Some stories find no reason ever to end,
eternity is all ears throughout  the length.
On a plane different,some do not even begin,
possibilities sowed in  stardust lie in wait.

ചില കഥകള്‍ പറഞ്ഞു തീരുന്നതേയില്ല,
അനന്തത അതിനു ചെവിയോര്‍ത്തിരിക്കുന്നു.
മറ്റെവിടേയോ, ചിലകഥകള്‍ തുടങ്ങുന്നതേയില്ല,
നക്ഷത്ര ധൂളിയില്‍ വിതച്ചിട്ട സാദ്ധ്യതകള്‍ കാത്തിരിപ്പൂ
(Translated to Malayalam, a language of south India)

Your impassioned ****** blabber, a primordial prompt,
the seed, swelled,seethed feverishly for a while, sprouted
then surged in to a sea of love with all the intensity mustered
we drowned in that flood; there was only the sea of bliss.

A long forgotten art,  needed to reinvent it from the days past,
making a clay ***, the size of my heart, where everything started,
with my bare hands; I felt like a man in the primeval times.
The act but brought a sense of satisfaction, it seemed like a ritual
with therapeutic effects,but couldn't delineate what it was.
Was the red clay *** in my hand, a yearning, in symbolic form?

Was I trying to capture the elusive meaning of  life, in a way wrong?
life throws questions after questions at one, not wanting any answers!
And then one stumbles upon symbols, morphed in the depth of emotions,
with these forms, answering to the enigmas of life is done with ease.

A vessel perfect, it seemed to collect one's tears,wasting not even a drop
on the pool of tears, reflects my face, than any of the surfaces  before,
why then, her face too floats along with mine,  out of nowhere?
a nowhere called past,which never goes anywhere, even if charms are tried.

Swirling waters gush out, creating  chaos,
freeze in to ice, the silence follows, quickly
devours the spirit of that disorderly behavior;
memories of past sins are all forgotten, soon.

Her breath contained a signature scent, wild orchids secretly send,
a fleeting dab it was, but a swift lightening sketching the sky line
she need not speak, her mere nearness makes his heart spin like a top,
a lance dipped in honey smelling lilacs, hits there with poetic force.

Bleeding love, he is a tree bloomed before season, raining flowers,
why this, her presence or absence, an excruciating ordeal?
no green horn , his love has seen seasons, many a spring and fall.
anything physical has it's limits, this is beyond all comparisons!

The moon beams scorch him, blazing sun loses his power at noon,
poetry makes him wistful, when metaphors speak of hidden yearnings,
stop that haunting song, in a pitch high, difficult to bear it's taunt,
reminding her ,singing about her love, an ambiguous fantasy.

The plan was perfectly drawn
      nobody doubted it was flawed,
but every day and night added
     particular effects on the sketch,
each changing season had a whim
     that made a clear impact on it.

Even the most perfectly laid plans
      need to be approved by spirits
the cosmos will incessantly unleash,
      that in no way anyone can control.

The plans would never go wrong, I thought,
    her invocations to the mysterious
forces of universe, alone make it happen,
    in all humility now I realize!

Deeply I cherish, the feminine power,
       that walks with me matching step to step,
  in the true tradition  of brahminical wisdom, I chant:
      "Not for me, but all this sacrificial offering,
for the plants, animals and humans, the whole of universe.
       Each and every speck in this limitless cosmos
is webbed together, for ever and aye,
    Oh!   the consciousness that pervades in all
the connecting stream flowing to the ocean,
      be the lighted lamp, burning within,
dispel once and for all the darkness of ignorance."

She turned to a stone, before his unbelieving eyes!
in earlier times this would be counted as the result of a  curse,
an analysis, on how it happened seemed futile, so he didn't pursue
He chisel and hammer ominously were left somewhere,
she was irretrievably trapped, within a queer shaped stone .