city night,
speaks
in million
discordant
neon voices.
                   night in village,
                   has lanterns
                   shedding  soft yellow droplets of light,
                   here and there;
                   singing solemn
                   hymns.
city knows no silence.
it's music is cacophonous;
pain is its sweetness.
when silence descends
city is stifled,
looses its color.

village absorbs
it's wisdom
from deep dense silence-
the color of green foliage.

for the village,
grass is green
on the other side of the fence;
but city is coiled in itself.

silence slowly looses ground.

Hazy eyed
satisfied
just out of the
tumultuous
stream of
pleasure,
picking her
things and
stuffing it in her
hand bag quick,
a moment before
stepping in to
the lift quietly,
she turns to him
and slips
a ****** pill
in to his reluctant palm,
with a suggestive
squeeze,
(an after thought
ahead of a
future plot,
he realizes)
he slips it
carelessly
like in
other times
in to his hip pocket
smiling to himself
mulling over her
****** avarice,
fear of failure,
and insatiated desires
she bundled up
all these years
and kept hidden
like the pill
a promise for tomorrow
deeply buried secret
among the knick knacks,
in  her bag.

Choosing between a witch and a vampire,
should have been a real dilemma, of course,
none among these two did he choose,
but a nun, to explore the path of renunciation**.

You are the erroneous mirror
also the distorted, reflected figure,
and the observer, the  root cause of all,
just, comically absurd,if you see straight.
But this plight, to you remains alien always.
as the logic works outside the bubble.

"Tropical sun, you ****** cheat
never expected, you'd behave
like this" in his chair sitting huddled,
driving away cold with every means
at his command,
he murmured to himself,
not bothered about the state of affairs
of anything, big or small,
aren't we all mortals, after all?
What's the point in being anxious
about the state of economy or environment
if you have no interest in this arrangement
beyond certain point,
all one has to worry is about is today
the grey, cold, overcast, hopeless day
that ruins the pleasure one yearns for
weep over the love denied,
that's what this day is fit for.

There is a knock on the door
is it the cold wind throwing twigs
or plain wishful thinking, of a day
when love was in abundance, knocking at door
but it's persistent,who cloud it be
in a cold frozen, godforsaken mean morning
celebrating deserted lovers and loneliness..
He opens the door, a hole in to cold
like a frozen wonder gone astray
in a comely female form past presents
it's her, his uncertain love, once again at her best
and look at her, the special love potion
for the most gloomy day of dejection and self hate.

She hugs him with a mother's warm hold
plants a passion stirring kiss on his cold crusty lips
when the lover in him takes over him with a vengeance
his  universe takes a quick turnabout
to love, longing and hope, he resolved to reject
cold sun is no more a disappointment,
just the opposite, sowing new seeds of warmth,
Isn't it then true, what we hear, every now and then
"Woman is the center of man's universe" Amen

She was love-
tasting like revenge,
not in a hurry, but
deliberately as she desired.

-a dark searing kiss
that drew blood,
from my lower lip;
getting the dormant
******* in me ready,
in a bit,

I counted it a forgotten pleasure,
playing just sadist, as circumstances permit,
it was, if you want to know
for sure a class act,
she knew how to do it.

in my writing, she said
sounding like an analyst,
i was preoccupied with dark birds,
' i see their presence,
on tree top hide outs,
ominous darkness sitting quiet
with folded wings'

blood in my lower lip
tasted salt,
the hibiscus flower on her raven hair
(reminding animal behavior
on certain periods of need)
to me is a symbol,
she and i know, of what.

I peered in to her ***** dark eyes,
thought what she said was
false.
)O(

The murmuring grove all of a sudden
falls mute, as they enter
listens to their words, love prompted
in the distinct love dialect.
A red beaked parakeet watches her
without batting an eyelid,
the  ruddy cheeks and ruby lips of the girl,
all aglow as the golden rays of evening sun caresses;
feeling jealous, the parakeet makes a loud racket.

The only ship in the angle of my vision
seems to be still, as if cleverly painted above
the placid waves, that reject all agitations
near the shore I stand, a conspiracy perhaps!

No way I can tell if the ship moves away
or impatiently steers towards the port's embrace;
perhaps  in keeping my spirit to espouse ambiguity.

Just a morning jogger from a planet far,
I am nobody to judge, still I am curious-
that vessel with an  uncertain, navigational plan,
Isn't it me?Am I reaching anywhere, tell me.

I can see, none seems to expect it to come in
or go away and hide itself as a dot in distant horizon,
none who did bid it farewell, too is not to be seen.
Where have all gone, leaving no clue behind,
making it difficult for  one to create dreams.
How  so quickly time did erase all evidences,
which rendered goings and comings insignificant!

Is that static state, an illusion, a metaphor for life?
None is here to answer such questions as the world
has gone too far from there, to a space uncertain.

The port is busy as usual, any day it could be.
I wait for something to happen, will the ship
come to life astonishing me and move again?
I listen, the wind that blows from far horizon,
tells salty tales, tries in vain, again and again,
to recite the fish songs from deep sea blue down.

We had sin for breakfast,
along with cereal,
she found me too avid
and backed off from the pact.

Milky Way collides
With Andromeda; the result?
Wait, four billion years!

I was sold to pain
in a slave market
that  didn't  look like one,
auctioned by a civilized crowd
of people just like you and me
in everyday life,
posing as my comrades, acolytes or lovers.
I stood firm on my ground
unrelenting even in pain's intimidation
and said, what  Valmiki
                 the first poet found,
        "Grief gushes out in verse"
                                 and I sing
                                        alone.

Like a hit of sudden thunder,

                                           I climaxed,
                  saw an alluring flush
                spread across her face
                    turning it to a lotus--
an adornment of ******* bliss.
An ancient moment dawned
before my  drooping, placid eyes---
a caveman's loud moans and cries
as he reached the pleasure's peak with his consort,
         echo on the cave walls, again and again**.

A poet in the east, he lived the life of a king,

he was famed to have been gurgling his throat

with nothing but vintage quality sparkling wine,

when he finally put his prolific pen down

all his riches found was poetry, one full page long,

all that met the eyes earlier were merely fluff and puff,

never did he bare his heart, anywhere  other than in poems

things of beauty, he gathered from life were invaluable, rare

all of it had filled just one full page, nothing more!

In a busy street,
though familiar,
somehow seemed very strange,
in every sense,
where, in milling crowd,
each one pushes and jostles
to inch forward,
they came face to face;
different planes of time
seemed to collide, in one second,
was it deja vu strike
in  the wrong way?

They both froze in their tracks,
"I am married" she whispered,
from a time in the past, it seemed.
As if his dream shattered
he felt a jab of pain in his heart,
brushing aside his sense of loss
he quickly asked
"With whom?"
as if the answer would change
something somewhere.
*A rush of guilt, quickly
took him over,
his voice  like a cloud in the sky
dissolved in the cacophony of life-
went out of hand,
"Isn't it me?"

They would sneak out quietly in dark nights,
walk to the desolate beach slowly hand in hand,
and lie supine on damp white sand soaked in star light,
shedding from light years afar,counting stars as if it's their job,
wasn't that an esoteric ritual, prelude to a cosmic trance?

Love gifted a stole to keep them warm,
to her it was him and to him it was only her all along,
and on the sand bed in such nights they got to know secrets,
from the  galaxies,together they broke taboos of every imaginable kind.

They would wait for the seventh wave from the ocean's mind,
that was the moment they knew each other intimately than ever.
the seventh wave was a gift of pearls from the depth of unknown,
and the sharks were on the shores roaming alive like in fairy tales.

They kept awake for the seventh wind, that did blow promises,
on a space above, they hovered standing naked chest against breast,
the seventh wind told them many things, in to it's essence they delved,
wind, water, fire within, space in between,earth mother holds together,
an awareness , they roamed around the galaxies,wasn't it wonder itself?

Red rose
reflecting the color of love
in our cursed world,
since the day
you lost your gloss,
and looking so pale,
lost and forlorn
the moon has lost her sheen,
that held us close,
Waves of the sea lost their tune
and had fallen mute,
the sea breeze
completely evades
my path, as if I had
unfairly jilted her friend.
The beams of sun lost
their warmth,
the mingled fragrance
I inhale from my garden
where  variety of flowers bloom,
is now absent,
My pale, maudlin rose
disconcerted I am
beyond words,
what has the world done
to you for you to loose your hue,
shall I fall in love with you
all over again,
make your heart dance with love,
at the move of my wand?
Set the wrong of the world
right once again, with my tears
shall we be whole,once again
like before?

"Open your eyes"
after what seemed a timeless flight,
he heard her voice softly whisper,
he was reluctant,
though he could
imagine her curious eyes
peering at his face, from above,
he was floating over the clouds
where with her he found
a nook to snuggle
and remain enclosed in each other .
The clouds, moving in a frenzy,
was amazingly tender with them both
probing cloudy fingers went wild
caressed their body,
and tickled, dark desires
till they squirmed with pleasure
erupting from a secret spot,
and pleaded to stop it,
in one moment, feeling insane,
then, 
like feathers from a wing
they slipped in to the hands of the west wind
and to a dreamless sleep, till she woke up first.

The best poems of mine,
were written in my heart,
only for you to read;
you forgot, where it was kept,
and left without a word.

The sheep were  in the pen, sheltered for the night
we then sat around the log fire to chat till we fall asleep,
under the open sky ,in a clearing on a wintry night.

Contrary to  what I gathered, he was full of life,
there weren't  any lines of worry, nor his face woebegone.
The heardsman looked cheery, humming tunes he loved aloud
which the pesky mountain wind, snatched and spread too soon.

I quiz  him about his treks to find pastures for the herd,
"Isn't it a task tiring , in the rough mountain terrain?"

"It's not me who leads the hungry herd to the pastures" he says
"As it is made the world to believe by those never had seen a pasture
The sheep know where the grass in green, and find the shortest path,
as pleasing them is my only wish , I dutifully follow their lead."

Soft white light,
gently makes love
          to your supine naked body,
                               *you sleep oblivious.

A filthy rich Russian kid named Anna,
an oligarch's scion, searching for manna,
she struts around in a skimpy dress,
doting dad's private jet, is her address,
On earth, vrooming sports cars gives her Nirvana

Tweeting together,
two birds mate in ecstasy
a song in frenzy.

A still pool dreaming,
Meddling wind on it's surface,
Ripples voice protests.

poetry
    moves
      like
       ghosts;
           if explicit,
                       no poetry,
                                  no ghost.

An ant repeatedly told
she loved him so much,
he wasn't astonished a bit,
knew life was incredible
it's a pin point of *****
to dull the existential pain,
how would he forget this ant
if not an ancestor,she may become
a descendant, a bond for ages.

"The grain of sugar
you allowed me to take
made me look sweet as I
shared it with my buddies,
though you aren't aware of it"

A cloud told that
she once made him stand
under the umbrella of
her cool shade, and that
experience did transform her.
"So tired you were
your eyes were dreaming;
while being dismembered
by an adamant wind,
inch by inch, I struggled
to hold myself together
till you could find a
new shade, before I am dissolved
by external compulsion.
Those moments I lived for
the love of you, so pure
expecting nothing but
fulfilling my karmic, dictate,
gave me the insight,
to remain a cloud in spirit, ever
though not in my form any more.

Your songs of loneliness
made me overwhelm,
I am essentially water
that flows towards the ocean,
containing meanings dense
the song you have sung
in intense pain, was
an experience; walking through
glowing  embers of coal,
for all who commingled
with my flow to ocean."

The tree had a rare radiance
it told him pleased,"Like me
you too have the crown,
a cloud of dancing thought waves,
that has silver lines,all the time
you sit and contemplate,
Every one has a Buddha
reclining inside,if you care
to think the way out of all miseries
he would be awake and smiling,
the compassion incarnate.
I appreciated what you did
that marked, I thought
the beginning of the light
that drives the ignorance of
darkness out from mind.
I did it by showering flowers
were you aware?"

"Karuna" she whispered as if to
emphasize it's preciousness
"Compassion" is what the most,
the world now lacks"
It could make the world a garden of love,
That's what reflected on me
when you sat underneath me
and gazed in to the far galactic
turbulence that is a saga continues,
how many moments of gold,
we were gifted one by one!
"Karuna" is the jewel, the Buddha
the enlightened one's words
did sow in us, with the touch
of a transforming thunder."

Marooned in an island of his own creation,
full of machine wonders and prehistoric monsters
                                 never one could dream,
he realizes,
life is what one brings out from
the depth of one's psyche's churning,
yet as much a creation of hands working,
on the potter's wheel that's turning
to create shapes of things we never had foreseen.

But deep down, he is a rage,
a fire threatening to erupt and consume all bastions of waste,
built, around our lives, by thoughtless monsters,
                                             then,
                                                a happy haze prompt him to flower,
                                                a rhapsody, kicks its baby legs inside
                                                a startling beauty begins to emerge.

And the bell rang, the time of closing
of the nine doors of entrances,
he is glad,he did read much, experienced
imbibed, felt elated,embraced effulgence
but the unmitigated sadness is unforgiving
the heart, heavy; a feeling too painful to take home.
"I haven't invented even one word
as my firm claim to immortality,
words I 've only seen, read and heard"

As he quietly lays waiting, these words
rush to mind,"A solitary pilgrim  am I,
a song sung when an audience was all ears, applauded
beginning from a thought, I am left behind as one,
the rest from dust goes to dust.Finis."

Big white chunks of fluffy ice
flying down in a serendipitous sequence
falling against the yellow steady splash
of frothing evening light,full of mirth
in some moments glowing like embers
against slanting rays,again white
on extended meadow grass plane
transforming it a white spread sheet
of cool silence, with lessening patches of green.

A resounding knock at the door,
a pair, with one killer smile stood
but how could she return it?
they barge in without waiting to be invited
the girl takes back her half of the smile at once,
and becomes the spokesperson
of the man with an intention,
from her strange countenance
one could discern in advance
the shock value of her request.

"As you know we live in great times
that value uncommon attainments more than ever,
we collect and auction them for the rich"

She didn't understand where they want to take her,
never heard the stream of tears would be the best sell
in an auction, though at times she was struck
by the sparkle that rivals the rarest of the real pearls

She stood perplexed in her hurt and pain, ancient
"Can't say how much we are fascinated
by your collection of grief, market is now wide
to accommodate, the variety of stuff in offer
your pain is so intense, it would certainly
create a stir in the heart of most hardened billionaire
we appreciate your persistence as a collector so rare"

She heard in deafening silence, the acidic voice trail off
is she saved or is it a bad dream yet again?

Rippling field of ripe golden rice,
splash of yellow, wherever my
                                     eyes travel,
evening sun unfurls
a  glowing magic carpet,
a swishing whirlwind,
tries its hands in making crop circles,
by twisting and twirling the rice plants,
how this  would have made you
run for your paint and brush,
what a huge loss for you, Van Gogh!