The trees in the valley far down remains to the viewer's eyes green,
she came back cleaving the hills of dead leaves, blocking the way
her songs vibrant,indeed like it was in a  time long past,hard to forget,

One is in for wonders if the time travel is done mindful,dispassionate,
life is a garden full of strange flowers, bloomed at various times ,
standing still, magically fresh, all along ready to be plucked at  will,

But one easily falls to corruption, blinded are the eyes of the fallen,
this is a  game, playing the role alone matters,nothing else elevates,
don't forget, flowing with the current alone ,takes the drop to the ocean.

She came back, I suppose to complete the circle of illusion,we are in
nevertheless the imaginary places she scented,still cause me an elation.

Every **** too wants to tell it's story to us loud,
my eyes trained to span galaxies light years away
weren't good seeing the flowers,on weeds for long,
then an unexplained  lightening connecting all cells,
flashes within, I turn back and see things in a new light,
those blue and yellow flowers kept hidden by an invisible
blind,smile with a joy and it brings anew a  vision of beauty.

A flower is a flower, even if offered by a humble ****,
like the words I heard spoken from a sleepwalker's lips,
with a less emphatic tone smeared with dusts of dreams
still I hear it's heart beat, a cadence so exhilarating.

Every rice plant in the field, drooping in the heaviness
of ripened grains, is muted, the wind that caresses both
are equally cool,benign; every **** wishes to explain,
so I won't miss their music, even by some chance did misshapen.

That girl doesn't inspire me a bit, let me guilelessly confess,
the one that sits right there,diametrically opposite to my roving eyes,
in her cozy corner, shielded from the view of most  others,
filling the seat exactly with her perfect curvaceousness,
she has false promises written all over her many allurements
for me (who else) bored to death, at this blighted moment,
triggered by scrolling account statements when all I love to see
are words, dainty pulchritudinous words, I can munch always.


In spite of my valiant efforts,to make do with what is at hand
and appreciate the poetic bit, her body language whispers,
as my existential compulsion demands, I couldn't move any further.

I do my best, try to caress her gently with my brooding  eyes,
trying hard not to look duplicitous, but my eyes, curtained off
with boredom and drooping, easily lose focus, seeing this,
her eyes pop out,yet my arrows that lost verve hit sometimes!

Now, with enthusiasm renewed,she gives it a try,but repeatedly fail,
every shot she returns is a  blank, such a cruel curse of cupid!
She is an impostor, tamed sheep cross dressed as a wanton she wolf,
the easy chemical repulsion, lectures  to me on the alchemy of affinity,
but how can I complain, it's not a clause  in her letter of appointment.

You are the  invisible canvas on which I am a painting indelible,
every minute you reflect in this mirror, my thirsting soul,
history of this love immortal,  begins beyond the portals of time,
but my love, for ages, I've been searching relentlessly for you since.

What do I call this love, that consumes my every life,remains anew!
in wake, sleep and in the realm of dream, I feel your sublime presence,
my heart, filled with wonder, but at times  slips in to a haze of despair,
then your presence becomes  palpable as wind, rain or purple sunshine.

There isn't anything perfect,than this  love, chants the Milkyway
invisible you are, but never ever, for a moment your presence is not felt
isn't it your mantra  of love immortal, my heartbeats repeat?
*You are perfect,  that glory I too reflect; I am within your embrace.

An army of ants, black, brown, red and white, in disciplined columns,
each one no less than any other,armed to the teeth, ready to ****
on their marauding march,find this giant, not a day too long ago was
too fierce as a man,  whose reign of  terror was most feared, lying still,
as if all those deeds were  incidental,and he in no way is to be blamed.

They are equanimous, the ants, next wave, this is no more than just debris,  this relic from the past, for them, something to be dealt with,
the army of disciplined ants, as per their manual, meticulously inspect,
whether the body has some strength  left somewhere in the system,
to pull together rise, overcome the fatigue of a life full of misdeeds
not nice to remember,  counted all the same as glory by sycophants.

They want to finish the work fast, fearing the return of the nightmare,
busily they went on doing what they are good at,they had their brief,
from the command center ,to clear up the debris from the battle front,

The last of the ants leaving  the gnawed white bones,  under moonlight,
writes the epitaph on sand,with it's spindly legs,thus:"This fort too fell"

Hanna to me is the  BEGINNING of an evolution,
She finds me the END(of her fervent seeking for long)
Many worlds (we knew) existed between us until then,
Willingly crunch to make a perfect ONE from the debris.

A dark piece of night sky, I stole to wrap around my naked soul,
then traveled all alone as a penitent to the heart of the darkest night,
to forget,the letdown; you not being in our rendezvous as promised.
Between barren earth and mute sky, a kite adrift; losing  love I am lost.