Whispering mango grove, in its heart
keeps this secret, lone block of rock
black and sturdy, precambrian marks
making it a thing of curiosity.
Travelling by foot, weary, needing rest
he sat leaning against its ancient comfort
not knowing what a boulder has to offer,
other than that,
                          as his eyes pulled curtains,
and brought the night for the time being
he heard a music or was it a voice, almost like
another kind of silence?
The sculpture within the boulder's prison
told him in a pathetic tone,
how beautiful it was
"Help me come out of solidified darkness,
take away the bitter cup of solitude
millenniums made me drink
I want to see the light of the day"
When he opened his eyes he heard
the voice echoing deep in his psyche
---a flower bloomed suddenly within
the barefoot traveler's  diamond moment ,
right then, he heard, the beauty within him plead
to be discovered, the rock and him aren't two,
                                                   realization dawned.

A small aircraft, noisy intruder
cleaved the star filled night sky,
foolishly demanding more attention
than the brightest constellation.

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

Once a professed good kid
Suskind in his native
German he was named,
wrote a macabre tale
on making a special"Perfume"
most irresistible ,enigmatic,
by murdering virgins
in a chilling succession,
and mixing those scents
absorbed in each shroud!
Parents, beware when
you name your children
see, what this good kid
(according to his surname)
to his excited readers did;
pure  Gothic dished out
from beginning to it's explosive end!

Her stolen heart was left unannounced at my door step
I know  the last place she would like to look for it, is this.
Yet I kept it warm and safe, with in the flannel of love
still wet with the tears she once shed,  but tattered a lot;
I'll keep it like times before, till she has the presence of mind,  
to retrace the steps to my door step, she could never forget.

This being the usual place to find her discarded heart
many come knocking my door, inquire what is it's state
plain curious they are, more of a usual ritual, familiar
"You do cradle it far too long, isn't it still a child, refusing to grow?"
I pretend ignorance, loyal to her, the heart that was once mine alone,
I'll never let down my split love,sell or barter what is left in that love
only wait for her without rancor till the tired foot fall of hers
echoes after the pale moon has risen, climbed high up in the sky,
hesitantly at last she will come to my door, find, it's again discarded,
as ever I am the only one,  her last resort, though she hates to accept.

Then she weeps leaning on my chest, grief haunts her without fail
far a while, she cries, as she limps back with her brooding heart
I go to sleep, thinking how a love once moved  mountains,
                                               ­                                              had gone waste

Soaked in the silver light of your love,
I want to linger a while,
and love to tell my heart:
       here is a rare work of art,
by an artist, whom I adore.
As my eyes meet yours,
a  tenderness, moves my heart,
different from what I ever felt.

You too are full of light,
your eyes brim with words magical,
that needs no voice.
There are limits, yes, I should admit,
to how close two hearts could get.
But we could still remember
in spite of fog, that obscures our path,
that we are beings limitless.
We clearly see the light,
in which our hearts melt and fuse.
There is nothing that would stop us,
from being ethereally united.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

An exotic orchid, of the mountains, her smile was scented invitation  
a jocular honey bee, elated by  her fragrance, than nectar, he was.
Covered all over with her pollen , he felt fulfilled, an instinct deeply hidden. prompting.
"To me memories are to be perfect" said, the handmaid of whimsy
"But when I am gone" sighed she "None will ever remember me"
he too felt sad, doleful was her mood and the words,
he fell silent , thought for a long moment and replied:
"Let me be candid about this, though to your  fragrance I've given my heart,
unless the offer of honey is implicit, why should I come searching for you?
We both give and take too, that's the prompt of nature true,
we can't help it, that's why we do; more than that all nature decides"
The flower stood mute and wistful, then serenely smiled,
it was time for them to part, the wind whistled its sly message.

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

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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!

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.

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.

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?"

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.

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

Children arguing aloud, celebrate
their momentary freedom from parents,
playtime sounds in the park
grow quick like huge  trees full of foliage;
in the middle of that dense green darkness
of every kind of sounds,
on a dilapidated bench, alone she sits
--a symbol, not  yet deciphered.
Her head is  thrown back,
profuse hair, hanging dark curtain,
behind which the sun sets.
From an open window across the busy road,
he watches everything in silence;
a solid rock in flood waters
that eschewed all thoughts.

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.

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.

Addicted though, instinctively
to that enchantress, dark angelic night,
sweet condensed sleep, eyeing at me,
moon's silver light, naturally
remains my beloved, closer to heart,
One great delight, is this:
my contradictory wish list, that adds up.
I am unfazed, proudly
carry the contradiction of this world
in my every vein.

Has any one any legitimate business
to ask me to choose one or the other?
What you see as contradictions, won't stand,for long
easily merge,dissolve and vanish to take a new life,
as standpoints change, vision gets deeper,
illusions wear off, as darkness leaves,
and  mind learns to transcend beyond
all the self imposed limits. once seemed formidable,
I delightedly see the brooding night
making peace with the waxy melting moon,
falling silently in pearly drops from the sky.