Pillars that paint the
Pathways of the Champs Elyseé,
Or Bagumbayan,

Dance alone,
Along the Great Wall,
And sing, you and me,

With a Grand Piano and
Giant mandolin and everything.

And we will wear coats and ties
And flowing skirts
And hike our way down
To the cul-de-sacs of Venetian Manila,

Where the bridges are still
Shores of sea, on which
Young lovers, friends, students, artisans
Still comb for pearls,

Yes, indeed, we will grow old.

If we
Stepped back far enough,
I bet we could
Fit the Earth
In the far corners of our hand.

If we measured
The heavens just right,
And picked out the exact
Magnitudes, I bet you
We could do it.

Because I know.
Whether we know it or not
The distance between
Our hearts
And the very center
Of the universe
Isn't all that far.

We just
Have to find the right
Measuring tool for it,
And no,
The telescopes,
It won't do this time.

The galaxy we are shooting for,
It exists only
On the pinpricks of our fingers.
Its standard unit
Is that of closeness and
Of vast quiet.

I'll show you.

On the count of three,
I want us both to close our eyes
And whisper.

1...
2...
3.

See there?
There is home.
And you hold it
In my palms.

Day
Crisscrosses
With night,

Somehow manages
To touch the other's hand
Even if
One is allergic
To the heat
And the other,
A fear of the dark.

There's a striking
Balance in the
Muted gray
Of the groggy sky—
A scenery
Not very much unlike
That
Of a slumbering owl
And a waking wren,

One creature
In cahoots
With the darkness
And the other
Perhaps too
With light.

Both,
Sing very
Different songs—yet
Both
Seem to arrive
At the same purpose:

Which is to see
What the other
Really is made of
Beyond the light
And shroud—

Touch maybe even
Forbidden wings and
Quietly
Sing some more;

In this habitat
Of shadows
They—we—will not be bothered.

So sing, wren,
Your truest of songs:

"Good morning,
"Good morning,
"The day is
"But coming,"

So sing, owl,
Your truest of songs:

"Good evening,
"Good evening,
"The night is
"But leaving."

And so now kiss, night,
The plodding day.