Love in the garden—
Made blooms now faded in dirt,
Empty hands unwashed.

You are the cure
                       and the disease.

The more her canine teeth,
dip deeper, on his shoulder,
on crossing the threshold of pleasure,
the more he gets elated;
then, a doubt raises its head
and whispers,*"just being  plain dutiful,
or was it, like she felt, really beautiful?"

Acrobatics of mating bats,
gaping hopelessness,
of half eaten fruits,
restlessness of chirping
birds of different feathers,
ants; red, black, brown
countless of them
in a state of perpetual motion,
apparently for no reason,
up and down, and
on to the branches, leaves;
squirrels, like ringing bells
complaining about
the dominance of the birds-
occupying the branches,
a golden serpent, slithering
through the scaly dark  trunk
to steal eggs kept hidden
in the motherly warmth of nests,
huge green cover of leaves,
thinking itself as an umbrella,
shielding, the sky's eyes
and rain's intrusive wishes,

*but
the tree,
a universe, where
desires, wishes and frustrations
act out  their own plays,
is oblivious
of everything,
and meditates
on the sun.

I want
Every song on the radio
to be about you and me
But the problem is
I haven't found you

Yet.

The whirlwind dance of your love drunk words,
soft whispers in my frenzied dreams,
a palpitating heart, blurred eye sight,
just a mirage, was it? a mere make believe?

I wandered on the beach, brooding and desolate,
waves didn't dance, in anguish crashed against the shore,
melancholy dusk, whimpered in languid wind's voice,
*I winged back, a lone bird, lost the way to its love...