I gently walked
in to the garden of her truth,
a seeker of her soul, I felt blessed
in that very moment.
My girl had an amazing collection of flowers,
they greeted me with smiles
that would never wither or fade.
If I hesitated a minute  to step in here
when her eyes,  fluttering doves invited,
in the language of their own,
I would have been a fool,
who doesn't recognize gold in its purest state.
The impish smile on her lips
tells me, everything she knows,
that her truth is indeed mine
in no way different.
*Birds of same feather,
we share the poesy of our heart
that freely flows and expects nothing in return,
other than a perch on eternity's branch.

He raided
     her hideout,
             found a collection:
           all stolen hearts,
        "What did she do
     with mine?"
    he wondered
     with anguish
           and pain.
    It wasn't there,
      no clue yet.
             * She pretended
                     it was with her
                           all the while.

In her dark, crinkly map of life,
drawn from shady experiences
she courted in her forgettable past,
hope was an island fully obliterated,
not even a dot was left as a mark
nothing identifiable was there, just water.
Perplexed she stood, not knowing
how to reclaim any of it, even if it's in depth.
Then came the mysterious redeemer,
uncaring about his fate;
innocence was writ large on his face,
she roped him in to helping her.

He dived deep in to her deluged past,
dredged enough, from under,
gave her hope a shape and size,
to make an island, that would give her life.
The beauty he created for her sake was unbelievable,
no monument of love would have looked so resplendent!
That's where she brought her new lover over,
a character as shady and vicious as her,
her somersault was indeed spectacular
none had witnessed such a heartless trick, till then!
She forgot the past, the deluge that engulfed her hopes,
the mysterious redeemer and all that.

Inside, the cave claimed them as hers,
a silence strangely suspicious of itself
holding back the urge to explode, whispered:
"Love at your age is dangerous, handle with care,
see its blade gleaming with desires
make sure, you don't hurt each other"

A wing moved, a swishing sound heard
they held breath for a moment,
felt the nostrils fill the strong stench
of droppings of colonies of bats.
But the love pair going higher on the rungs
found it nothing, but an olfactory diversion pleasant
a trigger to get closer, snuggle, deeply inhale
each other's many secret scents, little known before.

Outside the cave light prowled
like a jealous lover jilted by the beloved,
resenting darkness that dances with silence
inflaming  the atmosphere, dense in desire,
--a love intoxicant discovered by him and his girl,

Standing on tip toe, she rubbed her lips to his
match stick and matchbox spoke in tones of hiss
fire emits in maiden's first kiss, he remembered
what was said, on his way to a narcotic stupor
he forgot all the rest, the bats, liquid darkness
the trouble they had sneaking out of houses,
duping the thousand eyes of an Indian village,
in  vigil to keep a ******'s maidenhead intact.

Sun sets with regret.
Darkness of night
fails to appear.

A hitchhiker, he sits in a roadside shack, with a song on his lips,
a jewel, a chance find from the heap of trash, in front is in his hands,
just back after chasing a rainbow, in an aircraft crossing sound barrier,
he found it's made of droplets of water and hopes yet to be fulfilled,
the moments invaluable she gifted to him, he'll never measure,
with anything other than emotions pricier than the costliest diamond,
the moments he gifted her from his repository of secrets in his heart,
takes many births to make it ripe like that, he understands.

He has no apologies for anyone for anything, everything
happens with the mathematical precision, mind sets in motion.
Each moment has something to offer, if one hesitates,
the plate goes on changing hands and someone takes it.

He doesn't stop smiling, sun and moon, with their rare moments of
unequal beauty, are his darlings, he decides what he wants to take
feels the flow on mind, soul, veins and everything moves,
don't you fail to be aware, you are an endless flow, he tells himself,
quantum of energy, in perceptual synchronized motion,
from waves to dancing waves of the limitless cosmic ocean.

Learning to write letter "B"
my little son tries, I curiously see
to get in to its spirit so abstract
through its concrete form,
by finding an analogy-
he could relate well and not forgotten easily.
more like a bee using wax to make a shape it likes
and then seeing it as the hive he wanted to make,
watching him I think, as his cute hands draw
the twin swells forward, with such interest,
eyes for a moment glint, as if to say" yes,I get it"
"Look dad, isn't it just like milk?" he exclaims!

I know 'milk' is  the word he associates
with the source of milk, from the days he was breastfed,
"B'with its shape  fits the bill, to be treated with love
"B" he finds reminds him the milk of mother's love.

A dream, time unspecified-
desires descend to my thought,
standing on the side lines,
avoiding the cacophony of the crowd,
excited about her finesse,
I watch her waltz,
                                 oh! those gliding steps!
On the pool of light, round and round
she circles like an angel possessed,
"Today she sets foot on the next step,
to the future.Years sit on her shoulders
gentle.See her beaming, an oil lamp!"

Tomorrow is waiting outside  this hall,
with bated breath, I am aware,
The cheering crowd's cynosure she is,
their eyes, butterflies, flutter around her,
then my eyes catch this, none else did, I am sure,
a drop of sweat, doused in her fragrance,
a diamond, finely chiselled it looked to me,
glitters on her chin, such a lovely sight,

Her partner in waltz just doesn't notice.
And I thought,"My God! she is gorgeous"
And it falls, the diamond, though so far,
I extend my hand and grab it, what a magic-
I share with her?

Life, a brief sojourn,
In an unknown airport lobby,
Between an arrival and departure.

Lonesome evening star,
Above millions of neon sparks,
Illusions in time.

There is grief in every page staring at him,
now it's the eyes of a destitute, a child
starving for a whole week, totally dazed,
as her family runs for their life through
dark alley ways, to escape the guns firing non-stop
fighting somebody's nonsensical war.

There is grief written in dark letters in every single page.
his eyes stumble and bite dust, refuse to move ahead.

In protest he closed the book abruptly,
sat bitterly brooding for a while,
then an urge made him delve deep
in to his muddled red lake, troubled psyche,
after a swim he hears a voice clearly say:
"How could you avoid pain, marking it separate,
and embrace all the rest that are  your favorites,
when you are the wound and the knife in karmic cycle?

Shedding tears, in no way should make you less,
isn't it the moment one becomes more humane
it sows the seeds of empathy, more than any time,

There is no doorway not darkened by the cloak of death
and not trodden by the firm foot of grief,
as the Buddha once said to a woman,
who wanted her beloved resurrected"

As he reads on, it becomes a race away from pain,
which reigns, all realms of human life;
he gets agitated, calls the author a deviant,
hankering after miseries, one would rather not set ones eyes ever.

"This dear reader, is the life we live in this planet,
a dance of black and white from start to finis,
none here has the right to dictate terms
in worlds real, imaginary and that of dreams,
accept grief as a lead player in this stage, on whom
the progression and movement of the story is pegged"
The author is beyond the pale of emotions, in total balance,
just a compassionate gazer he is, in to the crystal ball.

Yes, there is grief in every page, his painful heart couldn't delete,
even with a stubborn will, it remains, a dark pool of ink growing big,
it makes one sad and happy in turns, transforms  wiser at the end.
Grief in every page, it's the truth deeply imprinted about the  book of life
needs to learn to brace oneself every single step, that's how the story moves, as each act progresses, grief, poignant and cleansing, changes  hearts,
with its saltiness, makes the bread of life tasty throughout.

A
cloud,
         urgently
                       descends,
                                      s  l  o  w  l  y
­                                                           *d    i    s    s    o    l    v    e    s.

Rows of trees burst out,
Symphonies of violet.
High notes of fragrance.

A leggy lass, showing off,
in a short, red dress
in no mood to hold back,
her excessive sass,
rubbed him in a way wrong,
as if by chance.

Everything for sometime
went haywire,
his long held views on girls,
on what should they wear,
the oomph factor
and its upper  limits
the matter of taste in make up,
all those he thought
no focus of men folk
were shaken to the root.

How strange he feels,
when he now looks back
every single piece,
fell right in place,
in his jig saw puzzle,
that reminded jumbled
    all that long.

Sylvie, I am alone here
doing nothing, except
thinking about you,
in a meditative trance.

It's a beautiful feeling Sylvie
strange, I don't miss you,even!
I imagine you as an awakening  flower
of changing colors and petals
You are in a whirl of realization.

Then a lone tree you are,
near a vast,waveless  lake
what an intriguing  koan,
to churn my inner sea.

You're nowa drifting white cloud
all through the kaleidoscopic shifts
I forget to think,what would I be
in relation with your whims,spectacular


Beyond apparitions, I search for  meaning
that  eludes, as it is fathomless

I hear the song of the lonely star, so near
and realize,"I am the light of the burning star"

Sylvie, I can't remember
neither you nor me exactly
or the distant star that sings
a song in the tunes of light years


You were from the forest, Sylvie
I used to be the mountain wind
that once caressed the forest trees.
Sylvie, we are one; the imagination
of the waves of light, beyond time.

Maudlin       mOOn,
    sitting                      all alone,
                                                          in a brooding
                                                           ailien  sky
                                                    ­                   lost
                                                            ­                in  the thoughts  of,
                                                   ­                        t                              
                                 ­                   s                                  a          ­              
                                                  ­                                                r      
         ­                                                                 ­                                  s,





                       ­                             starless sky makes her feel let down,
                                                     not even a piece of white cotton cloud,
                                                    she can't  even wipe the drops of tear
                                                            ­                                                t
               ­                                                                 ­                             h
                                                                ­                                               a
                                                                ­                                             t
                                                               ­                                           
                     ­                                                                 ­                         f
                                                               ­                                                   a
            ­                                                                 ­                                           l
                    ­                                                                 ­                                       l
                        ­                                                                 ­                                 
                                                                ­                                                        
        ­                                                                 ­                                                a    
                                                           ­                                                                 ­    s

  
                                                                ­                                                         d
                                                               ­                                                             e
  ­                                                                 ­                                                               w
­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­   d
                                                               ­                                                                 ­        r
                                                       ­                                                                 ­                 o
                                                               ­                                                                 ­           p
                                                               ­                                                                 ­           s
                                                              
                                             Over hills, dales, woods and grasslands, incessantly throughout the night.

What moon means to me, how would I put it in words?
she has a power over me, yes, she is the cure for all my ills,
when my heart aches she knows, her beams , like rare herbs
just by a touch, makes me forget  my woes,
my beloved is jealous, isn't she just a village lass?
possessing me, to her, is a quaint way to express love.
I just would  laugh it off, she would join, later when she sees her folly.
My sweetheart, saw me climb the stairs of the night,
to reach moon's lovely cottage, just above the hill, our rendezvous,
when we met, I noticed,  her face was raven black
with anger; the moon was smiling at this caper,
as she knew how to make my love laugh, in moments.
The moon sprinkled her silver dust,  moon beams shone on us,
that was pure  magic, who can resist it ?She jumped like a child,
On the sandy river bed my love and I danced
moon, in all her splendor, came down on still water plane,
to play with us, as we bathed together.

her deep purple lips,
sunset's hues enhance the pout;
promised night's invite

Holed up in a bunker, a soldier dreams that the war is over.
It's just poetic justice, a dream for an emerging new dawn.

See, every soldier defying orders, leaves the post and embrace
the one whom he was made to think as enemy in his naivety
they dance in the no man's land, where they plant a rose garden

With them aloud, let's chant,"Bury the guns fellas, war is a tale
told by perverts of the worst kind, just to sell deadly warheads.
that **** happiness, book the culprits that make war, allow them not
to fornicate truth, blatantly like this, deceive the world , gift turmoil."

Power and military acumen to the mighty king
were  the true weapons of conquest in his possession,
til the time marauding made him squirm with pleasure
went on his trail of terror, destruction and subjugation.
Many wars won;no bloodbath to this iron willed one
ever seemed different from any other, victory was routine

then came a rare moment of pause, a sudden bend
in the path of a roaring river,initiating change.

"It's time to put down this blood splattered crown
envy of others, but  weighing me heavily down"
Frenzied, in no time he removed the thorny crown
and every bit that embellished him from head to toe
in naked glory he stood before the mirror, but why
couldn't he look for a long moment in his own eyes?

"All I see is an architecture of muscles, nerves and blood
on a skeletal frame, no different it is from any other
just lingering  further, all one can see is  dead matter waiting
to dissipate in to elements, when the time rings bell"
(words of his Guru, long long forgotten, came alive)
"The bird is  bound to this cage,with elements for a time
in a flash, it would pass,where then is the bird's true abode?"

All the wars won, achieved only the creation of cycles of pain
countries taken over by brute force,women taken as trophy,
loads of gold, diamonds and riches; just footnotes of an epitaph

"To search and find what really matters, that transcends time"
was the famous last words, before the conqueror's renunciation.

She was correcting
one
       by
           one
all the mistakes of her past
with an eraser and pencil
sitting in a bleak room
painted  clinical  white.

Roads keep on teaching us new lessons in violence,
rage is the law ruling the perfectly chaotic traffic
you are left to fend yourself in this murky waters
where killer whales celebrate the success of  blood thirst.

Men who don't properly breath are atrocious on roads
behind the wheels,they jump signals, break rules
as if their poor mamas made them promise to do all this!
a law  to send such cases to yoga class would do good.
But women with bad driving skills as their assets for life
are no less, in making our lives on each journey miserable

In a road where with impunity, suicide squads operate
your poetic musings, will have to stop, to remain alive.

Just then a police car with a roar stop in my front
authority makes me weary but the cop  behind the wheels
a woman, tells me the story of beauty than a cop's authority
on how beauty softens heat that makes muscles go stiff
She springs out of the cabin of the vehicle she is in
making ripples feminine and also ease in the air.

violence of the machines and the minds in controlling,
speed, broken rules and the thrill of chasing criminals
beauty which brings a change where it is out of place almost.

As I drift in to sleep, after a long drive safe,and few stiff drinks
in my dream's window she sits winking,'drive safe all through life'
"Good by my good cop"I whisper "be soft and right,authority is mess"

Kafka was in town,
in disguise he went around
was terribly pleased!

the collective smile
the dale of chrysanthemums hold,
enchants the fluffy clouds!

Scattered, dilapidated
       ancient monuments,
       pieces of a puzzle,
       a mute challenge,
       to someone
       who plays a mysterious game,
       unfathomable to us,

A lone girl in hot pants
      stands perplexed,
      on the incongruity of it all,
      in that vast complex,
      a tourist, with an uncertain interest.

(A curious element,
      introduced, apparently by a child,
     playing a cosmic game,
     sitting somewhere in universe)

Light dims as sun goes down,
     and the scene sinks
     in to an unknown storehouse.

                          a jumble to sort out later,
      by budding time, within an emerging star,
      in an unknown distant galaxy.

We watch silently,
      standing here, in Qutb complex,
      temporary witnesses to eternity's games.
       It looks so  deceptively simple,
       like an ordinary evening
       in Delhi.
            

Blue roaring river, green seething sky;
everywhere he follows her on the sly
fully undressed in less than a minute,
she jumps in to the river and dives down

a woman's secrets in water gets a life
the protector in him is instinctively aware
not every action is prompted by a thought,
she finds him there, a fish in the depth,

getting in to her, twisting his tail, through dreams, 
of recurring red blooms of desire, fertility rites.

Alone stands an empty wine glass
dreaming the rich  grape harvests of the past.
As it gets filled with the wine of memory
to the brim, he stealthily starts to drink
from the very first moment lost, with
a fervency, only a thirsty one trapped
in the maze of past alone will display

A voice whispers
my name like
the swish of silk,
at the dead of night.
When I broke away
from sleep's long,
sweet embrace,
those nails
painted blood red
seek my hungry skin
that craves for
her tantalizing nips
on every bit of its spread.

moonshine overflows
from night's infinity pool.
rare are such delights.

The master asked the disciple for a fish,
but he didn't like the idea of casting a net (has his reasons)
he stole a river altogether and brought to the master's abode, cool,
but not found him there and learned he was taking bath in the same river.
"My thought took a wrong route, another lesson from the Guru to be simple"
He promised the Guru to be spontaneous, the next time   (the usual excuse)
but what really happened, where and why, you need to contemplate.

Tall avenue trees, so lush, standing either side of the road,
heads bend inwards playfully, to touch foreheads together,
were  in a blooming contest, a riot of colors wherever one turns,
no wonder, remember, this is Bangalore, the city of countless gardens.

The noon sun eager to  join  the mirth, is generous with light,splash
over the flowers of many hues, violet, red, butter white, yellow,
and the many shades of green of the thick crown foliage make,
with a rare delight, never displayed, in any other time of the day.

A midday lull pervades, very few people on the street,he was
relishing the mood, smiling to himself,but the lone girl, full of cheer
walking towards him, decided to respond, with equal fervor,
just then, a sudden wild wind shook the trees, as if it was pre -arranged
causing a shower of pollen,drenching her all over, she stood stunned,
in response he ran forward, hoping to rid her of the profusion of pollen,
what  at that moment she needed was a hug; he gave it to her quick,
they stood looking eye to eye, certain dreams happen in broad day light
even forgetting that one is awake;before they realized they became
day light robbers, robbing each other's heart, in an idyllic moment,

Lone crane fly crying,
chasing mates went awry,
from despair swinging.

the moment I met you,
stood in dismay,
found a lot of
beauty incomparable
to be thieved from you
               I became  a kleptomaniac
                in an instance,
would you believe?
even if sounds  fantastic
understand the compulsions
of my heart,
see  how love turns and twists one
and changes beyond recognition.

stealing your heart
was a masterly heist
the peak of my expertise
that brought me face to face
with my newly acquired talent.

but with such ease
I could rob your glowing heart.
I can't contain my happiness
and got goose bumps all over.

and at last, I sneaked
in to this long corridor
leading to your soul,
to take away the best
you had in display, there.

and what did I see?

my own eyes-
in multiple images
looking at me intently.
Your adoration and trust,
humbles me and touch
so deep, it's incomparable
I stand here
disarmed,
in full surrender.
        O

"Department of space' a signboard shouts aloud
to my perplexity of that moment, it adds
before mind's eye I see the great enigma personified
and try to reason,"Oh! fathomless vastitude, mostly dark
what need you've this quaint building, that before you
would be a frightened Indian bride at her first night?"
Yes, the puny little "department" is not all space, it implies,
has a purpose limited than how it sounds: grandiose!
one doesn't even has any inkling,
what all these means, but a scribe, I have  a thing
with all these seeming inanities, that's the funny part.

Marveling it's esoteric architecture and mulling over
the concept of bringing the limitless to the minuscule,
just enough for a department of government to deal with,
I wait for bus, a personification of impatience, curse the circumstances,
fear reaching late for my appointment, with an eminent scientist.

Fuming against the haphazard, public transport system in this town,
while appreciating the red brick architecture, acts contrary
and make me a bundle of nerves.
Then she 'happens', that's the word
wasn't I looking for an escape from it all?
Freeze, i did, she, to be precise,  her figure was
nothing less than  a show stopper,one should admit.

Her dress, gladly left nothing to guess, and those dark eyes
from the other end of the bus stop eagerly sought me
as if I am assigned officially to pay all her pending bills!

From all round swarms of humming birds, eager admiring eyes
were chasing her, the moment  was an explosion of chrysanthemums ,
for me,  she and I , two spirited dancers on a stage,
(a scene fashioned in my mind, unfolded there ,it seemed)

Am i not to honor commitment as a responsible journalist?
an appointment was fixed with the nuclear physicist,  
with great difficulty it was done, on the way my car conked,
at the nick of the moment, i am here eagerness and anxiety
combined , fighting many demons at once, give me a break..

Yet here i am, finding time to fall in love, like yet another accident,
how fickle is my mind, I'd make any one submit
in an argument, but this red, ripened lips,are alluring
infest my thoughts, those dark eyes plead for love of course,
makes me feel like running to her, true love  may appear even here.

at that moments of dilemma I was another Buridan's ***
wants to do both but can't do one even;
and precisely then  my cell phone rings,
on the other end the nuclear scientist sounds apologetic,
my heart started to pound in my ears, does she want to cancel
the appointment for the day, postponed to another day?
I didn't listen her words, those eyes were scorching me alive.

A boulder, black granite, love oozes  in its core,
but none would believe the truth, it slept,
hearing the foot steps of passing millinnia,
birds and butterflies on their journey
took it as a shelter and sat in its shade,
beasts sometimes, sharpened their claws on its corners,
big cats bit it, in a bid to make it submit and surrender,
warriors in their frenzy to eliminate enemies
sharpened their war axes and swords on it.

None saw love pulsating inside,  even without a heart,
or asked it how it felt, when treated
like just a stone without future.
It had love in many depths, it never regretted,
being a stone, formed with  ingrained lack of love,
the journey became tough, as it just began.

It needed to bear it, make the dark core melt by its
acquired sensitivity,  through experiences-
it comes across; every bird, bee and butterfly was its teacher,
in its longing to break in to grains of sand and fertile earth
begin a new cycle, that'll take many millenniums.

One day a blue bird sat on its shade
looked at it as if it heard something and asked"Are you listening?"
heart of the stone was overwhelmed, "My dear we were soul mates,
I never could imagine, you 'd come searching for me-
in my cursed state.Sing, so that your song could melt me to life"
And she sang about billowing clouds and copious rains,
love, its magic and songs frozen in stones.

The stone melted when love poured over it,
it was a new beginning; stone to fertile earth.

Don't walk,
protected
by shadows
wearing masks,  
                         when streaming light,
                         gleaming sword drawn,
                         comes to annihilate,
                                                     ­     evil shadows
                                                         ­ with vengeance;
                                                      ­                               *where would you hide?

1.Forgone
learned languages:
silence speaks!
#
2.Forgot logistics;
transcendence
rings bell.
#
3.Transgressed limits
accidentally;
how fortunate!
#
4.Dense darkness
highlights
the starlight
#
5.Expected silver
got gold;
dissatisfied!