her
                smile-
                     a flower
                              spreads petal;
               i thirst
               for honey..

An eager honeybee,
hovers over a book of poetry.
Ah! sweet subtlety.

inky dark sky,
decides to hide moon and stars;
siding with the thieves!

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.

You are a songbird,
at night shift,
on the branch of my tree.
I am ever ecstatic,
in documenting body music;
the time is ripe for our concert,
we are intoxicated, drunk with the vintage wine of lust.
"No combination could be more perfect"
I hear you whisper poetry in my ear, inebriated.
Let us satiate-
the prompt of our divine longing
before this night leaves us behind.
Yes, you are right,
**I am Omar Khayyam thinly disguised.

someone had shut my window
i opened it.
when i kept it closed,
someone fancied
keeping it open.
-i want it shut.
i am glad
the window is there
either opened or closed
**what time is it?

Each day dawns as an unrehearsed
new act of a scene in the play of love,
that continues with you,
terribly shaking my heart,
though the plot thickens day by day,
when our silent love takes new turns,
who knows which way it goes---

Never did we speak one to one,
how could one, when it's an anathema
for a boy and a girl to hold hands in the open!
with you sitting there in your balcony,
a full bloom, nah, now a tempting ripe fruit,
as soon as you are back home after
the day's engagement, at school and piano class,
all eyes for me to come to your eyeshot.

I start to play exclusively for your balcony
from my front courtyard or backyard
as mom's movement and situation demands.
I do it in ways ingenious, I invent at the moment,
to capture your heart, I know what it wants
still in jitters, not knowing you approve or not,
signalling in that sign language you developed
to dupe our horde of relatives, already suspicious.

Every sunset see you and me silhouetted,
in eager expectation of seeing or showing
a boy's life here is only longing and yearning
don't know what results from this lesson of pain,
a punishing schedule,driven by hormone rush

Non stop time-space tango.
Five senses twist and turn stories!
Retreat to greater time.

The evidences all
were strewn all over
the place of crime;
visible to the naked eyes
as if posing a challenge
to the pretentious detectives.


But the adamant
forensic expert on the spot,
sporting thick rimless glasses
wouldn't notice
any of those nonsense!
Those eyes fell
precisely on an evidence
that could have been there,
within the first five minutes,
and constructed what he could
out of those evidences.
(Whatever that means)

Every river remembers summer with anger
though, in all other times every  memory is flooded with water.

To wind I lend my ears,
her prank instantly cheers, then
on our separate ways.

1.Thorn
A thorn is nothing
but a wish stubborn,
with an earnest point
to make a deep impact.

2.Her Reality

The core of a nightmare
broke loose, is she,
dislocated in a space
on broad day light
ready for someone
with a yen, for day dreaming.

3.A borrowed Deja vu

He suspects his love life, in vain
is piece of a well orchestrated ordeal,
of some one regaled much in pain;
just a cosmic 'cut and paste' job!

4.Tiger's aesthestics

"A match perfect, for me,
you are a befitting target"
growled the greedy tiger,
as he sighted the gazelle.

5.Unique

Day and night act
so well as the opposites,
yet they complement
ad infinitum,without
any complaint,
and sans even a trace
of pride or  jealousy.
Everything, even those
looking diametrically
opposite to untrained eyes,
are uniquely meaningful.

That alluring cloud, just a whiff of vapor
                      that slowly dissolves.
Night has only specks of light
             sprinkled in smoky darkness.
Life is a murky  lake with
              swirling undercurrents.
Love is the only boat,
      that would float and ferry us safe.

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

Alone it sits there,

intensely brooding
on how this evening
would turn out to be;
an elegant, gleaming
thirsting, ****** wine glass
without a drop of wine.

She stupefy truth
with her finely crafted lies
that stand head held high
without even
the slightest sign
of embarrassment.
She waters the seeds
with acid, deliberately
even manage to get kudos
for her 'kind intervention'
Her 'collected venom'
in real, is a counterfeit concoction
more deadly than the real,
that attracts unlimited attention
and the loudest rounds of applause,
for it's new shade of blue
when displayed with special effects
for all to view.
In her presence, fairness loses its meaning
foulness like her, usurps it, makes its own,
becomes the reigning queen!
Whatever she does
has a dark beauty,
even the true angel of evil
would greatly envy her.

Bamboo shoots, cooked in oil,
we munched were delicious. The tender love,
we shared, in our sojourn, in the lodge
deep inside the forest, had complemented it.
She was a playful tigress, transformed
by the atmosphere, with a manifested ****** interest,
different from her usual demure self.
One thing led to another, we fed each other,
heady vintage wine, from our mouths,
till we found out, in such circumstances,
love would make us do things,
we never imagined we could.

The sketch she made depicting us,
as two wild elephants, in musth*
rummaging the bamboo grove,
eating shoots to our fill,
reminded *Shiva and Parvathi, his consort,
taking the form of elephants
indulging  in every possible play amorous,
culminating in the birth of Ganesha,
the cute God, elephant faced,
the remover of obstacles.

Love drunk the song  we both sung,
was one of innocence.
The booming wind in bamboo leaves,
suddenly changed tune, sounding like ankle bells.
Dense, dark, green womb of forest
and the flow of wind above, like a blood stream,
kindled the prenatal memories, from deep down,
and as the background score,
cacophony of unknown birds of many feathers.

We swam in the lukewarm water,
of a day so different, with joyous abandon.
A voice mysterious, spoke in my blood stream:
"Be like birds, wind on bamboo grove, elephants seeking what they want,
the love you share would bring, fantastic results,
the world, would look far more simple,
life and death cease to be riddles, just natural,
shadows vanish, no fear remains in deep caves,
everything gently flows, like a clear river to the ocean"

Shining chariot of the king you are, I am the sprinting horse,
the diabolic king has met with his fate, we two freedom seek,
I am a ******* rider, the shining star of the rodeo nights,
you are an ambling horse, moves the way my mind wishes to dance
no animal activist can ever find any fault in our magical pact,
I do bull riding, barrel racing, tie-down roping and all the rest,
an unbeaten team we are, life for us has been a blast so far
you are my Juliet and I am your Romeo, right from the first sight
against the wish of the whole ****** world, that keeps snarling at us,
happily united in a suicide pact, no one can in anyway object,
when the passion filled moments cherished, turn to mere mirage,
why live, life is but a dream, let's wake up at last, fall dead.

A serpentine beauty, lips painted
       with psychedelic poison-
    is soul kissed; wanton kisser,
hides a stiletto behind his back.

In the backwaters, as waves lapped on a canoe violently rocking
we kissed;  two eager lovers quickly turning in to winged creatures,
eyes shut, she crushed her malleable ******* against my chest,
we took this journey through the labyrinth of love leading to
the gallery of ****** artifacts, arranged in progression, in our minds.
Her lips swelled up and took mine so deftly in to their control,
and in some moment when our languid eyes opened unawares,
the kiss , a golden fish swished in to the water, gleefully swarm around,
the gathered backwater fish , viewed astonishingly this rare species.

Gently he'll take her in his arms,"Öh! my precious orchid"
he looks deeply in to her eyes, classic lover style, it still works,
that was the hope he finally clung on,her mother would murmur
something away from  his ears,to be careful, he didn't get her point.

her eyes were bright and deceptive, his Waterloo,those two were,
eyelashes always would flutter, as if she is afraid, he would abduct her,
how romantic, his heart jumps up at once in delight,
a shipful of bounty returning after the hunt of a lifetime!

"Could I call you anytime, please let me, even if it's too late"
she would plead, too cute,then pretend dejection, ah! he  likes it
as if he'll deny it and she can't bear that thought, her heart'd break,
he'd say" Ẅhy not, I'd anticipate your call all night"

he would stand sentinel,that night, wait for her call
hell, she won't call, not a day!, still can he go and sleep?
he'd meet her with bleary eyes, the day after so apologetic,
she'd get offended at his disheveled , mad look.

"Aren't you my heart's poem, then come to me little more decently"
asking him  to keep awake all night, this wasn't her speaking!
"Come to coffeehouse, sharp at  four" she is curt this time.
then, someone will come and inform, "She won't  make it today"

And when things get muddled, she comes running
and pretend **** apologetic,"Sorry, a fool I am, to hurt you, dear"
never did he tell her what she really was, never asked her to *******
she was a shipwreck, spectacular, rescue was someone else's business..

A melancholy ***** we came to adore
in mournful tone, finish the tale abruptly
and sob, uncontrollably;
"Memories of my melancholy ******"
including "Love in the times of cholera"
are now part of our folklore, this land
of cashew groves and banana plantations
in  Indian landscape, far far away from Latin American shores.

Her lascivious days are over
death visits the house of love, blood splattered
and a haunt of dark happenings, that begets children with tails,
shame, honor and secrets creep out of manuscripts.
Gabo is no more, no more"Living to tell the tale"
the Part Two, promised before.

Gabriel Garcia Marquez, after three false starts
goes to his final abode for rest, now.

A coded manuscript, written in
in classical Sanskrit,
(the language of all divine texts
of Indian sages of yore)
scripted by the mysterious gypsy,Melquiades
predicts the wipe out of Buendia clan
of five generations

Torrential rain and deluge engulf Macondo,
ends "One hundred years of solitude".
Gabo you point towards east
what is the answer to the conundrum of Buendias?

In Mexico city
they were preparing to take  Gabo to his last ride
to the origin of all magical realism he'd return

In a land far away,
yet exactly the same landscape as Latin Americas
we grieve his death as that of one of our own
Gabo, in past thirty years, you mysteriously taught us
to discern the magical realism of cosmos

When I tell the story of this fragile butterfly,
possible, it becomes autobiographical,
I come across larks of the sky, sharks too,
how lucky to see you, fleetingly- a swan at large, so lovely!

remove
your
beguiling
nose stud,
               I am
               going
               crazy !

1
*In the masquerade of a poet
he acquires secret wings,
becomes equal parts real and unreal,
treading the twilight zone.
He still is an apprentice
with the conjurer,
incomparable wizard
who never stops amazing
being the anarch of slight of hand,
the illusionist grand,
we in the flow who swim or drown
in the river, known  as life
that none ever defined the way it really is.
2
Inside his cubicle
transformed to a scribe by a curse
when he coveted it, was a boon
he is real, all  his magical powers robbed
by the day light, realities of life
he is grappling with news
that make  his heart grow weak.
He is now a sobbing poet within,
firmly  handcuffed to a pact strict,
only to write reports, that's his might
anything of beauty he couldn't  escape,
its all pain in forms unimaginable
most of it man made, even famine.

A life swinging between a hope
to come in terms with
the uncertainties of the ebb and flow
that breaks his heart bit by bit,
and facing realities stark that drives a knife
has become the rut, he wouldn't escape.

Dawn peeps through the window blind
he has lost meaning for day and night  long time back
when this double life, has trapped him in this pen

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

Spreading dense night, dark robust forest,
growing relentless, virtually unstoppable;
it went on for some time after the sun surrendered
we were stranded in it's cloudy  thickets, thorny bushes.
Then came white butterflies, waves after waves after waves,
from the silver moon's abode  they descended so spectacularly.
          We were overwhelmed, by this sudden invasion of beauty,
that swayed my mind, made it fly high weightless like a feather,
couldn't even notice them eating up the fear of the forest altogether.

A fluffy winged adventurer seed
sanctified by the halo
gifted by morning sun's kind rays
slowly descends on its parachute.

Contrary to the belief,
                              a dying star doesn't feel pain,
                        the fire in its core sings a song
                                        of liberation, all along.
                                                in a galaxy distant
                                                         ­ it simultaneously takes birth
                                               Death is not the end of a star,
                                                           ­  yet another beginning it is!

This gentle forest, you lead me to, taking my hand, brings deja vu,
beauty in waves after waves invades, consciousness dances in pleasure,
profusion of colors, bird tweets, whisper of leaves,medley of fragrances,
mind swims in magic waters, when your lips touch mine, I faint.

A girl sitting at the table next
restless, was slyly eyeing his pie,
kind of cute, like in childhood
it sure was, yet seemed a ploy
to gatecrash in to his privacy,
and give company, as it pleased her.
"The pie is blackberry if you fancy it ,
I''ll be glad, you can have it all,
I know there is no other left"
He played Mr.Nice guy,solicitous,
but behind that face of his,
was the arrows of light, hitting him,
from those  sparkling eyes,
vying with each other, to build up
a halo chamber,  almost visible  around him!

Blackberry pie is no big deal, of course
he knows a whole hillside with
bushes full of ripe, succulent ones,
any day he could have his fill, raw
or as a flaky crusted pie backed by his mom.

But those sparkling eyes that in a moment
made him build castles in the air
had an electric appeal, he can't ignore.
The offer she said, was irresistible,
not a type she is who snatches,
dainty stuff from someone just bumped in to
"But the way your eyes did glint,
when you looked makes me ask
:haven't we met somewhere before?"

"There is a fickleness in this,love at first sight,
do you need to fall head over heels?"
a little voice within, that has a problem
in such things, kept raising a doubt.
"But without a first sight,there can't be love
may it be fickle, we'll tackle it the way it goes"
replies another,who seems to care for love.

Above cliffs a condor soars.
Through its eyes I scan the world
My inner being in flight.

A sunlit narrow path cleaving  
       overgrown green hedge, both ways,
such exhilarating surprises, it too can offer,
        but would one expect, in the first place?

On my track, I stand arrested hold that flower,
                that made my heart jump, in my front,
felt being washed inside out
                 by a kind wave, transformed.

The flower, romancing the sun
         still is on it's branch,alive
didn't feel the temptation
        to pluck it like many times before.

Even the beauty's name is unknown to me,
     just another hibiscus,amidst her  cousins,
"I love the one next to her, the purple one"
    said a female voice, a wayfarer like me.

Standing by me, she adoringly looked at her favorite,
     I had no hesitation to accept it, like mine.
no ranking makes sense, each has
      own quicksilver tongue, if you 'd listen.

"Look at you! how pleased you look
    I love the folks, that adore flowers!"
she sounded like a skylark, hands of
  evening sun caressed her, we are kindred spirits.

"You have wide eyes like girls,
    eyes seeking beauty reflect it"
we held hands like childhood friends,
   long lost, looked at each other's eyes.

Isn't it the feeling one try to capture and define,
       when trying to say what poetry makes to happen?
it's there, a tangible feeling, if you know what it means,
   on our separate ways we went, gifting what to keep for ever.

from a dry split pod,
a lot of winged seeds explode;
a future forest

Your kiss
stirred
my dull
         roots,
brought a
   a sheen
all over my
  being;
see it clearly
in my eyes
that borrowed
two stars
from some
  love struck 
               galaxy
I'll be known
                widely
as your
"haloed lover"
hereafter.
*
      *
           *
your saliva
tasted like
fine wine,
fermented
moonbeams
added with
rainbow
just enough for fizz
'patented
just for one'
I heard the whisper
of your eyes.
I'll tightly wrap
my arms around you
to keep
the formula a secret,
strictly between us.

I am still
in intoxication
after all these
cycles of lives