And when the lights, once bright, one by one
in weariness shut their eyes, the last visitor
came in perplexed and stood still before
the one and only exhibit, kept specially for her.
An abstract artifact, creation of hearts through many summers,
a cry stifled in her *******, felt like a piercing knife to her,
But in that seeping darkness she didn't see a blob of blood
oozing out from it's center and dripping on the ground wetting her feet.

In a clinic, getting treated for amnesia of the soul,
I meet her, by chance and feel a sense of deja vu,
but can't place her properly,from which age do you appear?
you sure are her. Your face is familiar, even after ages,
then you ask me whether I remember; in my brain
solar flair like magnetic energy, light up hidden spaces.
The red poppy design, isn't it a pointer enough?
"The poppy effect.My insignia won't allow to forget
though I too fall in to a forgetfulness described as divine"
In a moment, it happens, I tumble down parting
thick clouds of stardust memories,fleeting, yet haunting,
intoxicating scent of poppies, ***** haze  takes me over

youth was the country, we've been banished from long time back,
I destroyed my passport, in an angst, that can never be expressed,
I land on my legs, flying down,before her curious eyes and smile,
interplanetary voyagers, we hardly know what happens to us,
like a poem with images broken as seeds  and spawn.

I was the naked man on your bed, the day you came in
under the cover of darkness, made love heartily till the morn,
you mourned aloud, I didn't stop you, no taboo,threatened me,
and you said, would never forget the play of natural instincts.
in many places we met, in some strangers, others as lovers,
each night different, with our bodies regaling in ****** finger play,
we sat opposite, had dinners, joked about blind dates, being swapped,
promised to be in touch soon and properly date, though not compelled,
to find out more about ****** habits and ,decide where to meet.

At the time of a heist, notorious, we meet in a diamond showroom,
you thought I am the kind pin that pulls the string.A mole I suspected
you were, though confident in duping you one more sweet time.
In this world of make believe, you can take me as any avatar you think.
Converging in each other's eyes, we reconcile and forgive. for this life
You whisper, "Ï knew you were a nihilist"Ẃe were, that and more,
exploring the core,till the essence inexplicable, will be  clear.

Appreciating a glass of fine wine, we sit opposite,to each other.
we shake hands and I see you off, from an underground station,
to a galaxy, light years away,called Pinwheel, a cosmic  spiral,
then, I realize, we don't exist, you , me or whoever think they are,
when we insist, we exist, forget it brother,only eternity, nothing else.

Morning mist frames her face, the contrast, he couldn't miss
a wild flower  fresh, bathed in dew drops, she becomes fulfillment.
A bee, as usual seeking honey,without being aware what awaits,
sleeps in her  chamber,couched in her love the whole night,
he stole her heart, she whispers, he keeps it as the fragrance
and the pollen smeared all over his being vowing never to remove,
a love it is, in essence different from all that he has hitherto known,
as if in a dream, stealing her heart,  he flies up to the ultramarine sky
all abuzz with love tunes , orchestration of nature, intoxicating,
his heart is full of light love fills, now this bee is even ready to die.

The river, her vigor sublimated, is a thoughtful flow
after the daring dive head on from the pinnacle of the cliff,
madly arrogant roaring rush through the dense woods
in spate during torrential monsoons muddy red,
satiated now, at ease, meditative, inner currents subdued.

These planes are different, the river an uncanny imitation of a pond,
the white swan, she  keeps still, unfazed by the pulls to four sides
falling in love with the enigmatic pink lotus, my witness
that blooms alone, in the marshy shallows, only for her to fall in love.

Amazing is the swan's prowess,she  makes the mighty river
accept her ease, wise tranquil pace and brings to a slow down
little by little, listening to the inner music,which is oh! haunting
the river now comes to trance yogi like, in sync with the
foaming green waves of trees along both the banks,
the whisper of wind to coconut leaves,if you listen
is the mystic mantra, "Ï am that..I am that..I am that"

wisdom isn't alien, don't look for it atop only the mountains
it's in the wind's hands,on the lap of  land and in water's prompt,
what space evokes when one merges seamlessly in nature's divine ,
the song one hears silent within, echoes aloud in nature's chant.

My heart is ruled only by her, the white swan.I realize.

You are the erroneous mirror
also the distorted, reflected figure,
and the observer, the  root cause of all,
just, comically absurd,if you see straight.
But this plight, to you remains alien always.
as the logic works outside the bubble.

A baby girl gently smiles in sleep
a young woman clad in military fatigue,
in a war zone, somewhere, for now quiet,
startled, not knowing why, wakes up,
the baby dreams a yellow butterfly
alighting on a bright red flower,
when mama was carrying her around
in a bid to put her to sleep, slapping
gently on her bottom; sleepy eyes close.
The 'woman soldier' (an oxymoron
for all those who could think)  a mother to boot,
is thinking about the plummentting population
of monarch butterflies, in the woods she once roamed,
the town she grew up, she now misses, in her thoughts flap wings.
She is worried about the change of climate,
though all she thinks is about the plight of the butterflies.

Now, she hears a gun shot at distance,
shudders thinking about the children
sleeping under the blankets, expecting no harm.
She imagines a baby smiling, gently in it's sleep
and on the shades of that memory, she feels calm,
gripping at the handle of the machine gun,
kept ready at hand to fire first at an enemy, any time.

One talks about peace, as fear gnaws deep at the heart,
the flame of love is  protected by cupped female hands
children securely sleep,in the  protective heat of mother's breast,
rise and fall of the *******, the smell of milk,enveloping my body,
til the day in my mother I  was enshrined in,
                                                                      I still can trace in my brain.

The woman soldier, may fall dead,hit  by a bullet
intentional or not.A war is a war, even a butterfly killed,
is considered enemy, at that time and place.It's grammar is hate.
The baby may have to live, for ever not seeing her mother,
who in the scene above was absent, may not return, ever.
The monarch butterflies would die in thousands and fall from skies.

We still try to cry, but there isn't any tear,climatic change burns eyes.
It's night, a pale moon mourns for the orange sun of the evening.
when the climatic change strikes, it's not in one place or time.
it erupts all over the globe, hearts bleed, love dies little by little.

Morning light, without fail tells me something new, about you!
Each day adds some more in my story book about your love,
Some little thing, makes me think about invisible you each moment.
What do I do other than being possessed by you, in spirit, body and mind.