from the moment of the first breath,
stringing events, mind creates time,
tangled with space, it spins a new thread,
history of a being, moves forward,
down the line, events come to an end,
the mind dissolves, body feeds the elements,
the indestructible core, white dove,
transcends to the branch of the tree of light,
*the thread dissolves, in a wistful note,
the symphony continues in higher octaves.

They both wandered in to the night,
unaware that the other one too,
was in the dark labyrinths prowling,
itching to bury so many lies festering,
painful it felt, not even letting the stars
know that what it meant for their love,
that was a wild red flame creating hopes of permanence.
the stars twinkled above with fervor
night was the marsh, convenient for them to hide
every dead dream deep in to its slush, the past
but they knew this night, they would never walk past,
the stench of dreams forcefully buried would haunt
even if they pretend everything is pushed
too deep in to the mud and they are clean hereafter.
when they came out one by one, unaware of the other
drained and ridden by anxiety-
a pale moon was waiting for them to reappear from the quagmire
on her face was a quizzical look,
the moon has her rays driven deep in to their darkened psyches
yet he thought his secrets weren't exposed,
he sat looking at the melancholy moon,
and sang that song that pleased his love, without fail
it sounded like a ritual for the dead ones, dreams in fetus.
then, she approached on tiptoes as if she is a form of death
out to steal unfortunate lives
they stood face to face, everything was revealed,
the cadaverous moon looked on them both
they were felled as if eaten by past, a sleep that will never let them go.

Lean on my chest, gentle one, let's sit holding hands,
mountain breeze whispers Shanti mantras, let's repeat it,
may tranquil be our souls, we aren't weary yet, but the ardor
of the climb ends here; from this vintage point we are,
distant heaven and beloved earth, look deceptively equidistant,
rest your eyes on mine, let me see eternity flashing it's light.

Don't even say a word, what your heart beat says is to my heart,
the view from this peak is what we dreamt always,remember?
an incredible leap of the souls, now we feel, is the reward of  the trek
we are equanimous, yet the  tears in your doe eyes, I can't bear,
we are mortals, pain is a mongrel, our faithful companion to the end.

Let's sit here, till the gold dust, the passing sun extravagantly sprinkles,
that tells stories of galaxies dying down and new ones taking birth-
finally settles, and the anesthetic of darkness gently descends.

Look! the hidden envious eyes of the night, from afar peep at us,
on the journey back, we'll fly beyond limits and vanquish the big dark.

Holiday crowd on the beach
                   watches, in horror,
one slowly walks in to the hands,
extended by merciful sea,
in a mission of self discovery.
Water inch by inch takes him in
when the eyes and ears becomes still
the sea sense takes over,
a new awareness prevails,
and what does he find, now?

The sea is full of voices of pain,
of souls abandoned in water, for ever,
water is full of life, invisible to human eyes,
near the shallow shore,
sitting on a kayak non existent,
an old fisherman laments:
"Dead and gone, in agitated sea, yet
I am  here, they don't count me "
And the girl, who was full of life and love,
her lover gifted her a watery grave,
her body thrown in to water,
floated and drifted around frenzied,
the sea is her home now,
love is the most hated word for her.

The sea then erupts as a cry
waves of tears, salty and thick swell.

Poetry is the dress she always adorns herself,
the see-through floral patterns reveal her more-
than conceal, my eyes imbibe its aesthetics in the fraction-
of a moment and to tell the truth, they are thankful.
Poetic is her walk, her rhythmically swaying buttocks-
subtly speak by allusion of genetic possibilities vast;
in her movement's poetry  my lineage would be safe.
Her lips part, the warmth, ruddy pout and perfect shape suggest
her sensual love making  wound be both tender and swirling
like the  poetic feeling, an image unleashes to overpower me to surrender.
Poetry makes its essence look like a fine silvery glint
in those deep eyes, that have a sensual droop in the eyelids.
Arrows straightly directed to my tender heart, from the bow of her chest
contrary to the normal, creates a cadence, poetic utmost !
She is,  nothing but poetry in motion, rooted in beauty's repository,
that never will fully drain,  even if the most she makes her own  often.

Tom Cat demands a change,
either to Hanks or Cruise.

This wispy somnambulist
an ethereal spirit no doubt
I bumped in to by chance
on a strange hour at night
during my wanderings
for that unknown essence,
conveyed this, sans words:
"From nowhere I did start,
the journey was what did count
this winding search was my find
have no destination in mind"
I recognized the truth
behind all this;
           quite an arduous trek
I was looking for him
in my perambulations-
all through my life.
We are 'one river' slowing down
as we reach near
the deep blue ocean.

Dark cloud, consort of the rain,
billowing, dense, phantasmagoric, apparition,
             shift--
                     make me a
                     foamy bed, to rest,
                     and a smoky lyre,
                      to make music,
                      give me wings,
                      for my imagination to soar,
                             find me my true love for ever-
                              the ****** white clad maiden of the cloud,
                                the starry eyed angel;
                                  just let me
                                         hover around
                                              with you
                                                       for ever.

Dark is the skyline, behind the high rise buildings,
a blue curtain spreads behind the wide stage,
to celebrate Ashad, the mirthful  monsoon season.
Behind the curtain of clouds, the dancer, many faceted rain,
gets ready to emerge with her out of the world dances,
the anklets of lightening flashing, stunning everyone;
in the backdrop, thunder drums, beat relentlessly aloud.

Fronts of coconut palms, cheerful green, in thousands,
spread peacock feathers wider, when the trees, excited audience -
too dance in display of resonance, every one watches spellbound.
Muddy red water, circulates blood again in the dead rivers,
that gush down, rejuanating grass, plants that had gone lifeless,
and trees that stood wilting, ready to sacrifice life to save water.
Now, the rain sings her sonorous song, making rivers and fields,
that lay parched, thirsty for water, to squirm with pleasure.

The green crab's countenance,
has an allure so rare,
but those pincers up close,
are *a picture of uncivilized eclat.

The long day's journey comes to an end,
I have matched my gains of memories
with forgetfulness, the fruits fallen wasted,
in my mind's tally sheet, it was marked bit odd,
every loss  ultimately was accounted as gain,
and the result finally  was calculated thus:
"You are a traveler through space-time continuum unlimited,
the journey itself is the real thing, (though every bit an illusion)
desire nothing else, that doesn't make any sense"

Sitting on a beach bench, alone in a timeless evening,
eyeing the unceasing, agitating waves,
converging dark clouds and boats in panic,
I imagine this:
the skies are clear, boats on waves dance in rapture,
                                                        ­      you are near,
on the branches of trees, evening birds
begin to sing, a song so rarely heard,

then--
fingers of gentle wind, touch my forehead,
I open my eyes and see-
you sitting near with a smile,
all storm clouds were eaten by sweeping winds,
sky, has  a deep hue of blue like in my imagination,
                                  as  if we are nearer to infinity.
As ever the universe smiles gently to us.
The orchestra of birds
on the treetops is in high octave.

What is left for us, man and wife,
to do then in this hour of peace?
            Come let's run to the waves,
            and dance with them, as long as you wish
                             we've  created this day for us by request.

Under the spell of the milky way's surge
an illusion  past a zillion  light years,
among a million things dull and bright
flashing messages like crazy fireflies,
all the time demanding my attention,
how did, just you became my cynosure?
As I sit amazed like a kid on an ocean shore
foolishly start to analyze, without knowing
how to go about it, except dreaming  in poetry,
my eyes catch the same  galaxy in my veins
in your eyes churn, to catch the essence of this spell.
And I realize : you too are like me,  puzzled
about this magical conspiracy of stellar configuarations
that make the star dust within us attract each other.

One by one I find out and join the faint dots,
concealed superbly in the interiors of the poetic landscape,
a complex picture of life emerges from it, then
I don't see it there while creating it in a kind of trance
mysterious, I wonder how this could happen.
Every word carries out a mission, delve deep, be aware,
rhythm moves in waves, along the dense water plane,
the poem brims with dreams,we have woven for ages
the world it pictures is a complex microcosm
every image it evokes creates a ripple effect,
sit down, listen in your own voice , mull over
each dot, when joined makes a sense different
this is a healing potion, it's taste exhilarating
in this secret maze, I'll hide, come seek me out.

On the marble steps they sat, much trodden  and hence discolored,
what an improbable place for lovers to contemplate about their lives!
in groups visitors walked up, some lonely ones in silence went down
alone mulling,over the waning of clear evening light, that dominated
the sky was overcast,as if the winter blanket was not to be easily lifted,

She was from a land distant, light carried from too far, to his dark
silent night, that went on and on and on, for a life time it seemed!

Many many evenings, the museum gardens found them close together,
tiger orchid blooms he gifted adored  her hair,he simply loved her eyes,
once a little girl came running ,pleading for those flowers from her
"No darling it's gifted by my lover", he expected would be the reply,
but she gave it,with a smile, apologizing to him for being indiscreet.

That broke an unspoken code, end of a fine spring was indicated,
without any ceremony, it should one day stop, she knew .Then
he too started to await, the bell; in library when they were alone
she broke the news,in silence,her eyes reverted on to his,he knew it.


They sat on that white marble steps , two orphans, had no options left,
still he had  to choose between the dark night ready to gobble and her.

At the height
of their pursuit of elusive light,
in the inner core deep,
they set about
translating the ardors of night
in to a sublime fire
that would lead them
to a new awareness.

She had a deftness
that crossed limits and
found new possibilities
in any thing she did.
Art of body coupled with
urges of the heart
she transformed with her  magic:
a tree full of scented flowers
that are dreams of eternal spring.

He had spread creepers,
on the foliage and chunky trunk,
with his caresses,
she forgot herself  completely as the pleasure
swept over  her every cell.

Continued embraces tight and passionate,
anointed them with perfumes,
in their quest they collected star dust,
from her swelling sculptured *****
he inhaled narcotics and got high.

Sea breeze covered them
with fine grains of salt from far away waves,
and an ancient mariner's quest.
A sublime fire simmered
in their nerves.

Fierce faced warlord's
frantic antics were mere ploys
to hide from the world
his real face; the most
frightened was he, of the lot.

Our frequent  encounters
day after day after day
I and you would pretend
happen by mere chance.

But love lives in the sixth sense, we realize
it keeps our antennae up, even when apart
we act as if we are oblivious of that one fact.
it's this guile, that makes our love so special

A mysterious connect with
the movements of each other
like never missing the poetry of
lascivious flourish of your body
intended for me as an aphrodisiac,
yet again letting  my tender heart
to get hit by your eager beetle eyes
that'd follow me everywhere I turn
decided not to miss anyone of my desires.
I too am agile, an avid capturer
of motions of your body, mind and
effusive spirit that attach with mine
in every which way it could; I keep it alive.

The midnight bell tolls,
A barn owl accounts with hoots
Night's mix of music

When the opposites hold hands,
contradictions vanish, the fragrance,
of love wafts in the air, symmetry results;
we would then walk the middle path, Buddha smiles!
    *      
                                  *    
I am me and my other,
the other, my eyes,'I'-ness
is a girl, epitome of pride,
can you believe this?
I am a monk, celibate, walking the path-
of Tathagata, the infinitely merciful,
and she? capricious and young,
just the opposite of me, precisely,
yet, she is the jewel
in the thousand petaled lotus
I meditate on, day and night.
I walk upon the blade
of the gleaming metaphorical sword,
all the waking hours, without spilling
even a drop of blood,
I am the master of my mind,
keep it under my thumb, with an iron hand,
all my guru's grace, I salute him, my master,
I keep my concentration focused on-
the feet of the enlightened one,
before Buddha I prostrate,
**I chant, lift my mind, I hope,
she'll be in the eye of my trance, and evolve,
become the effulgent jewel, beyond compare.
She lives in that tranquil planet,
on the other shore of my mind, which is green ever.

A construction crane,
Kisses skyscraper maiden
Red faced sun on edge.

This  library is huge, I am amazed, by its oeuvre
at the far sight of the people of ancient, who put
it together,you are the book,timeless, I always longed
to read, all these days,but couldn't, even see you once,
but I couldn't give up my ceaseless search.

Now the quest is fulfilled,  isn't it simply magic?
I open you, light a scented candle and start to read,
pages turn, time flies like seabirds, big hawks, with large wings
that seek lonely islands to roost and come back,
I lose count how many, many times!

this book is a master  piece,I can't stop reading you,
but, don't want to finish it and feel lost in the wild, too
a dilemma yet to resolve, I don't know how!
One single star at the western sky sadly watch
sheds her light towards me and smile,

I was bleeding through my eyes, yet
I could recognize, it's you who keep awake
seeing me read your chronicles with contentment
all histories my dear,  gallops towards just that,
one place; at that moment I become aware
I am alone in the huge library fallen apart
from the frame of time and revolves on it's own,
we are in a dream woven by a witch in a planet
far far away from earth, but you the star is timeless
though I am part of a dream that will end at will.

They made an elephant paint,
              using reward and punishment, method
marvelously created paintings!
                that success made world headlines!!
*******, yet another folly of human creation,
                 let me tell you the truth, kept hidden.
Angry for not getting coconut fronts,
              generously supplied in other occasions,
the elephant just pretended the brush was palm front substitute,
                the paint kept  in front, to him was dung to play with.
          The shapes of his hunger turned  to accidental art,
it wasn't his fault,  poor guy, his canvas cries out!

A battle ground with limits not marked
full of strife , happiness but an occasional shower,
even if one tries to embellish it with
all of the fluff one can gather,
life is an enchanted land where we chase a myth,
that changes it's rules without any prior notice,
queer too, it punishes one with rewards, sometimes!

But at this moment I forget all that,
find no reason to harp on that, just forget

such lovely, clear blue eyes
eager to get lost in to mine!
even without batting an eyelid,
for a long while,is nothing but rapture, pure!

A moment, hand crafted by love, a magical spell,
spills over, makes one feel a  superman in real world
so let's strive to create a dream boat, for blithe lovers
a raft of love to voyage across the ocean called life.

I'd collect such moments,immortal,pearl like, we gift to us
make a chain, to adorn you my queen, in your honor.

An arid desert, she was, dreaming in green still
with an array of cactus vivid and diverse, her adamence evident.
Like her other admirers,
it has left him amazed every moment his eyes had fallen on her.
He can't stop finding reasons
to be in love with her for season after season, when he arrives
swirling over her often, he fatasizes flowing as rivers over her,
but in desert, dark clouds form, even if he yearns deep, once in a while,
and the sparse rain leaves much to be desired
for the desert, parched and panting.
                          Can't do more than that  for a desert wind, to quench
her thirst for love. What this  desert has most is longing;
a wonder, the desert and wind still  continue their loving
bitter than sweet even from the beginning.

This woman is a chameleon,
how her hues change!
she is the conqueror-
wearing the false hues of the conquered;
a desire for perfect conquest, in disguise.
                            She instinctively find
what she wants to conquer,
from among the smiles
identifying the heart of her like,
from its invisible presence,
from  a distance.That one moment
qualifies her as a magician of heart strings.

Her studied indifference now
is a tacit invitation
to get near her,
though concealed in many layers.
She makes sure he doesn't
miss the message,
but for the uninitiated
it goes invisible.
Sly looks he send now and then,
when she moves closer, his whisper:
"Don't you hear what my heart says?"
his half smile is being reciprocated,
what was made to look like reluctance
was in fact a challenge
for him to go and get
what he wanted,
not as a gift, but
as a hard earned asset.
He thinks she was the best
he has ever set his eyes on.
They hit it off in a bit.

This boat, my woman
never claims she navigates;
thankfully I am hers!

Sad day, dreams his night,
                           daydreams wistful, drain in to her.
           forlorn  night, longing blindly for light,
                            is  not allowed to express her wish aloud,
                she is forbidden from daydreaming
                                                for ever, by mother  nature.

"A poem written by a drunken poet
**** inebriated by beauty so rare
and thought his words would be
immortal but did lack coherence"
on seeing her for a while, he gathered
"This beauty sure has a raw appeal,
but needs someone, patient and deft
with  experience to polish and edit,
to bring out her true effulgence"

She was watching him keenly in silence
Are hearts capable of exchanging notes?
Her eyes shone as if she read his thoughts
"A rough stone, precious, am I,  found out
from a distant mine, no definite shape or
remarkable shine, no one tried ever to cut it
and chisel fine,  so that light 'll reflect from all faces
carets not clearly known, will you take it in your hands
and consider it as thine, lavish your love on it
and reveal the hidden beauty, that's ravishing
born out of sedimented carbon,soot laden on outer layer"
her eyes spoke to him in silence, and he smiled.

Quiet night it is, as if it still
keeps the mystery in it's womb,
under the starlit sky we relive
the divine happening yet again.

Some, yes never miss the crux,
the truth of the story told in light;
but the fact remains that most of us
are only obsessed with the light.

So the stars hung high up shed
light in many hues different,
we just repeat the customs of yore
or add some more, feel contented.

The effect now is just ritualistic,
where does the mind hide?
allowing rampant darkens rule
making one another fight , it's sad.

A silver star is again born
in a far corner of the blue sky
and sheds it's light on all,we see
sky of our mind keeps on shining.

Do we remember to imbibe,the spirit?
of the rays of the cleansing star
are we aware that there is no
shadow to the star's light.

There is a story to be told,
either we should attempt,
together or keep it a secret.
Pain is the glue that joins us,
the story has different narratives
that won't converge, in all places
hence it is less than joyous.

Joys are but a rainbow till evening,
the rains of happiness are sparse,
                           we still are waiting
the drought destroys everything green,
love is a dying stream in between-
ego trips and never ending pain.

Let us tell the story in one voice,
let go the pain of lost choices,
you should be lying on my chest,
sobbing and I must be  consoling softly,
"Honey, don't cry, it's not your fault or mine"
still you are inconsolable in your grief.
              Then you see my eyes are
              two pools flooding in pain.

A kind of darkness, a profusion of red carnations create, pervades,
a suspicion raises its head, but reassurances pour in soon,
a happy day, bright with the light of the oppressing eyes
a secure place, troubleless sleep, a snooper awake for us, assures,
in the prevailing circumstances, happiness is this:
uneasiness, in serpentine coils sleeping with me,  doesn't stir all  night.

"Aren't  all these outside the wall of democracy?" a doubt
that started raising  its head unawares, is put quickly to a narcotic sleep.
Guards stand alert, with loaded guns, ready to face any security breach,
In a dream, that feels real, the gun of protection is pointed to my head
I am vexed; is he a rogue, has he gone insane or is he just fatigued?
Before he jumps out from the dream and pull the trigger, one raises the alarm,
when the whistle is blown, the squad of guards are in position,within a minute,
how efficient is our security! my! my!

"But guys, obviously there is some mistake, where do you take me and my buddies?"

Marching army of monsoon
siege the wayside inn.
Sticking together,
as a  joined force,
inn keeper and wife resist,
repeated attacks they deflect,
with whatever is in their command,
protecting inmates in deep sleep.
Above the shriek of lawless winds,
loud bangs persistently heard
on the door, were ignored,
yet another enemy tactic,
it was counted,
their knowing smiles tell this.

At dawn, on the doorstep
the victorious duo encounter,
the worst shock in their lives;
the frozen body of an emaciated  stranger-
an asylum seeker.
Collateral damage.

A book left partly read by a voracious reader,
came in his dream and revealed the secret:
"Don't you think anything left incomplete
would mean much more than a definite finis?
When each new reader tries to fill the gap
the unwritten part gets richer than the other.
Here is a book left unfinished by the author,
whose life suddenly said "NO" in just two bold letters.
Does the book's self feel incomplete? Who knows?
But think of this: Does anything we know ever get completed?
Why bother about the changing patterns of this kaleidoscope
as we are only colored specks that turn and turn with the rest.
Time, that magical construct, hates perfection, (would you believe?)
though it loves to draw circles mistaken as perfect,
when it's really another form of limitation, by deceit.

High tech city grows,
trampling the green fields.
A farmer with homemade locks,
tries to sell me one.
I say, NO, and see
a sadness without words.





(Bangalore/ India/  Feb, 2011)