my love
thy hair is one kingdom
  the king whereof is darkness
thy forehead is a flight of flowers

thy head is a quick forest
  filled with sleeping birds
thy ******* are swarms of white bees
  upon the bough of thy body
thy body to me is April
in whose armpits is the approach of spring

thy thighs are white horses yoked to a chariot
  of kings
they are the striking of a good minstrel
between them is always a pleasant song

my love
thy head is a casket
  of the cool jewel of thy mind
the hair of thy head is one warrior
  innocent of defeat
thy hair upon thy shoulders is an army
  with victory and with trumpets

thy legs are the trees of dreaming
whose fruit is the very eatage of forgetfulness

thy lips are satraps in scarlet
  in whose kiss is the combinings of kings
thy wrists
are holy
  which are the keepers of the keys of thy blood
thy feet upon thy ankles are flowers in vases
  of silver

in thy beauty is the dilemma of flutes

  thy eyes are the betrayal
of bells comprehended through incense

The novel has more than six hundred pages
Each and every page has it's flavoured essence
If the essence of one page dilutes
It isn't really diluted
And, just adds varied flavours
Simultaneously the other page dilutes
Dilutes a little.

Flavours of essence is completely known
Quality of dilution is partially shown
Neither complete nor partial
Either incomplete or impartial
Words are of such
Which posses a sensory touch
No words could be neglected,
No pages could be skipped,
A word is a sword
A page is an image
An unseen film
An imaginative one.

The author has enriched his work
The novel does move around with the following
Most of the readers should have run short of words
Other than admiring.

Love and care,
Care and love;

Love for knowledge,
Knowledge of love;

Love vs betrayal,
Betrayal subsiding love;

Betrayal of characters
Characters are given roles of betraying.

Yes, yes, yes
The characters that betrayed
Were pathetic of all
Kinetic for sure.

The novel has more than six hundred pages
Each and every page has it's flavoured essence
If the essence of one page dilutes
It isn't really diluted.

Dated 30.6.2012

Breathtaking views
of undisturbed nature.
This is where my heart lies.

The lapping of the water
The cool gentle breeze
As the dock creaks and sways.
I am content.

Barefoot in the grass
The cool earth beneath my feet
The smell of the air is rustic and sweet
Frogs hop away
Your step they hope to beat
This is where my heart lies.

Breakfast on the deck
Sun shines in your face
Skin warm and bright
Your senses filled with grace.

Pitter pattering in the kitchen
Laughter abounds
Friends and family come together
Peace is found
This is where my heart lies.

As I stare at the bay
Stress and concerns float away
A dip in the water
Or a paddle too
Ventures you into the never ending blue.

As the sun sets
and crickets chirp
The stars appear
Lighting the sky
This is where my heart lies.

Crackles from the fire
Music resonates in the air
Stories that inspire
Friends and family that care.

This place is special
Wondrous and enchanted
Magic all around,
Absorbing nature's sounds.

This is where my heart lies.

Poetry flows through me
Like the breeze
Glides through
The clouds
Gloriously summiting
The stratosphere
Expressive schemes
In my brain appear
Without warning or
Appointed time
Storms a brewing
Within the inner
Focus of my mind
Poetry blowing
Deep within my soul
Always cummulating stanza's
Which make me whole

=====================================
Dusk till dawn everyday
Addiction of affected
Memory of her touch
Soft cotton bud spreads
over my hard body, but
Rejuvenate mind and soul

The ''Me'' that can see the unseen
Touches the untouched mean
Feeling the real fragrance
Standing on the entrance
Watching the worldly core
From the inner light door

Away from the noise and pollution
Seeking real all solution
Mind watches the pure conclusion
Not depending on a life's conclusion
Living with the dust and crust
Passing test of the earth

Not thinking of salvation
Not wanting any liberation
But living with the actual relation
Nothing pain or segregation
The ''Me'' that can see unseen
Is the pure soul of Eternal screen

There is no end of wit, grace and beauty
But there is always a new beginning of duty
This sweet question is a constant link
Which reflects our attraction to Think
Song of life takes us along with the wind
From inside room to outside to go and find

Written by
~~~Jawahar Gupta~~~

===========================================
I want to give you the sky
With my breath to bring new heights
I want to give you the ocean
With my heart, the depths of my love

I want to give you the sun
Only to have Its warm embrace
I want to give you the moon
Only to have my soul to light

I want to give you the stars
Only to have my dreams without scar
I want to give you the beauty of this world
Only to have this eternal bird in my cage

I want to give you paradise of heavens
Only to get freedom from my seven sins

Written by
~~~Jawahar Gupta~~~

This morning was so beautiful
I lost so much blood
April At 9:00am
It always has golden trees
The sky is too white...
I see so many lined shapes sitting
or bending
I won't sell my drawings
It loves its paintings
The color pencils are walking
The doll laughing
My hands were beautiful
I was pretty in your eyes...
My ****** does not blossom
It flew
Why shouldn't the Jasmine's
blossoms be red ?!
Their yelling is not concordat with me
I want my tears to be Eglantines
For the sun to laugh
My dance with God
Among watercolors
In my mother's ******* eyes is beautiful...
I am the same Jasmine
Yesterday in my mother's arms
And today a woman fondling your
ears by singing lullaby of her virginity
I will put a society to sleep
The wheat is sleeping with the grain field
A girl who the sun doesn't see her ******* will die
in the shining of blues
And my hands will not reach the
black hair of any man
The red beautiful Jasmine flower
doesn't belong to the freedom
I will not realize the illusion of freedom...

امروز صبحی زیبا بود
خون زیادی از من رفت
اردیبهشت
در ساعت نه صبح
همیشه درخت هایی طلایی دارد
...آسمان بی اندازه سفید است
حجم های خطی زیادی می بینم
نشسته است
یا خم می شود
طراحی هایم را نخواهم فروخت
نقاشی هایش را دوست دارد
مداد رنگی ها راه می روند
عروسک می خندد
دست هایم زیبا بود
...من در چشم های تو زیبا بودم
واژن من گل نمی کند
پرواز کرد
چرا نباید گل های یاسمن سرخ باشند !؟
فریادهایشان با من یکی نیست
اشک هایم را
گل نسترن می خواهم
تا خورشید خندیده باشد
رقص من با خدا
میان آبرنگ ها
در چشم های سیاه درشت مادرم زیباست
من همان یاسمنی هستم
که دیروز در آغوش مادرم بودم
و امروز
زنی که صدای لالایی های پرده های بکارتش را
در گوش های شما نوازش می دهد
جامعه ای را خواهم خواباند
گندم با گندم زار خوابیده است
دختری که سینه های آفتاب نخورده ای دارد
در درخشش آبی ها خواهد مرد
دست هایم به موهای مشکی مردی نخواهد رسید
گل سرخ زیبای یاسمن به آزادی تعلق ندارد
...من توهم آزادی را نخواهم فهمید

Poetry.
Don't worry if you don't have the time
Because it doesn't need a beat.
It doesn't need a rhythm.
It doesn't even need to rhyme.

                               So if your rap is weak
               Or your voice a little too meak
                                 You could try poetry
                               Come on, take a peek.

Poetry doesn't need story.
No, don't worry, it won't be boring.

                       All you need is a message.
                    Something as simple as "Hi"
                         Or as deep as "Goodbye."

The true beauty of being a poet,
           Is if you know how to to write.
                         Then you already own it.
                              Just take a chance.
                 Look through my eyes.