I looked into his eyes
not knowing if he had
a reciprocal vision

no doubt he smelled me; his
sense of scent more developed than
we sluggish two legged beasts

for each step I took
back, he took one forward, our
synchronized death dance

if by chance, I survived
my feckless faith would not
be revived

after all, I had a shotgun
pointed at his noble chest; without
my terrible tool of modernity
I would be his feral feast

when my deed was done
and this creature was supine,
desecrated by the fearful squeeze
of my finger

which God would I thank?
the one man wrote into existence
to allay all mortal fears

or the one I believe carved
canyons from stone, the one who
knew river life was flowing in
every newborn raven's heart

from which one should I dread
retribution for such a profane act?
which would punish me for the slaughter,
the scarlet blood in the pure white snow?

both--both would have seen,
both would have known, the tyranny
of evil men--me, all my brothers cast from
Eden--such a ******* of stardust

I die a thousand times a day
Maybe more by night
I stand upon my funeral pyre
of that which burns so bright

I will rise higher in flames
that cleanse the soul within
Hidden beneath feathers and wings
They lick away the sins

Only when ash remains
When all the pain is gone
Then will l from an egg arise
One day older , another one wise

always wishing for the best
from fingers to toes
she was optimism
clothed in black
with a fey look
in her eyes
as though
from a place
far wilder than this,
her magic drew you in
allocentricity her mantra
practised not preached
i knew her  when life
had greyed her hair
put myriad wrinkles
upon her face....but
still it is the smile
and the laugh I hear
on those days that
get me down..
my sugar plump fairy
in black hand me downs

she sits by her window to write,
ever fond of the morning light;
not a day passes when she fails
to pen an epistle to him

she envisions him pulling
the missives from his saddle bags
perusing them a second time, a third,
admiring her chancery cursive

a year now since she saw him:
steady on his steed, his regiment
waiting, eager to join the fray, to ride
north under his proud command

perhaps at eventide, she will
write another letter, in case she
forgot anything she intended to say
this morn, or just to reach out again
before the setting of the sun

a cloud passes as she signs
her name, another as she folds
the paper; soon it seems, a gathering
storm--she places the letter in the
envelope, its traveling home

she turns the candle to pour
the wax, then presses the seal;
another story from her to him
ready for its long journey

the stroll from her room
to the mantel in the parlor
to the pile of paper that grows
higher above the hearth

a cold cavern of late, for
without him, she eschews all
things warm--for she knows
he must be freezing in the
cruel ground where he fell

(Spartanburg, South Carolina, Winter, 1863)

=================================
Be prepared for the worst, since Every story has not happy ending
So try to dance in the sun,
Wearing wildflowers in your hair
And enjoy each movement of existence
run, fun or done near or wide
because you can do, what you please
but do not forget the reality
What is hard can be ease
Remember ! you are a slave and
Ruler of your decaying body
You are a mixture of gold and bold
Everything perishes which blooms

~~~Jawahar Gupta~~~

he imagines
he has carpal tunnel
from channel surfing;
reruns,
his greatest
weapon against
insomnia

the ficus, the
philodendron
she left
(with half
the wedding
china)
are taking
an eternity
to die

a fortnight
without a teaspoon
of water would
wilt the most
hardy specimens
of their kingdom

perhaps she
bequeathed him
cacti in
disguise

he asks
if they are
what they
appear to be:
leafy indoor
greenery

or prickly
survivors
that grow
only where
all things
are venomous
or have thorns

they swear
they are not
botanical
imposters

liars

he turns up
the volume
on his flat screen
to drown out
the mendacity
of flora

the fauna,  
after all,
were not
to be trusted
either

Rain beats down on the window pane
As the flood gates of Heaven suddenly open
It is pouring out in torrential flow
Like a Reservoir, all at once, broken

It has come down as a welcome respite
To fan away the humid sweltering heat
It falls in drops and flows in rivulets
Washing the dust of summer drought

With a sudden burst from the weight laden clouds
It lashes down in steam and fury
Plummeting to form ripples in puddles
And filling pools and ponds in hurry

In slanting sheets, it almost pounds
Flooding roads and making puddle
Gushing through pipes and rushing down drains
Water floods, causing men to waddle

Rain has its abode in heavens so high
And hides behind clouds of mournful gloom
In silver strings, it spans the Earth
And cleanses the plants in resplendent gleam

Sudden is the wind, coming to shoo away the clouds
And the sky is once more cerulean blue
As the music stops and the humdrum stills
The water seeps, giving no evident clue.

After an angry couple’s furious fight,
As the house goes back to an uncanny calm,
The rain has vanished, leaving little trace
Cooling the Earth and causing no harm