between us
our breath mists
as we pursue passion
this  night of zero  degrees
our ardour is  summers hottest day
as the sweat cools upon  bared *******
we reach an apex our very own everest
and then become aware of the chill in the air

Being white...is now a sin to society.







I was nothing but a plain canvass. Hanging in the wall, the consummate design of purity. One day, I threw a dot in the middle of my frame to see how life is like. Then all of the sudden, I became the attention of most paintings. I was art. I was meaningful. The thought of my imperfection is art. But not all commits to that sense of style, and they judged me. They smudged me with colors I'm unfamiliar with. Their hands changed me in terms of tragedy, just like themselves. My innocence became abstract with different intentions. The white no longer defined me, but the sins they made me do provide.

Stealing away from the noise and glare
I paced the aisles of an ancient library
Being worn and tired, indisposed to read
I sat in a corner, lost in half reverie

Around me were books stacked end on end
In safely locked glass and wooden shelves
And sectioned into different genres
Fiction, non- fiction, verse et al, in thinly layered leaves

I felt lost in this vast continent of erudite friends
Poet, scholar, philosopher and sage, each sat quiet
But those silent souls seemed to crave for human touch
Waiting to serve anytime learning’s lovesome diet

Closely sheltered from the tumult of the world
The place, though serene had an eerie air
And books like so many beauties in a harem
Were kept away in seclusion just to admire

The lifeless air and the long deserted look
Mildly disturbed my inner calm
Couldn’t digest man’s total disregard of books
Which for long, to many a lonely soul, served as balm

Sitting amid those gallant souls
I thought over the relentless efforts of sage like men
Who in the stillness of the night, in their cloistured cells
Plunged into research and meditative reflection

What knowledge is garnered in these tomes!
What all charms, encased in these pages!
To what magic lands they can carry us
Sharing with us the accumulated wisdom of ages

With the profusion of electronic gadgets
And information, readily available by a finger hit
Books no more are given a venerable treat
And fated to be stashed away in corners unlit

Heavy with the time tested wisdom of the wise
They sit huddled together in damp corners
Longing to get a little human warmth
But sadly neglected like rusted burners

After an hour’s enervating reprieve
While I was leaving that dumb world
In my ears, fell a faint sound
Of the agonizing cry of the Printed Word!

fifty-nine years
  a month and two days
     seven hours
          and twenty-nine
              seconds
it
took

Here I am world.

I don't care anymore
              what you think.

But I got this plot of land
Out in the field
Under the weeping willow,
Figure since I spent
A good piece
Of my life
Under those limbs,
It'd be a good place.
I saw a lot
There, under that tree,
How the sun
Comes and goes.
Thought it'd be a good
Enough place,
Perhaps,
To spend
Eternity

In my vicinity there is
A garden  so green
Monsoons
Winters and
Summers
All do agree

A walking track
Joggers track
Yoga corner
A gymming area along the track
Everyone seems to be enjoying

Early morning enthusiasts
and
Late bloomers all love the place

A  poetry recital Corner
An occasional artist
Capturing the beauty of the place

Conversations of the Elderly
Reliving memories from
Back in the day

The children in the play area
Going Merry-go-round
And sliding , happy and gay

With
A canopy of trees
Sheltering the track

Come Summers
The trees bearing  flowers in bloom
Purple orange pink
And
Most special of All
A yellow so Mellow
(Indian Laburnum)
Leaving no trace of green
Cascading in delicate blooms

With
A granite  seat placed
Beneath
A feeling so divine
A favourite of mine !!