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K Balachandran Nov 2014
A quivering drop
                       of tear
gleaming with the fear
                       of pain,
holds back in vain from
                             falling.

He stands helpless as a
                    drop of blood,
oozes in his heart along a
                         slash, love
has inflicted with an invisible
                                         blade.

An extra terrestrial on its mission
                                             wonders,
why didn't they transplant another in place
                                         of the punctuated one,
                                                      
do away with the tear glands and happily
                                                         live ever after.
"Aren't they attracted to each other's bodies?
                                                 then why suffer like this
                             can't they apply their intelligence
                                                                ­               in time,
                                    surrender to pleasure awaiting
                                                                ­    at  arm's length?"
962 · Jan 2013
Tantalizer
K Balachandran Jan 2013
Her red luscious lips,
 repeat his name in whispers,
          such exquisite torture!
K Balachandran Aug 2012
While asleep, happily in dreams, we carry
a new world of invented reality;
when awake, we weave  around us, another dream
and forget it is invented, unlike the time of dreaming.
K Balachandran Nov 2014
No other pair of lips would ever so deftly express
the lingo of love, my lips would covet, each passing moment,
no searing kiss ever sent waves of tumult, more than your's
that to my blood, spoke in an unequivocally bold tone,made it boil in lust,
heaven is not just a figment of imagination, as skeptics would tell us,
when we met, nectar secreted every moment, how would we forget?
Never would I let you leave my heart, you robbed,at the very first sight.
960 · Oct 2012
Eating Orange
K Balachandran Oct 2012
Perfectly
               curvaceous,
every bit
                    luscious,
dripping
                     Juice,
for us,
                     on the precipice
mutually
                        salacious,

She ate first,

Then I
           joined in
            relishing
                        every
          ­                        b.i..t
960 · Jun 2018
Voodoo moments at dawn.
K Balachandran Jun 2018
curfew relaxed, now-
voodoo in yellow, purple;
"we'll be fine” birds chirp.
K Balachandran Mar 2017
A funky, spirited patch work kite,
acting heroic like a resolute knight,
on an adventure to prove it's might,
across the tallest sky scrapper flew past.

The edifice, the true epitome of pride
of the city center,was clearly aghast!
thought itself as a marvel without rivals,
never would concede defeat even to clouds,
dismissing them flippent,not permanent,
was crest fallen,and dull, at once,  weighed down
quite a bit, then the panic button was switched on.
K Balachandran Jun 2013
Three poems, wet, gleaming and not much left for imagination,
in a deserted beach, collided with a prankster wave, mad after poems,
the lithe one, went up, up, like a kite, the shapely one tickled the eyes a bit,
when came face to face, and the hefty one went down like a rock.
Posted earlier, deleted accidentally
K Balachandran Jan 2017
Enchanting twilight hour-this is!
A Tiger spider of lethal
allurement,she is basking on
this hour's sweet ambivalence,
while,drinking me with her eyes --intense.
To be her mere companion
for the  night,or be the purveyor
of delight to her continuing forever?
A choice  depends upon her
kaleidoscopic  predilections,
than me a hunter in a disguise,
a time traveler from far galaxies.
What we see with our eyes,even has layers of meaning
958 · Aug 2014
Tragic love
K Balachandran Aug 2014
In the gondola bobbing above the waves she sits
like an apparition drenched in  golden morning light
he wishes to elope with, to an island distant
hoping to live there for eons, till they grow very, very old,
defying death that in many forms
they know for certain,
will chase from behind
like a vengeful hound

He sings a barcarole.
to mislead miseries and death,
that fallows, she weeps,
oh! the sufferings love brings to them both!
yet their hearts were too pure, always rejoiced.

The song he sings is on sacrifice for love
on lovers defying conventions
together they ran away to a far away place
but sweet love sometimes brings them
to sudden turns , cruel some times,
they lied down their lives, felled by swords,
for raising the banner of revolt, in the name of love.

From her eyes tears flow uncontrollably,
she sobs, as of it happens to them,
the song, nears it's end,
he is stunned by her overwhelming emotion,
does it portend
something bad?

His barcarole comes to an abrupt end,
what does he see ahead, a volatile crowd,
what is this commotion all about,
would someone please tell?
Are they waiting for the lovers with drawn swords?
Love has found martyrs, unfailingly once more,
Let the waters in this canal in Venice, be red again.
957 · Oct 2012
Beyond the state of being
K Balachandran Oct 2012
The river flowing through limitless space,
milky infinity of the sky-
originates in the cosmos.
Surging luminous consciousness-
that vanishes in to mysterious dark places-
beyond the millenniums of light years,
no one can ever comprehend,
takes other forms or formlessness.

We aren't separate, intricately waved in to one,
we have wings in our beings,
to fly, transcend,
and exist, in formless and abstract state of bliss.

*Pain, darkness and heart breaks, are
just within this plane of dreams,
Beyond this it's only life, and light,
death doesn't exist.
K Balachandran Jan 2012
the night
had many eyes,
and spoke
in sounds that
a kid would be
interested.

the boy was
fascinated
by the secrets
of night.
but they told:
"don't keep awake
or look through
the window glass
you would hear
frightening voices,
and  animal sounds
of many kind.
                        ghosts,
                        wan­der
                       at night.
so, sleep
safe under bed sheets
but night
the enticing witch,
with long dark hair
that cover pretty much everything,
came near the window
and asked
"why don't you
open  the window
and see my garden
full of magical flowers"

the stars were happy
to see the child's face
they smiled,
night
looked happy in this turn,
they spoke in a tongue
understood by one another.

the boy was happy that he has nailed the lie.

"they said, you aren't nice,
eat kids,
i don't believe that now.
they don't know a thing
i love night sounds;
so soothing
like mother's heart beat"

the kid loved to
sleep near mother
listening to the beats
of her heart.
but  they said,
it was bad, he has to sleep
alone, even if he wets bed.

Then
he heard the ghosts speak
in gobbledygook
that  made him
uneasy and confused
when listened
it sounded like the
squeak of the moving  bed.
                             to the edge
                              of the room,
                              he tip-toed,
                              and peeped in
                             through the half closed door.


" a secret world was opened
in front of my eyes"
he later remembered
though the significance
then eluded him.

there was a dreamy light in the room.

two figures, clothes shed,
were in bed,
trying to overpower each other,
with a kind of ***** greed,
that was all he could then think,

then the scene became tense,
one got up on the other,
trying to get in to it,
"ghosts! they eat each other"
the boy thought with disgust.

he tip-toed back
to his bed,
and pretended dead,
to avoid the eye of ghosts,
as he was admonished,


and went to sleep,
to the tune of the lullaby,
the bed moving in unison,  created.
                  OOO
956 · Mar 2015
Poet's secret
K Balachandran Mar 2015
Rain clouds, swirling emotions, crowd the horizon,
mind is taken over by wistfulness, sitting on her throne
of pain alone,the poet cradles her heart, to a trance she slips,
wings to a world, everything is possible----

melting heart's alchemy, builds a metaphoric edifice
she wills to live in it incognito for ever
none will discover this secret unless rarely an intrepid reader
without even knocking on the door comes in
perhaps, if a sweet suspicion arises, when resonating
with it's ambiguous core, and gets  a mute invitation,

the poem now is a lit house, in the pitch darkness of life
two inhabitants with different visions choose to live,
this house of metamorphosis, with increasing rooms
gets more visitors, who come and stay, at times they wish.

times invariably change, visitors swell or become a trickle,
the house well founded in the strength of a metaphor is alive,
around it's fireplace generations would huddle, find solace,
they hear the beats of thunderclaps and songs of pouring rain.
"Never write a poem on poetry; a meta poem is a bad idea" you certainly must have heard those words repeatedly.Still ..it happens
K Balachandran Aug 2012
"***** lover, gentle beast of interior forest,
master of rough rock bed" she asked,
" What are you, a serpent, lion or gazelle?"
*"My love, I tightly embrace, generous to a fault, and swiftly act"
955 · Jan 2012
The Pin
K Balachandran Jan 2012
I wanted, but then
         she was more insistent,
I showed her the pin,
         with it's globular head
and pointed tip-
         evidently keen in intension.
She was bitten by the bug,
        "***** me hard with your pin"
she said,
         i got it,..the blood..
nobody was around that lakeside,
        at that time.

I saw three drops of blood
        on white satin.
I didn't stop,
        her eyes were butterflies
flitting around  white satin,
       and the blood-letting pin.
954 · Oct 2012
Two Poems for a Lost love
K Balachandran Oct 2012
A Heartless act
                                         #
   I let you put your signature
                       in my throbbing heart,
how could you heartlessly erase it,
               unheeding my pleadings and part?
                                                #          ­  


                                                              ­                    **Wistful thought about the one who left

                                                          ­                                                  #              ­                                                   
             ­                                                                 ­      Without a word, she left,
                                                           ­                                       her soft whispers still reverberate,
                                                    ­                                   would she remember our days together,
                                                                ­                                 I realize, her silent presence was my succor.
                                                         ­             #
K Balachandran Dec 2013
In a vast canvas, human mind could never fully conceive,
life is unfolded as a moving picture, a chain of events-
intricately webbed, beyond the capacities of calculation
of even the most sophisticated super computer,
when the story proceeds act after act, note without fail,
a fog, descends from nowhere,  one even fails to notice its role,
it cleans  up the canvas, for the movement  forward,
without any order, dissolves part of the canvas in to the background,
don't expect fire works, thunder or lightening always
the fog that makes the marked parts disappear, keeps its mystery in tact,
there appears a wound somewhere, blood spurt,
then without much tending the mouth of the wound closes,
perhaps a faint scar will be left, but no one will notice,
life and death close each other's mouth in a conspiracy of silence.
952 · Dec 2011
enlightenment by accident
K Balachandran Dec 2011
rushing mad,
she
tripped over
a Buddha stone,
got enlightened.
952 · Dec 2018
Mischief in white night
K Balachandran Dec 2018
White night, frothy light,
Moon wears a mischievous smile;
Take a deep breath, wait!
K Balachandran May 2012
Love brooks no shame,
  total abandon her spirit quickly became;
**a storm, torrential rain
and wet flame, she was amazing!
950 · Jun 2013
Confluence
K Balachandran Jun 2013
"Ripples spread" she whispers,
he becomes unstoppable,
in ebullience they merge**.
947 · Oct 2011
FISH IN POLITICAL WATERS
K Balachandran Oct 2011
Wait a minute,
before envying fish.
Yes, it has unlimited waters
but danger lurks as nets
opening mouths of death
at places unexpected
(Imagine what a fish is
once out of water)

Ending up in unbreakable nets
is the salvation of a lucky fish!
(The humans decided that)
Fishermen toil under star light,
to ensure three square meals
underdog's life  under the  dog star
is glorified as sacrifice,
romanticized as adventure,
a stereotype  without any  grip
on one's own destiny
is sustained for ever
as a myth.

Someone somewhere laughs
all the way to bank
carrying stalks of currency notes
smelling raw fish and sweat.
K Balachandran Jun 2012
Two snow white doves,
fall in mad, mindless love,
refuse even to eat,
*get emaciated, fall dead!
K Balachandran Dec 2012
In this hour,
you are my lover;
purple dawn,
awakened sun,
drifting cloud,
chirping bird,
a silent poet,
listening to it.

In this hour
you are my lover;
moon beam playing,
on waves in water,
the silver  fish swimming
in languid surrender,
deep down under.

Every single moment,
you rule my heart;
song bird minstrel,
beyond compare,
sitting on a perch
in eternity's garden.
947 · Aug 2012
Day dreamer
K Balachandran Aug 2012
lucky ******, this day dreamer,
when one story line goes phut,
he could try another, all day long,
**and then comes  the long day's night.
947 · Apr 2014
Lost love, frozen in time
K Balachandran Apr 2014
He captured their love
in essence, in an intense
moment of joy
within an oyster, in depth
for keeps;
secretly hoped
he would adorn her neck
with it when it ripens
in to a pearl, so brilliant
transmitting the rays of love.
A monument of their
devotion to love.
Days
like flocks of white herons
flew to far poles,
ravens of dark nights went
to far horizons and came back
without fail.
Sea change makes Tsunami
strikes in human lives,
she never found her way back
to their love spot
to bill and coo and dream
as before and drink moonbeams
together for nourishing love
as she promised him before.
The oyster he kept safe
in a secret corner of his sad world;
whenever he touched it
it was a moment of pleasure.
Then it became
an irresistible urge to open it
and caress the pearl,
the reminder of his love nonpareil,
though failed to spread wings.
Eager were his eyes,
for the only consolation left;
but he feels cheated once more
on seeing a drop of tear
the size of a big round pearl
tasting salt of a love gone bitter,
dark and brooding, like her heart,
inside the crumbling oyster of his soul.
Love  loss separation  pain
K Balachandran Apr 2016
In this layered darkness,
deaths are mere numbers
carelessly scribbled on
a blackened wall, unnoticed.

Grief is left out in the open
like orphaned children,
no one bothered to count
as it has no significance.

Isn't it  meaningless
as darkness festers still.

Every war claimed won,
leaves behind heaps of
mutilated corpses, that
in nightmares of living,
get up and walk speaking in tongues
with blood letting bodies falling apart.

So many concealed graves are
camouflaged, hidden from the eyes
of the people,whose time is precious
to waste  for such things as war crimes.


But these blackened graves break
the hearts of countless families,
where laughter dies for ever,darkness stalks.
Faceless loved ones of the killed,
widows and children uncontrollably cry,
cursing their lives  for this walk through the dark.

Every love life is an invisible bound book,
of many stories of pain, recounted in tearful details,
not easily erased, but much more lives are forgotten,
like cattle killed during long season of celebration,
when people eat, drink, and make merry till they faint,
sleep long hours to sedate their consciousness heavy
with guilt for what they do repeatedly, remorseless.
WE unconsciously participate and abet wars by being in the side of violence.Be aware!
945 · Nov 2011
short cut
K Balachandran Nov 2011
your haircut
captivates,
evidently you
know
my love for
shortcut.
944 · Nov 2011
missed spell
K Balachandran Nov 2011
Minotaur man,  
             marries
                      mermaid beauty;
marvelous
            asymmetry,
                      of spectacular
                                    proportions.
944 · Sep 2011
NESTING
K Balachandran Sep 2011
Like song birds ,
that bill and coo
his words
fly straight
in to her heart,
build nest,
heal hurts
that had crusted
and become scars,
with artful touches
of their wings:love.
K Balachandran Dec 2011
Signore matador;
love that  bull,
save it
boo the crowd.
K Balachandran Feb 2014
Wasn't I
the reverberating
moonbeam
that seeped in to
your expectant womb,
in spasms
you wreathed as if
an electric ray
stung you unawares
when you were swimming
in depths of pleasure
seeking that peak to climb
and dive quickly to the surface.
We lay still
side by side,
that moment was
written in our cells
as remembrance,
that was the high point
nature told us earlier in whispers.
From that moment
we started to wilt,
bit by bit
though it hardly did show,
that's the nature's prompt,
when the seeds are well spread.
We are shadows
that dissolve at sun down
though you flowered
again, few times
and I made you remember
the intensity of the
first time,
in the history of our lives as
just plants in other forms
the eclipse starts
as the seeds seek fertile
land to grow
and claim their space.
940 · Jul 2017
The urge to surge
K Balachandran Jul 2017
I am the gushing river's intent,

Somersaulting waterfall's

still moment, just before

it's touch down on the ground.

Blowing wind's sweet desire,

in it's core to carry pollen on and fertilize.

The upward ****** of the wave,

to touch the crust before the fall.

The lovers' cliff hanger moment

before the lips touch and

meld together in the first kiss.

The seed's yearning am I,

to break the crust and come out

to find a place in the sun
K Balachandran Feb 2012
perched atop Pompidu centre,
i view  enchanting Paris, mesmerized;
   a momentary hallucination arises,
**"it's an illusion, fragile like a sand castle"
K Balachandran Jun 2017
Happy aren't you, on what you see here,in  my humble garden?

Life isn't always a garden nice, for some never,one would think.

It would seem a field ravaged by the vagaries of nature,

Even if you try to keep it as the apple of your eye.

Crops get uprooted abruptly,field gets waterlogged,slushy,

Yet you find a far corner nice,clean and dry,a wonder, right?


Sit down there for a while and meditate on such,wonders,

That keep our boat afloat, during the times of uncontrolled floods,

I do that when I am elated, while feeling down and hapless as well.

This world, is created to be good and generates happiness for all.

That's what my dad taught me as we would play hard to get

There and attain goals,without hurting, the  others who compete.

"That" he would insist ,"is the spirit, to be nurtured always"

But then we changed,ideas are now different,we need to speak.

On taming our wild ways,by getting in to the lap of mother nature.

Resolving differences is  a step forward, bad Karmas  left behind,

Every moment of meditation,makes mind a still and clear lake!

"From darkness, lead me to light, I'll gladly share it with others!"

When the light enter in to the sanctum sanctorum of tranquil mind,

What more one would need, isn't living that experience  bliss?
K Balachandran May 2012
I am against finding fault
with the Mongolians,
for feeling incongruously-
partial to pangolins.
939 · May 2014
A tryst in the confluence
K Balachandran May 2014
Wanton lad, tamed a bit by time, is still game for anything,
the girl, sober and cool decided she too for once will fall in line,
the waterfall, a quaint sight, foamy, milky flow gushing,
ecstatic, they melted in  the pool at the  fall where waves  are churning
K Balachandran Oct 2015
Every **** too wants to tell it's story to us loud,
my eyes trained to span galaxies light years away
weren't good seeing the flowers,on weeds for long,
then an unexplained  lightening connecting all cells,
flashes within, I turn back and see things in a new light,
those blue and yellow flowers kept hidden by an invisible
blind,smile with a joy and it brings anew a  vision of beauty.

A flower is a flower, even if offered by a humble ****,
like the words I heard spoken from a sleepwalker's lips,
with a less emphatic tone smeared with dusts of dreams
still I hear it's heart beat, a cadence so exhilarating.

Every rice plant in the field, drooping in the heaviness
of ripened grains, is muted, the wind that caresses both
are equally cool,benign; every **** wishes to explain,
so I won't miss their music, even by some chance did misshapen.
beauty has origin so humble often
939 · Jun 2012
Steppenwolf's girl
K Balachandran Jun 2012
She would sit with me,
holding my hand-
at scary moments;
when i stand on the brink.
Walked beside me with firm foot steps,
when i trudged slushy paths,
and  treacherous mine fields.
Her watchful eyes followed
when i climbed steep heights,
told me all that to be said,
the way she only could,
She brought me in one piece,
out of nightmares,
her gibberish endearments
gave me goosebumps,
none did ever see her cathartic dance
with me at times, i needed her most.

Secret lover she was, i thought
of my haunted soul,
how would i know
about the curse
that made her so, for ever!
Burned out and down
her i addressed each morning,
as if she can absolve me from all my sins.

She would remove hemlock, from my blood,
this life has made me drink,
to corrupt, and eliminate;
inch by inch,
sink my beleaguered ship.
She made me forget a love gone sour,
she'd take my hand in hers and kiss it till i snore.

She soothed my mind finely, more than any shrink,
her peppermint lips tasted, witchcraft and spice.
She was the only one who knew my secret,
at the dead of night, in clouds
when moon stealthily hide,
I change and become a werewolf.


A mad dog of a wish, selfishly
made  me take  that false step,
uncontrollable by my wish, i spoke forbidden words.
The spell was broken once and for all,
all i could remember was her heartrending sobs,

I stand here,
at my lonely window, overlooking-
this city of forgetfulness and pain,
in wicked words challenging me
to meet her again.
O
Remember Herman Hesse's novel "Steppenwolf"--
                                           Lonesome wolf of the steppes
939 · Dec 2011
Masters and Johnson shamed!
K Balachandran Dec 2011
Leafed
through
Masters and Johnson
someone left;
jargon galore
bore.
Masters & Johnson on *** and human loving is the book mentioned above.In place of Ma&J;
substitute  Kinsy Report(****** behavior in human male/female) or Hite report(on male sexuality/female sexuality)
if you please.
K Balachandran May 2012
Just two pairs of  lips won't kiss,
if desire zooms up
from the sea depth,
the waves consume each other
937 · Jun 2017
The substitute
K Balachandran Jun 2017
Away from the nicely lit place,
where guests chatted and giggled,
we sat face to face, in the after glow
of our smoldering new found love,
for quite a while,wondering within us,
how could emotional fireworks blow up
amidst prolonged pandemonium,like this?
Words to us, seemed quite out of place
I just gazed and gazed in to her eyes
she blushed,like a first time kisser.
A faint beam from a distance, made her
emotionally charged  face look all  aflame.
Her nostrils pretty attractive,perfect rings
looked flared,like an animal's,I noticed
that catches a scent, awaited for long;
seemed like she had an urgent need to express.
I had a guess, but her words were distracting,
"I love your fingers"she lisped, my index finger
on the right hand she started to pet,
"It's so enticing"she spoke as if
she substitutes a thing for one different.
as the compulsion was such.
Time stood still, in the middle,but that wasn't a hitch!
I remembered she had to leave, shortly
but the tide of our passions was flooding still,
so we created darkness at will around us.
937 · Jan 2012
love to play
K Balachandran Jan 2012
we started with skittles,
followed by intimate mating games.
K Balachandran Aug 2020
"Want to stop the world,
This moment" she whispered
In to my ear, mantra like.
And it did, before I could even
Get astonished  on  what happend.

A sonorous hum, kept ringing
Deep in my being, then in a flash
Was revealed our sublime bonding
With the  eternal;  we are one
And the music of eternity plays in us all.
K Balachandran Jun 2015
Her breath contained a signature scent, wild orchids secretly send,
a fleeting dab it was, but a swift lightening sketching the sky line
she need not speak, her mere nearness makes his heart spin like a top,
a lance dipped in honey smelling lilacs, hits there with poetic force.

Bleeding love, he is a tree bloomed before season, raining flowers,
why this, her presence or absence, an excruciating ordeal?
no green horn , his love has seen seasons, many a spring and fall.
anything physical has it's limits, this is beyond all comparisons!

The moon beams scorch him, blazing sun loses his power at noon,
poetry makes him wistful, when metaphors speak of hidden yearnings,
stop that haunting song, in a pitch high, difficult to bear it's taunt,
reminding her ,singing about her love, an ambiguous fantasy.
K Balachandran Sep 2014
Love those accouterments, my eyes catch, even if hidden,
though I don't particularly pry for them in any one, such ambiguity
helps to see world as a place, cryptic messages get transacted,
some are very open even, though no one seems to notice,
like this women I go out with, a free spirit, not the type
who keeps few secrets stashed away in a dark corner of an attic.

Enormous wings she has, I was fascinated by their lasciviousness
how light she would feel, when she soars up viewing the scene
from above, blessed she is , an envied celestial being
she would be in all other's eyes."Ever fancied flying on
your own wings?"  I ask her, in a tone so matter of fact
not revealing I know her secret, as if  just to know her feeling
as a flier.But her words make me think how strange this world is!
Just imagine this, she was never aware of her wings! How strange?

Pure white, delicate, befitting to her petite figure, soft yet sturdy,
her wings weren't a reality, how can it be, when I myself am a witness
the wings never came to her notice, so they cannot exist, she argued.

Her wings were thin, white, silver petals, that shines during dawn and dusk
at a midnight moment she levitates, we fall deep in a pit of velvety clouds
but by some quirkiness of reality, quantum physics may explain perhaps,
it isn't there, her wings,though for the purpose of mathematical calculations
it is counted as a reality; in my imagination, she makes me fly with her.
K Balachandran Apr 2016
Dear star, neighbor of my broken, but adamant  singing heart,
All I wished here in this life disguised as a journey man
Trekking through the meandering wild, forest paths,
Extended moors and misty, dangerous marshes,
Was rooted in the faith that we would meet and connect
With our inner fire and get to gather together our band
The cosmic adventurers at large,each in a disguise  willed.

I kept on searching for the parchment, the papyrus scroll,that has
The secret missions of our lives encrypted, in an ancient script.

Yesterday at night a thunderbolt told the truth,like in days of yore
In pouring rain standing on the river side,wonder in my eyes,I got
The glimpse of a cauldron, floating down in the surging current,
That has all the answers we seek all though this journey fantastic.

As if by magic, or is it a plan we never know the karmic reason,
The scroll of papyrus came flying and sat on my hand, like happened
To many before us, I am sure, and I guess, knew nothing to do with it .

Come home soon, let's learn from this scroll of man, who we are
And the cryptic code  will tell us our kinship with all lives around.
Part of us is in the realm of fantasy
935 · Dec 2011
only mantra for redemption
K Balachandran Dec 2011
to redeem
yourself
no two ways;
unfailing one-
unadulterated love.
K Balachandran Mar 2013
From his office desk,
he took lessons on concealing desire,
from her; mostly practicing  movements
of eyes, lips and hands .
Yes, sublimation is poetic, in a world ruled by our own crudeness.It's praiseworthy that he found it good to copy.
K Balachandran Jun 2013
The brightest of stars will die
the most sonorous singing voice will be still,
that day too an indiscreet cuckoo, will sing oblivious,
from its perch and people will listen without fail,
while the coffin slowly moves to the pyre, bit far.
We are pall bearers for those who walked before us,
by and by the sun will go down and shadows will fall on us.
Loveliest of flowers would lose fragrance, turn to dust
There isn't any new road that leads to one's goals,
"war that end all wars" don't believe it, what a hoax!
Keep patience, delve deep in to self, liberate oneself,
see consistence only in change; it never stops.
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