Staring at his once green patch he stands,
abundantly verdant, made his heart dance
where he should have tilled happily, as he wished
and raised his crops, isn't the life he dreamed?

An abandoned page now, it could have filled
with poetic oozing from the inner spring
when caught between the cross fire unawares
one has to go down and hide under the thickets

His facund red earth  now has hardened like a rock
the rains have abandoned this land for long
still not down,he is  gathering what is left,
wish to infuse his passion in the beauty of words.

Deep down in his psyche a stirr, still he could feel
while waiting for the return of the muse who went
to fetch water to fill her magic pitcher to sustain his crops,
he waits for her to trek back before the winter sun slants

Two tumbling Ivans, at least  in him, exist, he could tell
One is soft, easily provoked to pink  goosebumps, all over
When his lady love comes dancing, in a body hugging dress
There is the well known other,visceral,yes, "Ivan the terrible"
At the eruption of ******* frenzy,he who roars like a beast.

Perhaps few more too are on the prowl, all beyond the pale
If he challenges with a firm resolve,they may show up!

None like her, the twentieth time darling of the Oscar
Still Meryl's esteem, a few thought should be scarred,
"An overrated actor" teased irate Trump,
"expects moolah to wear a dress, show oomph"
In spite of the "Streep tease" Meryle is the undisputed "act-star"

White fizzy
moonlight
overflows.

A loud thunderclap,
inside the womb of the rock,
a diamond sparkles!

Darkness cradles secrets
millenniums keep rocking,
magic of epiphany!

In an old teapot,
simmers the tea of many thoughts,
zen tea for us all.

He dreamt he was Sappho's trusted companion,
To whom she shared her love's poetic lessons.
And then came this moment of revelation;
He longed to be a woman and make love to her.
Things are not as they seem  at the outset,
That part of him madly in love with Sappho"s secrets
Didn't really know is it her body, soul or poetry
That made him go mad with an intoxicating pleasure.

The other part of him in love with himself  more,
Protested"I desire her like a man does a woman"
Love is insane often, it is hidden within the masks worn.
In every passionate love affair, is a river of fire to cross.
Love puts him in a dilemma,without any resolve at sight.
In a life ensconced in fantasy, he is steeped in a  love stupor
If ever he again wakes up, he'll try to make lasting peace,
Slosh in the poetic wine of Sappho and desire her all the more.