Susan is emotions blossomed in wrong season,
never her eyes let me estimate the true depth of her feelings
I see them apologize candidly  in the next moment,
I try to understand her compulsions.
In fleeting moments I get a glimpse of her
emotional education totally gone wrong
creating within her wrong time flowering.

Susan is passion, but struggles for right expression
her panting and chanting amorous nonsense
is her prop to climb stairs with me, but she never holds my hand
helplessly I watch her fall down from the top stair,
and writhe in shame and guilt, I try to alleviate, in whichever way I can.

Susan's messed up garden of childhood is a secret
that seeped out from the fables and legends she would recount
I curtain it off, when we lay cuddled and see dreams
That frozen December, I hate, that comes as an uninvited guest
regularly in our lives, we try to forget
I wake up dreaming her step with me in to  
the warm garden of spring, and see her sleep smiling.

Threatening demons prowled in hoards
in the mysterious outback of her psyche;
knowing this,she decided not to be perturbed,
tamed them, one by one with poetic mantras.
Now, they recite the chants of forces she invokes
as soon as she feels like going in to a cosmic trance.

Your mind, I can read through the mirror of dark eyes,
no iris reading technology this, an ancient practice of lovers
disagreement creeps in to your naughty mind
don't I read it's alphabets and words?
you still smile and act amiable,
just to mislead me and  hide your war tactics.
this little game of ours has a subtext of lust,
in bed we translate it to a physical duel
half moons of my nails etch  blood mark all over  your back
your sharp teeth, give quick bites, lips nibble my earlobes,
love play quickly become a rough and tumble game
when you are the naked aggressor sitting above, I the victim,
moving up and down, we inch forward to culminate in sweet thunder,
you have your sweet revenge, my lover, like in times before,
dissolving your disagreements, in my willing surrender
to your charm,  warm naked body's entrapment, every time my dream

"Ähoy" a sudden call, that speaks so much ; looking up I see,
a face familiar for ages,up above the dark, sturdy Palmyra tree,
thirty feet high, amidst  the lush canopy of thick green leaves,
his toddy tapper's gear, unchanged for generations, around his waist,
just a breast plate to protect from the rough trunk, while crawling up,
a broad smile, time couldn't wither, on that countenance.

An ancient avatar, he jumps out  from a favorite story book,
of  childhood, he animated a lot of memories of those times,
walking through the narrow path among trees,a loud "Ähoy"
would  unexpectedly greet dad and I,  from where the wind reigns,
unaware there is world above, ready to reach us, any time,
cut in to our animated talk on atlas moths with broad wings,
or amazing things, Malabar squirrels that fly from tree to tree.
"Ähoy! Raman!how'z toddy flow today? All fine?"
his voice booming  from below, dad would cheer our friend;
more like talking to the wind and trees, pleasantly surreal.

"Ähoy"makes all fall in place, Raman hasn't changed a bit,
time flows only down here, up there  it seems standing still,
my little village too has a trap, I suspect, time has no way to escape,
if it makes the river languid, no, Raman seems not to mind!
"Master" the old familiar endearment, "Ẅhat's the matter?
from here, above the clouds, I can see those brooding eyes,
The city, shall I say took all those smiles, you would gift
as a village boy , going to school with your chums, this way"
I know what comes next, fresh toddy served with love as an antidote,
right here under the tree, a brew that  brims with memories
of many guilty pleasures of adolescence,can I ever reject?

No worry lines on that gentle face, Raman is ageless, cool,
we sit on a pre historic rock, that extends  seating arrangement,
in to container, he made with braided Palmyra leaf,
Raman pours limitless love that for others would look like toddy,
to me this milky liquid, is a magic potion tapped from memories,
of a past that I thought has winged  away from me but still here.
I gulp it  and get transported to a time, I don't want to forget,
Now the wind, I can hear hums an old haunting tune,familiar
In mild intoxication, we chorus the wind's song on Palmyra leaves.

1
Pitch dark night.
He stood atop
the tallest bell tower
in the city of his heart,
insanely pleading
to the starlit sky
to come down
and kiss his brow,
shocking him to the core,
he saw two evil eyes staring
above the shadow
of two dark vulture wings,
just in a flash
abruptly he left
trying to erase the moment
from memory altogether.
For the first time
in his short unhappy life
he learned one has to be patient
till the wings grow
by self acquired magic.
2
Moonlit night
foamy waves of soft light
splash on the shores of tender hearts,
standing alone on the village green
he waited for the angel,
he dreamed to descend
firmly believing she would be there
the moon suddenly grew bright,
the breeze brought
the scent of incenses
he heard bells sonorously ring,
was it real or an enchanting dream?
rustling of soft wings told him
about her presence
for a divine moment he thought
he saw her gentle eyes
flashing quickly at him;
a moment of grace
like a huge dew drop
enveloped him for ever.

Copy right

1
   **My dad suddenly walks in,
  as if nothing has happened,
   and he hasn't gone anywhere, leaving
six of us behind, notwithstanding-
all these years of absence and
pain unimaginable that changed us all
to see life in a new light that gets dim
without the lamp he held in front of us.
       A shadow transparent gets in to the room,
he stands near mom sitting inside her cocoon,
lost in an ancient evening, pensive, forlorn
as if she feels an absence, tangible right there.
Dad's absence stands silent, perhaps
curiously looking at her with loving eyes
that's how he was, after a period of absence.
The pantomime, tears my sense of reality
                   in to shreds, I sit upright,
with my hands pressed against my palpitating heart.
Do I see it really or hallucinate him looking,
wistfully at the coconut groves dancing
beyond the extending rice paddy billowing,
in front of our farm yard, sleepy these days,
for a moment I think time has
taken liberty to flow back
and everything is right there
where we'd love it to be.
             2
The absence was a hollow,
in the middle of everything,
breaking the mirror of reality
in to smithereens, the dark space,
in between sprang-
opening its mouth to swallow,
wherever one turned,
it stood in front defiantly,
posing a challenge at times,
it came behind hollering noiselessly,
bringing unbearable memories,
from moments hard to forget
spent in his company,
in my palmy days of yore.
                    3
Absence was fire within,
that needs no fuel to burn,
flood waters without a source,
that can wash away,
till one becomes nothing;
then little by little,
one comes in to terms with the absence
and at last it too is laid to rest,
and that eats a part of the soul,
causing bleeding in slushy green,
transparent white and blobs of sad black.

Her red luscious lips,
 repeat his name in whispers,
          such exquisite torture!

Blood, now boils quick, it's intense, he is in fire,
on her every touch, there is a special anesthetic
a poisonous binge, causes tidal waves go berserk
in his stream of blood,tangible effects of arousal results,

body now is a vast field,  goosebumps sprout like spotted
magic mushrooms after a night long rain and thunderclaps,
the salacious intent of the scent of woman,wafts,
singing pheromones perfectly rhyme with *** center
of the brain, "Ï am addicted to tarantula's love"
his whisper sounds ominous, tarantula casts her net

Serpentine vines tangle on wild trees,in natural history
museum premises,trees fall down and rise, create leaf beds
dark enclosures where lovers escape the detection of radars,
explore,the unbridled ascent of carnal wishes,as if a permit
is ingrained in the scent of exotic orchids wafting in the wind,
allowing the wild run of instincts, a dam burst, here cobras prowl,
tarantulas, at a quick look are exposed ******* with dark *******,
on eight legs the desire stands,waiting for the next ***** lover,

She was watching an insatiable pair of tarantulas in elaborate
mating rituals,they move inside, cracks and burrows,concealed
by the cover of darkness,they come out,to eat the night flowers,
exhaling ****** hunger; their dark, devious fingers, touching, caressing
finding each other's intimate  parts has a dark frenzy...
he saw the blue glimmer of a concealed weapon,smeared on by amour,
as they tumble in bed,she flashes her most venomous smile,
like the quick move of the sharp end of a bodkin,
Tarantula's love affair,when it all are over, her lover's end comes near.

Swimming **** in the river,
a forgotten art since childhood;
he and she redeemed it,
during their love's fervour,
tasting fire.

Fire and water, they played with,
after every dive, her gleaming lips,
met his sun blazed pair,
a subdued thunder
exquisitely shook their bodies
uncontrollably for moments
right from the deepest root.

Giddy with pleasure,
her eyes tightly remained closed,
but lips drank sun
from his lips avidly
without stop.

She felt her body taut,
like guitar strings,
ready to sing.

What he thought was this:
my girl is a red hibiscus flower,
that would bloom, fold by fold,
when tantalizing fingers of desire,
caress the buds,
gently first and then passion's currents
sow goosebumps all over.

She is a vine,
that gets him entangled,
her hands emits sparks.
Flames on her lips,
seek downward path,
and lights the unmitigated
embers of *****.

With known, knowable and knowledge,
I paint my picture,
nebulous ocean of unknowable baffles,
but I know, I am that.

Sliminess of the mermaid, makes me come alive, strange?
don't blame me for this, that you would think an aberration,
I've long forgotten the human logic, from the moment I realized,
fate has joined me with her, the mermaid, a  longing unfulfilled for long,

This sensual yearning sans prospect of consummation, baffles others
but not me, life has many dark alleyways that go nowhere. 
Aren't we illusions ourselves?  Viewing sun's intense ways and moon's
hesitant tranquilizing gaze, through water's blue buffer is narcotic.
From under water only a  cool simmer , different experiences,
fish fin caresses, guilty pleasures of carousals with masked shark beauties,
underwater world has no pains, ever heard about
stilling pain by swimming long distant nights?
*Or is it because, I don't see my own teardrops shed underwater?

the last guy seen
on television-
the happiest
on earth.

Falling snow speaks in
An unknown foreign language;
Winter exiled us!

Lone star in the firmament of my dark night of pain,
tell me where did my beloved go leaving me behind,
used to repeat, every minute, can't live without me near her,
but as twilight fell and i came running to our rendezvous
what i see is the empty seat, she used to sit waiting for me
and sing, when sun goes down and breeze caresses her softly.

Moonlight, sheathing the earth,
lost its heart to a shining smart satellite,
"moving speck of light, inching forwards infinity,
alas! our love lasts, not even a cosmic minute"

An age old chair, in seasoned teak wood
carved, a perfect work of art, nothing less than
a masterpiece, and a  reminder of so much past,
sat regally before our wondering eyes, tempting
on the central court yard of my  ancestral home,
where generations lived.
                               Wanting to sit like my grandpas of yore
I found a carpenter, perhaps the last one for this work
who understands the air that surrounds the chair.
We discussed the concept,
design and the kind of wood
it has to be  made,to create a replica
to bring back the grandeur of times past.
But then, found  not an easy task  it is
"Do you deserve it ?" the bearded
carpenter, was so blunt in his skeptic stance!
He  puzzled me  with his questions
Yet we were keen to give it a try.

The adamant carpenter relented
after many sessions of questions
and answers, perhaps my passion
did the trick, his eyes made me believe.
He promised to make me a chair
(The kind none would dream in this age)
as if it's a mission divinely assigned,
"You need to change a lot to deserve it"
he insisted, suggests a series of
purification rights  "for your confused soul"

"To fit  in to a chair like this , fulfill
all it's  demands"in my ear he whispered
as if I am the chosen one for an ancient  throne.

An  antique chair shaped by the imagination
of my distant ancestors, now changes me
and without slightest  resistance I submit;
would I ever know what is happening?

You are
incipient
brilliance,
I eagerly covet,
unendingly
ebullient,
seems to be
in boiling point,
evidently
prurient,
an unfailing
euphoriant,
for me
a constant
element of
wonder
day and night,
But yes
I must not
forget this;
you aren't
an organic
compound
sans side effects.
More of a
a kick ***
designer drug,
that adds an
extra sense
yet, without
a legitimate
name to call it.
Aren't you
a hallucinant, though
yet to be invented,
I am hopelessly
addicted to.

Evening sun's, hot pulsating lips,
fervently seek the ocean blue, touch
for a sizzling, long,passionate kiss.
The ecstasy resulted makes inroads
as waves of anesthetic darkness,
engulfing the glow of consciousness
bringing the world as a whole
in to a soporiferous languor,pleasurable.

That camphor light, in your tranquil eyes,
revealed everything I searched all my life,
all those fantasies that gave sleepless nights
how they all reduced to naught and ashes!
when,  first  we stood, lost in each other's eyes
moments flew excited like butterflies in thousands,

          From the light, I realized, life began its journey first,
             when the voyage reaches its last port,
                 the shoes hung, never to be worn again,
                 All sounds go down to a whisper and sink
                 in to the grand orchestra of silence.

                 I would see those flowers, that made my garden fragrant
                 once again, like a pantomime dance, of stars.
                My wings, never opened once, will come alive and signal
                it's time to soar up, up transcending the speed of light,
              *Would you make your eyes sing that song of light, you perfected,
              one last time, and hold your tears?

A  popeyed visitor,
to the newly opened
museum, see this;
a metallic bust
of a populist politico,
smiles intermittently,
to everyone around.
(They had enough of it,
even before his demise.)
Perplexed, he reports
the misdemeanor,
dutifully at once.
The shrink with him
during this time,
was away talking
with a museum guide.

Meteorite has just one language,
speaking the the desire of the element, fire.
Its voice lasts only for those blazing moments,
consuming heart, with an equal fire.

Your luscious lips fervently seek mine and the time freezes,
the cosmic hum, the primordial love anthem is heard within us,

Your signature scent, perilously plays fiddle with my olfactory nerves,
a garden of love within me blooms, hear the sonorous drone of bees !

A web of silver threads from your eyes, makes me your captive,
stitches the insignia of our love in my heart with the touch of a feather.

On the back of my neck, your broken breath permeates ****** heat,
the hold around my waist,tells what your words couldn't spell out.

It's my most favourite life game,
Leaving you behind with no particular aim
In the midst of a charming thing we perform
And keeping you waiting  till the time,
I choose to be  back again!

Did you ever notice it yourselves?
(If not what's the point of telling one?
I may ruin the pleasure of not allowing
Not to see what one naturally do not see)

I've  freed myself from the vagaries of time!
An esoteric art in what avatars are with me.
I may not return to you in an
Expected time frame or plane.
I'll spend  time the  way I wish,
Taking as much from the chest of universe
and add a fine twist to it.
Wouldn't you call it making poetry?

I've bandoned all expectaions time,
Imposed on us by  its lenier progression.
I may keep you waiting for long
You may think,  as you are now not that girl,
But a wildly bloomed tree waiting for me, The migratory bird on its usual sojourn!
You are eager to offer your best of fruits,
I peck at it with atmost care, and attain,
An 'Ananda ' pure and simple
And gift you a perfect Buddha smile,
That transcends the warps  of time!

I was infinity itself, as my father, in a poem he lovingly created,
wanted me to be figured, made me descend from a dream he had.
My mom, most fondly held this form, close to her heart
the epitome of her love for her man and the bloom in her womb
she gifted it, and they both together in a love boat, brought me home,
she held me closer to her *****, so warm I was even in coldest
of nights, yet another poem it indeed was, love set it's  tune.

        In a cloud of stardust I was, yearning to see far off stars dance,
through million years, I swirled, twisted, turned,found love in the end,
love brings perfection, my journey assumed  many many themes
love transformed a speck of dust; found a shiny little diamond.

She ate all his curry,
smuggled jars of cookies,
stole his cute doggie,
how could he even complain,
against this smart *** beauty!

she hates all controls,
toppled over his schedules,
looks deep in to his eyes
and makes him weak at the knees!!

"Why"
is an agave  plant
raising its many hands
towards sky,
shaking in urgency,
as if demanding an immediate answer.
This "why"
I note,
it keeps asking perennially;
in tequila haze, I guess
that the spirit of that "why"
is that keeps me high
though the agave mysteriously seems pained!
"Why?"

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.

A coy spice hill breeze,
Passes subtle hints on it;
Poet knows the rest!

A white porcelain coffee cup
she gently raises up to her lips
with a satiated look on her face;
this gift, a much awaited moment
attained by satisfying her yen
not for choicest, gourmet food alone.

Those dark droopy eyes, suggest
a luxurious languor, she does cherish,
as long as the after tremors would last.

Slyly she looks at his swollen red lips
with a crafted guilt, it gives her yet
another high, sending ripples over
her *******, his eyes do a recce on this
then go up to her lips,finds his ardor
last hour had  made them crimson all over,
throwing his head backwards he smiles at her.

In the cinnamon garden, hand in hand we strolled,
when dusk painted our hearts with crimson deep;
with a doting  look, you brought my flame alive,
*magic light, aromatic breeze, your eyes, aha! bliss

An inexplicable alchemy blends us
and transform, when you are with me;
I am fully filled up by what is 'you'
then, how could'I' be there, it's all you.

From above, the skydiver's eyes scan the verdant landscape-
rushing towards him, but she can't see that, he regrets,
though she too jumps, sitting in his heart, the quiet dove
dreaming immortality being his habit, he is in yogic trance as he land,
rushes to see her, as in here and now, is his foot hold as a householder
awaiting him for long, she kisses him ferociously on his mouth
"I can't wait anymore to roll in our bed"she warmed it for this moment,
If one is incapable of imagining the the higher reaches of particle state,
immortalities hug, after quietly going back, enjoy the sojourn here
It's a cycle, there isn't no two; Dive down from the air craft
over the clouds smiling, hear the whisper of the winds in both ears.
Live dangerously, raise to the sublime, before touching eternity.

Pollinating  a red flower in a frenzy, a blue butterfly ruminates:
"This act,a prompt, nature coincides with time,is hardly appreciated"
"You tickle me, in a way I haven't known ever,Yes, I love it"
twitching involuntarily the flower seems to hold on to that moment.
" After all, we couple in the interest of  posterity, let's not forget"

Her guttural moan, a flower blooming from depth,
                                                             primordial expression of pleasure-
no word could ever contain, solipsistic,
                                                                has numerous shades of meaning;
no lexicologist has ever attempted to elaborate,
                                                                     the nuances of that ****** slang,
yet, how does he understand its each exquisite strain,
                                                           so perfectly well, when she whimpers?

The master craftsman ,
Of this spectacular dusk,
Leaves no signature!

the archer
               naturally
               likes her,
                       for the pointedness
                                              and the forward ******.

A poem nebulously arrives
at the precincts of mind
like in every pregnancy
it changes a whole lot of things

A firefly with a drop of
oily yellow light so feeble ;
but one gets lost in the
happiness it brings

I haven't ever known
a happiness similar to this.
In the days of my childhood,
I used to sit in a room opening
to the vast green rice fields,

At the sunset, when light fads in to darkness,
the gloom that spreads around
makes one ask, 'what if the moon
wouldn't appear tonight?'

A drop of light appears from nowhere,
flies to a bamboo grove,
this I couldn't foresee,
it turns out to be a  firefly, its light
pulsating like a coded message,
to more fireflies so shy and want
the pain of darkness to foster them,
I close my eyes and wait for the sound
of  their wings flapping in my subconscious.

Now, they come in swarms, a spectacle
one can't explain, all I know is
that I was yearning for their presence.
They are guests for this celebration
of light,  I crafted with my pain,
and love, the antidote, for all that angst.

A poem is born as a dome of effulgence
these fireflies create in pitch darkness
that meditates alone only on light .

Don't ask
the echo
to shut up.
        You loose
        the right
        when you yell
        that aloud.
No need to bid,
echo to be quiet,
if you just do
what you ask for.
Adore silence
till light dawns.

The spider, in many hues rules.
But I never could understand
The complete operational rules.
                                    Still I have
Unflinching  faith,like no other
On the spider, that it knows
The rules of transactions inside out.
I am in the web of a clan of
Spiders, day in and day out.

I just lie supine in comfort  
And let my song bird fly high
In the sky blue oblivion
Of my mind, listening to
The singing of the bard of
The absolute, transcending limits.
        I am more and more lured
in to his cave where light is present
By its physical absence.More and more
An innerbeing after substence
In the company of this siver luminous.

She comes alive, fire risen from smoke,
Her red hot eyes capture my truth quick!

The spider sitting on top of me
And working on me with
Her oceanic mind that seethes
Agile vaginal muscles, I picture
Is still reading "Every Women"1
From memory; I just feel it
as each of the steps to the
thousand petelled lotus is
left behind one by one.

My silver spider
who flies with me from
the conjoined base of
"Mooladhara"2 at the ****.
If she is the fire, I am the sky.
Hear the silver bell she rings,
In mind's eye I see how her
Silver strips gleam, wet with sweat.

As we step out to the garden path
The green spiders of thick foliages
Waved at us.Golden spider of the sky
Hanging low beamed at us.