Sad eyed men, inebriated by pain, unshaven
eyes swollen, red faced, sleepless at night
loneliness perpetual  haunting them like
the ghosts of days dead, in single minded pursuit
perturbed by pains of every imaginable kind
in a devine trance one with dark frightening silence
pouring out their heart in blood dripping details,
tears mingle with words' firepower,molten lava gushes

A fiery woman, though,weak,meek and looks frail,
writes in a fierce frenzy,as if it's her life or death game
there are nail marks all over her emaciated body
as if a famished tiger has badly mauled her.
No trainer of beasts she ever was....
All the living witnesses, her suffering,festering wounds,
a derailed mind,her companion,once in insane anger gifted!

See weeping woman,men in anguish
in the fear of losing long cherished love,  
poring out the lava of fear,anguish and pain,
Wounded men and women with an orchestral precision
write seeking happiness,but in words couched in pain.
And then there is this one;eyes fixed at the  moon,
getting his fix for the day and the fuel for poetic pen!

All of them poets were in a world each of their own.
"Not sane or insane,wildly ecstatic, still in inescapable pain"
the caresses of poetry's fingers result in that,
And look those children running after butterflies!
poems, they would be thinking are colorful wings and feathers.
song,dance,mirth and celebration, alas! it isn't!

A sprightly snail crawls,
etching a message as it moves;
cryptic conundrum.

Your love
sets up mirrors
on four sides
on which I appear
as myriad,
all  prompted
by your countless
eager imaginations.

Like Krishna
at once I dance
with countless
manifestations of you
in my mind,
Oh! my Radha.


Your brimming passion,
in thousand tongues
sings about my love to you;
how can I be mute
not paying my tribute
with my mellifluous flute?

Well,well,well, I wonder
How quickly one gets
attracted to these shells
lie strewn around, colorfully
without any scheme or theme
but in no way  less attractive
yet making naked soft soles
of itinerant feet bleed
if gets closer than needed.

On a desolate beach
like this one here, we stand
there isn't much else
other than laden sand
one can expect to set eyes on
for a long, long time
unless one is counting
the waves,incessantly rolling out,
waves that won't let you do that job,
the way perfect,you want to accomplish.
What would a wave bring you other than
what you have expected always!

Then comes the time to let
eyes wander on to the naked shells,
spread as if each conceals a cryptic message!
You'd never want to know  what
strange happenings they predict.

Oh! Yes! so many waiting in disorder
with that onetime impatience,
inevitable death's thirst display,
now quenched forever and aye!
Now licked clean by sun and waves,
and time's invisible scaly tongue.
that adamantly kept mum,
when one was all ears to listen.

Shell white in an angry profusion
dominates the sea shore
making sand whiteness mean less,
Staring eyeless *****,just as shells
comes in to dreams as pirates
Shrimps, kills and prawns transform
in to ghostly shells cackling in salty winds.
Shells whispering the stories of pain from the past,
Did i hear someone in a frenzy yell
from a mid sea night darkness.
"**** that shell,with the evil memories
of a death,that drained all semblance
of life,that drained all spirit of life.
"Shells go back to your sleep!
From the dream of return,
Prepare for a life allover again".

The evidences all
were strewn all over
the place of crime;
visible to the naked eyes
as if posing a challenge
to the pretentious detectives.


But the adamant
forensic expert on the spot,
sporting thick rimless glasses
wouldn't notice
any of those nonsense!
Those eyes fell
precisely on an evidence
that could have been there,
within the first five minutes,
and constructed what he could
out of those evidences.
(Whatever that means)

Sylvie, I am alone here
doing nothing, except
thinking about you,
in a meditative trance.

It's a beautiful feeling Sylvie
strange, I don't miss you,even!
I imagine you as an awakening  flower
of changing colors and petals
You are in a whirl of realization.

Then a lone tree you are,
near a vast,waveless  lake
what an intriguing  koan,
to churn my inner sea.

You're nowa drifting white cloud
all through the kaleidoscopic shifts
I forget to think,what would I be
in relation with your whims,spectacular


Beyond apparitions, I search for  meaning
that  eludes, as it is fathomless

I hear the song of the lonely star, so near
and realize,"I am the light of the burning star"

Sylvie, I can't remember
neither you nor me exactly
or the distant star that sings
a song in the tunes of light years


You were from the forest, Sylvie
I used to be the mountain wind
that once caressed the forest trees.
Sylvie, we are one; the imagination
of the waves of light, beyond time.

It was too late
to realize this:
all along her boat
was circling
the island of
expectations.
She cuts the knot
at one stroke
and feels free
from the albatross
around her neck
at long last;
her boat like a
unbound horse
gallops into unknown
currents, in love with
deeper sea secrets...