The rare civet cat in my thoughts is wild at heart
precious, as the species is fast facing extinction,
adamant and headstrong, just accept her the way she is
yes lives in my attic, keeping an eye on me, independently
Did you say you smell musk on my body?she must have
smeared it all over, inadvertently, a prankster too, she is
can't think any other chance otherwise, but her ebullient
moments are different,she herself turns a fire work then.
Some strange coincidences in life, don't allow any questions
certain secrets,her heart's wish, are yet to be unraveled
Yes, yes,her musky fragrance on me, spills magic,I enjoy it

This is his Henri Julian Rousseau taboo land,
here he appears as the lion night after night,
with his tail stiffened, *****--but the Gypsy wasn't there

Bathed in psychedelic strobe lights, now
here on a plush confession table doubling as their stage
his Gypsy lies spread-eagled,  
til there is no secrets left in her body, he now tries
to pry open the many chambers of her peripatetic mind.

With a lingering kiss, he in vain tries to arrest her
never subdued spirit and begins his secret rituals
for the angel of sin, black magic maiden, yin for his yang
who in ways direct, sly or by allusion, is the bestower of
a million forbidden pleasures,  whispering,like a mantra thus:
"There is no right or wrong, all illusions, within an imagined truth"
which made him stray, albeit, within the labyrinth
like innumerous men of power, which they gained
shedding blood, sweat and tears; as if there is nothing beyond.

She who by instinct engineered his downfall
from the pantheon of the anointed is finally here
but this is no retribution, only return of the favors received,
his throbbing lust seeks her deep interior's caresses
giving her forgiveness in return, his masculine urges
wish to be gripped by her unusual craving,
she is melting like butter, her sweet urges fight back
in unison they seethe, wreath, roll and race to culminate.

On a swing hanging high ,above the poisoned earth
for a few sweet transient moments they remain,
weep in pleasure til they fall in to slime and crawl back to life
--then the Gypsy and the Lion remember nothing .

She then wears her special smile
an inamorata's conspiratorial
signalling her arousal, need to get me closer
right there in a room full of people
all of us in the midst of serious business.
I have deep yearning in my eyes
that in turn sets fire to her love central
we burn to be in each other's arms
lovers in exile, commandeer private moments
deflecting watchful eyes of jealousy
every time our secret rituals of amour
take unexpected arms and win wars.

Dear star, neighbor of my broken, but adamant  singing heart,
All I wished here in this life disguised as a journey man
Trekking through the meandering wild, forest paths,
Extended moors and misty, dangerous marshes,
Was rooted in the faith that we would meet and connect
With our inner fire and get to gather together our band
The cosmic adventurers at large,each in a disguise  willed.

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

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

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

Come home soon, let's learn from this scroll of man, who we are
And the cryptic code  will tell us our kinship with all lives around.

The dark eyed painter, made me her canvas,
winter was still lurking in her fingertips
my skin sizzles when her fingers wearing ice shoes
walk over it in a frenzy rarely seen
to get me readied for her work of love.
in the dull prancing light when we walked
back from the beach listening to the waves
roaring in sadistic delight
                                            she saw a serpent wriggling away,
chasing her illusion as before,I found, it was just a tangled rope
freed from fear, she came running
embraced me with boundless joy, said
"How would I survive in this world full of  riddles
of serpent and rope mire one in every single step"
"Maya, my dark eyed charmer, you are my world"
I saw her power ruling my world, I have no escape
unless we decide.Extending ******* she asked:
"Which one, serpent and rope or snakes and ladders?"
closing my eyes, I touched one, my fate was decided thus,
while we undressed each other and got ready for a skinny dip,
I was in a trance gone far beyond the reality's front door.

Alone, she collects pebbles
from the sands of seashore
only to throw back each
with all her might, as if
its her revenge;
all of a sudden she stops
throwing them
back on the flat waves,
just to see them leapfrog,
a few times and vanish.

A sandcastle, he was busy
building on damp sand,
laboring alone like a child,
as if it means a lot,
but the spires refuse to
stay up, collapse again and again
against his wish.
it has become a total mess,
irredeemable for him alone,
or even with some help.

Perturbed he looks,
at the very moment-
from somewhere close by,
wind brings the overpowering stench
of rotting sea weeds and dead fish,
that makes them both look up
at once, by chance
and gaze at each other's face
as if they don't
recognize each other,
for a long, long moment.

The soliloquy of the night,
what we think as
falling stars and meteors,
make time and space immaterial
in the transmission of pain across light years.

Sitting here alone, a sentinel
to pain's interplanetary travel,
and witness of it transforming
in  to other forms, eloquent,
I hear them when my eyes,
acquire a sense, primordial
receive the dark waves
of pain in my veins
a volcano palpitating to blow up
in to  fireworks of emotions.

Everywhere eyes could travel, is filled
by night, thick, gooey, agglutinated;
then the meditative darkness,
dreams up a beam of  gentle light,
out of its deep transcending yearning,
to speak to itself,to get  an alchemy work on that pain
then, the pain itself becomes a haunting journey with words
this ,is how  my love, my songs
in the midnight of my lonely soul, are born.

Ocean currents exuberant, spell out what turbulence, really is
expressions of brute force, takes over the whole of ocean depth,
a puny little fish, blinded by thick foam, navigates alone, finding path,
sheathed in a silence going beyond mind,to a destination luminous,
never perturbed, calmly exploring that state, not fully discernible yet,
an impression abstract, getting infused with more and more clarity
each passing moment,then the orchestra of waves resonates with heart.

My beloved night was dense,dark, wavy, soft velvet,
fully naked, moving in rhythm with me,  frenzied, sweet,
we moved heaven and earth to reach the acme of delight,
then flew in to a sudden  culmination,words fail to express,
the day dawned, blazing molten gold,ages were  impatient steeds,
together we rode, gained wings, became transcendentals, sublime
reached that tranquil, trident  blue peak where silence for ever reigns,
we had a deep yearning to sit and peer deep in to each other's eyes,
and see what remains after the last wave returns to the ocean's heart.

Above the emerald mountain,ran a river that fell in to an abyss,
the white foam of it's smile told us, about all we sought thus far.

"Ÿou have reached here in your frenzied search for the elusive
chasing the essence of a conundrum unexplained , cyclic, cryptic"
looking at  us sang a little bird, from a low hanging branch
of the tree of diamonds, that shaded us with it's clear light.
We felt the thousand petaled lotus  bloom within us that moment.

"Day and night are the horses that draw the chariot you ride,
an oasis you'll reach, then  hear stories that would ease your pain
you are in a story that reflects on the periphery of a bubble,
that exists in innumerable worlds simultaneously and hence
none is real, your truth you create,every minute and live"

We are somnambulists, that sit and paint colors in our fanciful dreams,
when we smile the colors stick to our souls till the apparition dissolves.

You still are my blue jay of yore,
the songbird on the low branch
of the evergreen tree under which
I pitched my tent till my thirst was quenched
by your arias in blissful altisima poured in to my soul.
Your songs steadfastly refuse
to go down with time like leaves that wither and fall
those immortal moments, you gifted
did flow in to the blue ocean of time
where i float, refusing to  be beaten down by waves.
Those notes by sheer power of infused spirit
of your heart, make me still buoyant, I am indebted,
your song book,  in gold is engraved,  in my heart.
One journey continues, unmindful of every change,
through planes of timeless nature where we are one
defying rules man made, and imposed by mind.
We are two pure notes of music that fly, up and above
merge with the sonorous primordial hum of divine.

Do not just pretend,
that you understand everything,
that could make you look clever
but you'll be soon defeated in your game.

The sorcerer never told me the truth
about his esoteric art or him,
every trick is concealed in shining platitudes
"you'll soon find out" he kept on repeating.
  
Does he really know what he is saying?

There were secrets in every corner of the house
the sorcerer lived.I, as his apprentice have to learn
to live with this fact.I fell in love with his daughter
I followed her everywhere,  in my eagerness to please him.
There was nothing else I could think of, at that moment.
He seemed delighted.By now I am trapped
in the labyrinth from which I couldn't get out.

His truths were partial, hardly believable.
Or his is a truth i would never be able to grasp.
There is no right or wrong that would help one
to break loose.I found the sorcerer's daughter
very resourceful.She was the only one who seemed
to know which way the wind blows.

Am I the sorcerer's slave? Is this a trap he set for me
right from the moment he got me interested in him?
Is his daughter really in love with me, or
all this an illusion, my mind plays or just a dream?

Dark twins,spiders,pretending
to be her eye lashes,repeatedly  flutter,
exuding charm, though
with tinges of the sinister
words can't capture, however
versatile in their expressiveness.
                       This black magic spell explodes, all over
                       like a butterfly enticed by a scented bloom
                       he resonates to her diabolic moves,
                       and flies straight in to her invisible net
                       ready to get him in to it's warm entanglement.

A banded garden spider,
an ace sky diver,
                    
                     lands
                           on a
                     lighted spot,
                    shaped like
                           an egg.

It's her, the woman of steely resolve,
who fills every lighted part
of my consciousness,so thankful, I am to her
The wife who never lets down
her man who faltered and fell,
love being the ***** in her armor
she is careful not to hurt there,
our eyes exchange texts, only
we could read and an instance

She was the one who found me out
lost from the neighborhood of her heart,
brought me back from the outback
from the jaws of the beasts of prey,
where i was stuck in a thorny thicket,
lost almost for ever bleeding,pale,
if only she didn't decide to conduct
a one woman adventure, a rescue mission
against all odds,with much *****,
and presence of mind, one rarely see
even in alpha males,who habitually
boast aloud,of having ***** to stand up
against any adversity and fight.
For me it was she who did it and all alone!

Young and callow,
a bird of infirm wings still,
alone i flew long distances
circled around,hallucinatory visions,
lost my way, eventually went down,
my love may have failed before,
but she happened ,in the moment of epiphany,
otherwise would I ask her , without a second thought
to be with me all through the journey of my life?
It would not have been,but her heart listened
to my voice wistfully spoke to it, as if becoming weak,
caught in a storm lashed over the thicket and
she came searching at the right time, rescuing me .

Gun fights and volcano eruptions we survive,
even thunder storms, mad dog attacks and cheats,
broken hearts and misfortunes of every kind too.
Never do I forget this dear face of courage,
the woman staying firmly behind me, a sturdy rock,
sticking to her faith on me and a prayer on her lips,
with the staunch belief that I'll come out a winner.

The bee I did like,  buzzed around me in circles,
with a nice tune, and  tried her best to impress,
as I wasn't a flower, just bloomed and could'n't offer
nectar even if I wanted ,because I have exhausted all by now,
such devotion, I guessed is because of misplaced affection
or result of some confusion, so  I prepared
to say good bye to her.

                         but I did underestimate a  bee's frustration
she  came direct to me and stung with all her vengeance
left a thorn in flesh that spoke of unfulfilled desires in general,
But the pain I thought, I deserve though could plead
not guilty in any court. Oh! her sweet vengeance is an enigma,
let her feel good about it, leave me to  nurse my paining spot,
no more  friends with bees as the season of flowers come to a close.

Got back
        my 'stolen' jewel,             at long last.
                     (it wasn't stolen after all!)

He was lost in the spirited flow of a river,
Later  found himself in this lady's boudoir,
The circumstances to onlookers are little unclar,
But suffice to tell, in water things were quite  fluid,
The boudoir was hectic, he was more or less stuck.

Don't think he had any serious complaint about it,
Only hoped, this strange fact  be better explained.
Her kind of explanation was rather queer, he felt!

"There is nothing to be astonished, my dear
I'm an ace swimmer, and was present there
At the time of the incident, nothing more"
She mysteriously smiled, adding a dainty twist.

Well, a rescue mission, as we know is higly humanitarian,
There are more than what meets the eyes, in this situation.
He was of two minds, to remain there and to break loose,
Life in her boudoir, he feared would make him a libertine!

The cat with radium eyes, drilling into my sub-terrain secrets,
Hedgehopped silently in to my camouflaged enclosure, for a nightcap, it said.
A companion of mysteries, tip-toes in to the wilderness of night
With a gentle "meow' to hunt
                                                how fast you pulled me closer, with your claws drawn out,
Not any coy maiden, your lust, long nailed and wild,
Known you differently before, now it comes out on the open, I love you in your true colors, yes, but..

Your kisses are bloodsucking vampire feasts,
You need to feel the beast all over you, to quench the lust, from the beginning I knew(my secret)
With caterwaul crescendo we celebrated lust, I contributed in  plenty at your request,
When swelled desire, did burst and waves dissipated, we went to a dopomine induced sleep,
Completely transformed, you just look like a lackluster colleague,
Unexpectedly came to visit, for a cuppa and chat  (why do I feel bit let down, difficult to understand)

As if in a dream, he passes through that street
his days of youth walked most, bitten by the  lovebug;
a dear face of the past, from an open window of mind, peers,
those  tear filled eyes, still ask "Tell me why, oh! why?"

The brilliance of stupidity,
the civil society is stunned to see
on what media is all agog,
in these, even otherwise ,volatile days
of  vote bank skullduggery,
is an ill begotten progeny
of skewed intelligence gone
on an  unprotected vacation to Paris
(quite recently, when the city
was in disarray) resulting in
spending a long weekend of sin
with vapidity as the preferred
regular escort and nocturnal companion.

starkly honest sky,
sans any patch of dark cloud;
sun sits in judgement!

On the high stage, his clumsy swan has transformed
in to a dancing flame, though  sensed a twist
in the script, he sat eyes fixed on her, feeling gratified,
within moments, in perfect timing she changed colors
mesmerized everyone, to him certain moves were baffling,
unexpected, still he beamed, his eyes shone thinking,
"All that dancing beauty is mine".But can one contain a flame?
was he letting himself down by  being possessive about a beam?
(It's too early to feel proud about new loves and mango flowers,
he used to hear uttered often when he was still a callow youth)

When the applause died down, a commotion followed
a rush of people to see her up close, then a silence
that was not intended, he was waiting for her, what went wrong?
He waited for the swan that came into her own, within his embrace,
to return, like a farmer who thought all mango blooms are fruits.

Surrounded by admiring eyes, she didn't find a need to look at his side
and when he decided to go and look for his swan and take her home
he was shocked to find that away she had flown,
over his dreams, above the fluffy white clouds, never to return

Meditative fly
sits in a lizard's bull's eye,
deceptive calm reigns.

fumbling callow lovers
clumsy and all too eager,
sit in the bamboo grove-

he tries to give, the first kiss,
on her trembling lips.
prankster wind's hands
vigorously shake
the bamboos in the grove.

bamboos sing in ecstasy
pining lovers  by and by
find the shore of pleasure,
merge in that symphony.

from the moment of the first breath,
stringing events, mind creates time,
tangled with space, it spins a new thread,
history of a being, moves forward,
down the line, events come to an end,
the mind dissolves, body feeds the elements,
the indestructible core, white dove,
transcends to the branch of the tree of light,
*the thread dissolves, in a wistful note,
the symphony continues in higher octaves.

a dewdrop
on the petal
of your red lower lip,
     tempting
like a drop of honey,
waiting
to be tasted
by a bee;
               imagine me,
I took it so gently,
with my lips
and avidly made mine
and heard beauty speak
to me in a secret tongue,
I am your sun, you said,
the sun that thrills you with
a warm kiss, when
it's most needed.

About this thief from far far away,
she never wanted, even to hear at first
but at last awaited with a wish and a prayer,
here comes the foot steps, and him as a  beam of light,
this pure delight is unexpected,
the heart of darkness, she once feared
in this winter  embraces as blissful warmth.
his lips are passionate, kiss ethereal
he takes away all she has, every thing she calls hers,
without a word she gives,
how strange, she feels full, overwhelmed,
this is not the finis, something beautiful now begins.

The kaleidoscopic view one perceives,
the material world (and its proclivities)
is the architecture of five senses,
along with the juggler, cognitive mind.

Beyond the shores of the river,
frothing, foaming, flowing mind,
sits the tiger, eyes glowing,
infinite, cosmic consciousness,
ready to eat every illusory construct,
liberate, self and proclaim
"There are no two, everything in cosmos is one"

The benevolent tiger watches the space,
we think real,
                       its eyes unblinking, waiting,
for the igneous moment of merging
sitting beyond the other shore of mind,
it wordlessly assert,"Time is imagined"

Enlightenment, the door to
transcendence  opens
only beyond the realm of time
When the tiger leaps across
and makes its ****,
the door to eternal light is opened,

The tiger is deaf to pleas and demands,
this hunter hunts preys of his choice,
at that moment of alchemy,
the tiger will appear from nowhere,
as savior, obliterator of illusions.
He enters through the door,
of silver morning light.

She is spontaneous poetry, no need to be written,
a dam burst of emotions subtle,on what I float along,
a whirlwind at an unpredictable time of the season
looking for an intimate space to churn and churn and churn.

By now, I know this without her even hinting,
all her dark clouds will rain in torrents nonstop
in to my landscape, sultry, broad and tranquil
I am an open sky, a stage ready for changing realities
a cloudless calm now in meditative expansiveness,
ready to change from dark, cloudy turgidity
to it's contrast, white feathery fluff that's dreamy.

This time round, when she visited,she did lie naked
on my bed supine, looking at me wistfully for a while
in my mind's sky beams of morning sun criss- crossed
all the nine openings of my body tightly shut, I sat meditating.

But I felt her chaotic presence in the energy field spreading,
she hurriedly removed her clothes one by one,smiling
in the buff she alights on my lap,a butterfly on a flower was her,
by and by a sweet heaviness enveloped my *****, in union with hers

I hear the primordial boom of the big bang, refining as an "Om"
travelling sans any medium it goes outwards to expanding universe.
to the 1"Chidakasha" where everything begins and go beyond.

Her storm energy, Tantric, seeks alleviation of existential pain,
I hear my glowing inner eye whispering in  light to the far galaxies,
In one form she is so much, past present and future converged,
She is 2"Mahatripurasundari", great enchantress of the three worlds.
Shakthi, the feminine energy that moves earth, heaven and hell,
Kali, the dark energy, seeking sublimation through catharsis.

On me she moves like a tortoise deliberately,my nervous system reads,
She would defeat the hare and win the laurel, in yogic, trance I discern.

Her poetry was like a living  organism
that changes form  every minute
by the chemical change it undergoes
within me, the reader's mind,
each avatar did a dance different
so much  the symbols and cryptograms spoke
right from time capsules of subconscious,
I had to choose from this or that.
I looked deep in to her eyes and read silently
words, one feels are severely limited, at times
much goes unexpressed for want of words
"exquisite" in such occasion is an expression
that has lost its sharp edges, due to overuse
so i smiled, I hope  in a way most expressive
of the spirit the poem reflected
but  more was in the poem, I sure felt,
beyond my view, some  hidden pathways exist
my ears craved for hidden voices, and I told her this
evening set the stage for her recitation
we walked the country road and she began
very solemn at first, then the words took
a life of their own and became palpable
I felt I was in presence of an oracle
who receives divine command from universe
a spirit that sprung from subconscious
was heard speaking in her throbbing words
the folk walking the path stood and listened,
the look on those faces were unmistakable
a knowing  beyond the  meaning it was.

This woman is a chameleon,
how her hues change!
she is the conqueror-
wearing the false hues of the conquered;
a desire for perfect conquest, in disguise.
                            She instinctively find
what she wants to conquer,
from among the smiles
identifying the heart of her like,
from its invisible presence,
from  a distance.That one moment
qualifies her as a magician of heart strings.

Her studied indifference now
is a tacit invitation
to get near her,
though concealed in many layers.
She makes sure he doesn't
miss the message,
but for the uninitiated
it goes invisible.
Sly looks he send now and then,
when she moves closer, his whisper:
"Don't you hear what my heart says?"
his half smile is being reciprocated,
what was made to look like reluctance
was in fact a challenge
for him to go and get
what he wanted,
not as a gift, but
as a hard earned asset.
He thinks she was the best
he has ever set his eyes on.
They hit it off in a bit.

I am the gushing river's intent,

Somersaulting waterfall's

still moment, just before

it's touch down on the ground.

Blowing wind's sweet desire,

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

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

to touch the crust before the fall.

The lovers' cliff hanger moment

before the lips touch and

meld together in the first kiss.

The seed's yearning am I,

to break the crust and come out

to find a place in the sun

Slithering dark road,
the floodgates of
venomous traffic
opens in to it;
honking of horns,
siege, uncontrollable road rage,
poison affects mind and body alike,
brings him to his knees
at the day's end,

                       He gulps
glasses and glasses
of his favorite poison
and jumps
                   in
                         to
                             the
                                   deep
                                          dark
                                              hole
             ­                                     of
                         ­                            numb
                                                               s   l     e    e    p.

Creating a moon, pale, soft and melancholy
with words, bleeding wounds, trembling with pain,
putting it up above the dark clouds, on a lonely sky
and make it reflect in water, turbulent and agitating,
so that you would see my anguished soul in flames,
wasn't easy, it took long sleepless nights and wasted days.
Did you understand this; then what did I get?

Am I a wanderer as they made out, or the opposite, a lonely seeker?
Wasn't I trying to look at life, putting aside all pretensions,
being simple and becoming aware as one,
who has no control over anything, that happens in life
except, knowing myself, to be in touch with things
hidden from us all through the walk,
**over the cantilever bridge we walk on
jutting in to the sea, with only the other end fixed,
as we walk forward to a gap opening to the waves
that roll below, I look above at the galaxies and smile,
I realize, the purpose of this run is to swim,
across the cosmic ocean,  to be one with the limitless.

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?

This miraculous journey we call life,
has many strands braided together,
never forget what is expected from
the travelling monk, walking in front,
who'll break his walk to play with
stray street pups, eat, drink and sup
with men and women, of many temperaments,
who'd invite him to sit with them, even not knowing
who he is, or what mission moves him
through these dusty roads. There is something
that makes everyone not take eyes off him,
they'd say that, when he goes back on his way.
On the waves of emotions, he partake, he moves
like a paper boat navigated,  by the speed
it all create, yet unaffected, except the empathy he keeps in his heart.

Hearing  stories of this pilgrim  in rapt attention
creating worlds fantastic inside,
learning  things one never imagined before,
he travels with the wandering monk in sight.
What is more wondrous, once he thought
than  seeing one's starry eyed lover's excitement,
showing a jewel she picked
from the riverbed of her short life
in a blessed moment.
She put it adoringly in to his mind,
a gleaming ornament that'd adorn him
though time would change that too.

Every thing experienced in this journey
makes one, the words of the monk prompt to act
and see the aftermath, take in the taste,
be it sweet or bitter or both,
odors and smells, the feel of things
a complex web, the map of inner life.

Never should one fail, to lend ears
to the tales of wandering monk
he is wisdom's child, patience solidified,
every tale has its color, smell and texture,
nature spoke, he experienced,
ages in muted tones speak
to him in the voice of the  wandering monk

A warrior of love, a perfect Amazon
you are well equipped for a war,
ready to take whatever it'd be to win,
beauty of such kind wages any war
only to conquer,the news has spread
that I am the one, you've set
your sight,so glad I am, for me!

Hypnotized by your painted dark eyes,
I am thirsty; instead of water, your lips
offer great solace, only disentangling
becomes a deed impossible at last!

Your armory is full,I could very well  feel
the moment you employ embraces as a part
of your tactics of overpowering and subjugation,
I guess you still have more moves hidden,kept ready
in case of a prolonged war of ****** masterfulness,
I gather, but why, yes why ,should I bother?

Take me by my hand and lead,show me which way
to move to please you most.
                                  To your bed,we'd retreat,
warriors of unrelenting amour, we'd take up
this beloved endeavor couched in  ardent desire,
we'll play the parts riding the horses of passion,
till dawn shows us the signs to retire for a time.

All aglow we were
from the smoldering
ember of love within.
Each felt the warmth
loving hearts exude
when we all were
in an extended embrace.
Then we heard love
singing to us sans words
"None of you would
feel complete
without the others
in this web of love
hereafter"

1.This wheelchair never was a River,
even when powered, it did splutter
yes, it's equivalent in movements,
listening silently it always sits out,
away from the flow to the ecstatic sea.
A wheel chair is a caricature of loneliness.

2.Ever tried to see it for what it really is?
"We don't remember, doesn't catches the eye"
Not like a chair of any other kind easily does,
A chair regal looks up, straight at the face
in the manner it demands what it wants,
"Let me tell you this, listen or leave"

3.A wheel chair keeps on looking at it's
arrested feet apologetically and sighs,
if you have an inner ear sensitive, hear this,
I am not even a chair, an apology
for movement,spoken in a voice stiffed.
It speaks incessantly, in a voice within itself,
wordless to a world, that has closed it's doors.

4.A wheelchair easily forgets things as
it can't keep bitterness alive always.
who cares to speak a few words to a wheelchair?
all it is to be done is push it in silence through aisles .
from a destination of pain to any other, slightly higher.
Stairs of every kind, for a wheelchair is a foreign land.

5.Yet in impeded wheelchairs moves many a dream,
broken before their time or crusted with force.
Or remains of a day, too long and  busily spent.
On every wheelchair a heart adamantly beats,
"I would, I would" it beats with a rare grit.