Step by step a kite ascends to the sky
regains  memory of transcendence
of once being the echo of a cloud
sailing speedily westwards.
the kite remembers another life
and strays far beyond it's distance permitted,
when the string rudely pulls it back,controls,
the young cloud, narcissistic
still keeps it's love for the echo, in swirling
wisps of vapor as gently caressing wet touch

The lone woman who suppresses deep inside her chest,
the tumultuous waves of love and passion,
imbuing the emotion sunset spews, suddenly breaks down
the startled sea breeze is the only witness to her outburst.

the sky slipping fast in to the gloom of darkness
stands frozen, silent, as if melting in the pain love causes,
when one bids final good bye to the beloved, vowed never to part.

Eating luscious forbidden apples in your garden,
was a pleasure not to be spoken in front of others.
I agreed in a silent conspiracy with you, nevertheless,
it remains an ache, in the tender muscles of my heart,
which I love to nurse with relish,whenever I get a chance

A bedspread on which bold, red and blue
esoteric, Tantric, motifs embrace
copulating triangles, the ideogram of cosmos
batik printed in vermilion on it's center
is spread, right there on the play-field of cupid
where the confluence is to happen,
a transmitting point of fecund energies to infinity,
a point on the spring board to transcendence

Beloved, here in the holy fire, receive in ecstasy,
the sacrificial offering I bring from the
incessant Ganga of my lineage,

Shakti and Shiva come in for divine union,
together here on the mark beyond time and space.
right in the center is "THE BINDU" the mystical point
both culmination and beginning of the 'beyond'
passage from here  to timelessness of cosmos, we invoke.

Here Shakti is holy fire leaping up for Shiva's offering,
sublimated they fuse, may that be the seed for karmas lumenant.

Yesterday murmured within the earshot of today:
The past has posted  an encrypted message
on your wall, decipher it, take a careful turn,
the road is slippery, life is short.

The girl has a pearl, that she keeps closely guarded,
he knocks her door and she is aware of his ardor
he stands at her door, which she keeps half closed.
They are different, her words ring true to him, he loves her,
and thinks the pearl's worth is overblown, is this her most dazzling thing?
From where she comes, they count the pearl as the thing, she is aware
one huge burden for a girl, to keep it shielded until the time to hand over.
Caution is her shield, the pearl is kept burrowed, yet  it feels too heavy now,
she has two choices; find if the pearl dazzles him or not, 
she has to soon  decide.

A spider in it's web,

is a mistress

of a myriad things:

for instance,

a five finger exercise,

or a full bare breast on which,

a hand is tenderly spread.

On canvas space,

spider forms evoke layers of

meanings.Imagine this:

from secret holes of

moonlit camphor trees,

come out love-lorn female spiders

wanderers of dark nooks,

enticing perfect mates.

The deceptive calm

in them is the most

dangerous precept,

if you know the spider

the way you should.


I watch her sitting on the floor

at the far end of

the poorly lit room where

a group is in it's

usual squabbling

she is bored, still aroused

no one else,  and she

looks at my lips

The spider web

is a sign language she

communicates:

she playfully points her finger

down between her legs.

Curious, I strain my eyes

in the oily yellow light,

see the phantom of a spider:

dark, sinister with a gleaming eye.
                    OOO

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.

Denying words their right and might
this was cryptically conveyed to us:
a death plan is being  perfected,
the need of the dark hour, for sure!
This extending nightmare we are in
a darkly crafted metaphor, threatening!
Never forget, one is nothing more than
an unflinching  core member of the clan,
standing daggers drawn, waiting the turn
taken  a blood oath of utmost submission.
A 'death plan' sounds sinister,you think?
it's intended, remember as you advance.
The piranhas are the hungriest,
                                                 at this time of the year
 the climate changes sharpen their fangs,
for a killer smile, the vengeance of nature!
Beware the nature is aware of all shenanigans,
the swim against the flow  can go on no more.
Looking for an omen, the dark sun rising
with an accusing finger pointing at you?
At this pirrana hour, let go such thoughts
there won't be such niceties,no embellishments.
Fight your bitter water wars, with neighbors,
in this twilight fast engulfed by a dark night.
Repent for slipping from the ladder of thought,
leading to the pinnacle of the tallest pyramid,
while the rot spreads, when y'all lie, relentlessly
steal or **** to stamp one's victory over the other.

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.

When a poem comes to me,
I see a mysterious maiden,
her presence thrills me beyond words,
my eyes, gaze deep in to hers, get electrified.

poems, a  few of them, gently lift me up,
I remember my mom and dad doing it to me,when I was a kid,
I wanted to be lifted up again and again,
the imagery transports me to an old world,
where my eyes were  curious, senses growing outwards.

And a few had hit me hard and , even hurt,
'cause I failed to hear, what needs to be heard
I reel under the impact, but when I get up,
love it, find I am not the  one before, transformed!

And this one , meditative, makes me still,
lights a gentle flame within, I feel divine.
And the fun poem regales me like nothing else-
ever did, with quirkiness and humor, without limits.

A sublime poem is the one that takes me across,
either up above my mind's sky, so vast,
or depths of  marine blue where whales navigate,


I am an unknown continent, waiting to be explored,
this poem is an oceanographic expedition mysterious,
I find myself a deep sea creature altogether-
a new species,  none has ever found or named,
and its observer at the same time,  magical!

I enjoy, the subtle shades, connotation of each word,
probe, how dexterously they are put together in an order
like jewels in an ornament for generations to wear.
The way the construct speaks to the brooding solitude
that moves in and out of my soul,as the reading proceeds.

I smell a fragrance, like the scent of fresh ripe fruit,
eager to taste it, sink my teeth deep, draw juice,
now find a memory awaiting to resonate with the
cadence of my heart.
                                                 I am such an animal
that can smell poetry's worth from a distance,
a goldsmith who could  predict it's weight in gold
my avarice for a poetic diet, never dies, only swells.

Every poem of my kind, to me does something
my lover does, decidedly every imagery, carry forward
a memory, like wind a cloud, reaches a space beyond
touches eternity with it's magic wand,  a flash results
Even if the poet leaves me mid way, I'd still see the light.

I've an enticing excuse to imagine what I want to see
a poem doesn't produce anything,but what it does to mind,
is pure magic,I am in that flow,far from the illusory reality.

The last drop of poetry i imbibed
was written in light, at your eyes
as my moving lips, avidly partook
the nectar on the petals of your lips

ഞാൻ നുകർന്ന  കവിത
(Translated  in  to  Malayalam )

ഞാൻ നുകർന്ന  കവിത
തൻ തുള്ളി
നിൻ മിഴികളിൽ വെളിച്ചമായ്‌ തങ്ങി
എൻ പ്രേമവ്യഗ്രമാം ഇരുചുണ്ടുകളാൽ ഞാൻ
നിൻ ഇതളുകളിലെ തേൻ നുകരവേ അതും മോന്തി

The path was too dark, alone and down, still fighting

She badly was in need to feel upbeat and elated.

The talent to embrace truth, through electrifying poems

Was her way out of troubles of any kind at any time.

She wrote one on "The loneliness of the crescent moon"

The moon peeped through the window,said with concern:

"Girl,you are are wonderful,don't you know that,get up,

Read this poem aloud to the world and end it in laughter"

She tried, she tried, but at the end,she uncontrollably cried!"

though her face was inscrutable, like a cloudy sky,
deceptively calm she was, in her grief.
at the poet's funeral his girl didn't sob or even flinch,
true love in his life was his poetry, it was evident,
"If love is passionate, beyond all  limits like his
it would be fulfilled only in death" she said and fell mute.
when her words gushed out like blood from a ****,
they missed the firmness in her voice, that ringed aloud,
it pointed to this:  her crazy love for her lover , leaves her no choice.

Strutting popinjay,
wears many hats,
to be precise:
                     she displays
                     a new hat
                      each day,
                      as her trophy before the world.
                      Each with a new color,
                      and a scent different.
                      Her crude wide smirk
                      conceals
                            ­         a secret
                     each one is pinched
                                                     from her lover of the day.

If he lacked polish and was avaricious without any limit,
he could have taken her  by force and justified that she provoked,
knowing from each move she made,
she was teasing him, and taking it to the extreme,
he may have gone over to the top, any moment.

They stayed in two rooms adjacent
in that backwater resort, a breath taking delight,
in the mornings she paraded
in front of his room, skimpily dressed,
as he came out, her beauty seemed to overflow
from bra top and she encouraged him in many ways
by suggesting many possibilities of pleasure.

A waiter comes and knocks at  his door
he gets a complimentary drink, his favorite
courtesy to her(obviously she has made meticulous research)
along with shrimps and clams cooked in olive oil.
When he came out for an evening stroll,
at the far end of the compound, in the shallow part of the lake,
she was taking bath, with an exhibitionist flourish
when he smiled at her visibly timid, she amorously pursed her lips,
she was in an adventurous mood, like nature at the time of bloom.

"Seen your paintings, loved those sensual nudes
reminds me more of myself, in front of a mirror,
obviously they are all seekers of pleasure, I am sure.
I am a singer, they say my voice seduces, all
you to me do the same when I see you as the painter,
in flesh and blood" she paused for a  breath.

"If I lacked polish, my paintings wouldn't have the magic,
you speak about; it's not deliberately created, that's impossible.
It's pure poetry, that oozes by itself, a blessing I earned.
There is no wanton desire here. Magic of the sensual
is charged in the atmosphere.I feel it all the time,
be it morning, evening or night,
the possibilities of pleasure is limitless.
Express the best way one deems fit, be liberated."

A smile and a wink, create an incredible magic, one gets floored
that's her, but not a day passes without a complaint-
about her uncomplaining nature, that seems to rub everyone
in a way wrong; without any prompt,  interpretations start to pour
she definitely lacks seriousness, frivolous or an unfeeling brute?

By nature, she can't care about anything, may be the effect of the past,
tongues waged, observers increased, each one took notes,
voluntarily held conferences, and reached a conclusion, behind her back:
"Far too removed from reality, lives in cloud cuckoo land"

Strong judgments came one after the other, every one enthusiastically joined,
in demolishing, what they thought 'The myth of equanimous mind'
(irrespective of dealing with a string of troubles and continuing bad weather)
The one, only one, who kept silence, when this buzz was going on far too long,
just smiled at the end, the playful wink that followed ruffled all feathers,
now the gang has an added burden, the power of one more to deal with.

A honeybee he is,
but how does he know
it's his brief to make honey;
never once it was  articulated anywhere,
following a faint tune of fragrance
he flies, crossing barriers, forgetting everything else.

This is a divine madness, his blood sings,
he is just an instrument in the creation of sweetness,
but when,
the rain clouds pour down in torrents
the flowers are laden with water
his honey tastes different.
In summer he hums a different tune,
in resonance with many fragrances that invite him,
as flowers vie with each other,
to let him have their taste.
Honeybee's tune now changes to a love song,
always remembered by the inebriated pairs of lovers
roaming in the gardens.
A honeybee he is, he is unaware what it means,
he is prompted by nature in all he does.

A ***** wanderer,
from life to life; I am a butterfly,
fragile, but my desires take me from,
flower to flower, in search of new flavors,
I often find, myself  in quandaries, quagmires and coal fires.
And at the end I am left with nothing else, but unfulfilled desires,
the nectar, that used to be my bait, I thought would be the end I seek;
but now it is clear, there is a jewel I want to adorn on my crown: Enlightenment it is.
Now I am aware, a seeker I am first and last, my hungers will vanish when I embrace cosmos.
This butterfly's flight through the mist will end when a flower will  feed me with nectar eternal.

I heard, my  rainbird singing Meghmalhar* alone,
my heart was broken in to pieces, as her wistful tune hit it,
her swansong it was, I realized.
I knew grief was her wings, how can I make her confine
to this garden and sing, when she wants to be on the wings?
I watched her from behind the bushes
thinking to give her the freedom to sing her swansong.
In to the  rain clouds , she flew up, only a feather she left behind,
for all the memories of my music filled days with her.
Torrential monsoon rains lashed, thunderclaps and lightening
made the sky a war zone, I saw her
flying in to the heart of danger, without concern,
my eyes followed her far and away, one last time,
a drop of tear on the corner of my eye,
sears my soul all the time.

To comfort me the rain hums a tune
as if she could sense I was feeling down
I get buoyant by the soothing tone,
pick up the strands that once were broken

Drenched woods after the rain has gone,
with the wind,repeat it, but sounds like a moan,
it takes  much subtlety, to empathize, I learn
to evoke sublime feelings that touch and lift the soul.

There flows an  invisible, river of subtle emotions he felt,
separating the immediate reality and the realm of art;
gazing the reclining ****,with a pair of eyes conjured,
he  levitated to the other bank of reality as if by magic,
while she waited and waited,somewhat perplexed,
then her eyes intervened, made him cross over so fast.

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.

There isn't any half time mark
in a true blue love game, my darling
Neither prior fixed schedules or dates
nor strict rules, regulations, contracts
in a game of love, lovers avidly play it
themselves, in the way they truly wish
whether callow or highly seasoned,
mindful, heartless or calloused inside out!

The players decide where it has to be
played out, how long and  when the
curtain should fall and what would
be the after math of this; what results!

In course of the moves of this game
the thing important is particularly this:
They decide what to do with the dear life of each,
some times out of sheer impulse, even  eyes shut.
The ones that keep sanity and good sense
and hold the head above the water, swim together
would live to tell the tale sipping a glass of wine
but the rest, mostly become tales different
rarely told with a smile,most of those are written
in the black ink of grief and sung at taverns after
the hours dark falls  and ghosts vengefully roam.

Some, fall by the wayside in sacrifice, and perish
many disappear in dark pits invisible that lay
in wait to eat them head and all, without a trace.

But the ones I sing about are these pairs, resilient
they hold hands, steadily climb the path,
winding and narrow leading to the view point,
on the top of the green hill, from there
the view is breath taking, an ample reward!

There was a river, near  my village home
a perennial silver memory of my childhood
in which my mind  still in hallucinations swims,
a life line once ,no more exists,  because of our sins
alas no one recognized her might,when she was
alive and full, roared  tigress like through ravines.

From above the hills, a girdle of gleaming silver
comely like a village belle on her way to the market,
in that jungle village they never noticed her charm
or the amble through rocky paths and an occasional prance

From the hill roaring aloud she jumped down,
ran through the sand bed in mirth, on  both sides
coconut groves and rice fields performed welcome dance,
but times changed, they daily removed sand in truck loads
as we watched in pain  the river turned to a mere rivulet
one day the river became a myth, a tearful story to tell.

There was a river once for our childhood whims to swim
for beauty in the form of lush green to come, stay near the stream
a river of plenty that we thought was ours  for all the times to come
it's now a distant memory, seems like an unreal  sad dream.

A ray of dark light,
from a distant invisible star
spotted him sitting
in the circle of
soft, silver light,
"May I too sit with you
so soothing seems
your presence
its gravitational pull
will **** me,
if i am not allowed
to be in that delight
of light"
All he did was just smile
being equanimous,
"The choice is yours
the karmic design
prompts everything
and the consequences
of your action would
come back to you
like your pet canine"
without a word he
told this to starlight,
went back to his reverie
on being and nothingness
"What's the nature of light
in the heart of darkness?"
was his present "koan"

and then,
a disembodied voice,
called out to him
like from a well of panic,
"Effulgent being"
it lamented, "I lost myself,
seeing your kind aura
I forgot my real self
I am  a light, but, dark
now I am lost without a trace,
I don't find myself, help"

"Enlightened being"
said the one with focused mind,
I am not a messiah, just a
seeker like yourself
You had a quest,
that transformed you
made sublime,
you are there by rights,
have become one
with the silver light eternal,
even at the heart of darkness
you cherished a drop of light
love it was distilled from pain.
Look inside and see,
you are that, not darkness,
I am still on my way
be tranquil, I am blessed
touched by your heart."

I was ,
sitting on the bank
                      watching,
                            ­         the river,
                                              its flow,  
                                                       the current,
                                                        ­              inner spirit,
                                                         ­                               and
                                                                ­                                 something beyond
                                                          ­                                                               eternal;
                                                        ­                                                                 ­       I felt
                                                            ­                                                                 ­        the river
                                                                ­                                                                 ­             watching me
                                                              ­                                                                 ­                          from within

To winding road I asked again,
“Where did your journey begin?”
It just kept quiet,as if to mean
It didn’t get the crux of my concern!
I asked Where does it  all end ?
That too met with a stony silence,
Making me meditate in loneliness .
Silence has quicksilver toungue,
I walked through inner labyrinths
And the question echoed in turns,
Then in me dawned as a whisper
“Real story of the road of course
Isn’t about just  begiinnings and ends”
The wish to get it limited, is the
Distorted imagination of humans!
I am having a journey eventful,
But have a problem to determine
The starting and end points!
When you are certain of a finis,
There appears yet another beginning!
A road never leaves for anywhere
All you do is pass on through it.
In a mood to go and find connections.
To immortality, the final destination!

Victor,
          Vanquished
                              both perished,
                                                     in due course.

The rose wept
bitter tears
                        when the thorn
pricked hard
the eager fingers
that plucked her
from the bush,
She imagined it was
her lover's.
                  Most upset
                  she kissed
                           oozing
                                    drops
                ­                        of blood
                                                  dry,
and wept,
not realizing
the thorn's anger
was directed
to the  irresponsible
aggressor, who has
only selfish motives.
The thorn meant to protect her,
while trying in vein to hold back his
tears that, for others looked like
                                                   dew
                                                      drops
    ­                                                    gleaming
    ­                                                             in pain.


Once snatched from the lap of the bush
she  hardly would last a day or two,
then  would be left to rot
                                         turn to dust
                                                 and vanish
                                                     in a rowdy wind.

intruding light
has corrupted
black night's
real character.

Would you sing this aria, just once, gracious lady?
he asked as if his life itself  depended on it,
*her haunting voice, filled melody in the atmosphere,
"Gracias", he whispered as he vanished in to thin air!

"Aren't you now tired of that green?
different from the zeitgeist once was
the ****** pulsation existed all along with me!
I can see it in the movement  of yours
when I  deep kiss you, not there, you are!
it's too long, our liaison, my love listen,
now it's time for a change, haven't you
seen the clouds in quick changing formations?
Yes, rest you need and a period of leisure
would do you good.You have to don a hue
to suit to to the mood, and yellow it is"
The setting sun,languidly to the leaf said aloud.
She felt the relief, she unhurriedly received
his words  purple tinted.pointing the direction.

The mountain wind, when the leaf  was green,
an intense lover, moved her,always.
A leaf callow and green in the wind,
passion personified, during the gale she was
the aggressive partner, demanding more,
"You are hanging here for long,on this branch,
knowing all, now time to let go, hear the music
permeating through dust and clouds and lives
transform yourself, you have danced enough
with me here, change pace, let go, begin
a journey new and find, what the cosmic hum
tells to every single cell, and what's in the end,
get ready to take newer forms from now on my love"

Wind took her by hand and she let go every thing
and naked to the soul, she jumped in to the deep below,
a valley, in ferment, flowers, fruits and leaves
in abundance, stood with bated breath,
beckoning, welcoming, cheering the fallen leaf,
the last dance it was,with the wind and sun,
in whispers the wanton wind told her" time to go,
feel light and explore, discover the secrets still left"

Earth, red and fertile was much pleased, smiled at her,
"Come down beloved, here I lie in wait, impatient,
this is your bed, not a minute late you are, here
as before in the appointed hour,you are aware
at any time you have to end up as the salt of the earth,
you'll love it here as much you did on a flowering branch,
bit by bit like the fragments of a cloud in blue sky,
you will become one with me; the fecund muddy earth,
new seeds with a vision encrypted inside will fall on you
get nourished by what your love donates and would sprout.

Crazy nomad soul
Finds sanctuary tranquil
In poetic flights!