From grass and stone I am shepherd of herds,
as of grass and stones have come these beasts;
and of my beasts, I soon shall be,
keeper and kept wound into thee,
Oh Grass and Stone from which I have come.

Let us hear her gushing in the wood:
this was the stream that went in spate
and wrecked so much

Was it nature? Was it man?

The lakes, them old receptacles,
they are shrinking like grandma's grin.

Everywhere the invasive species:
it's called development, the hyacinth
whose pollen are now all over.
It's what we need, advances the glitter:
into the paddy fields,
swallowing up the marshlands
onward, onward, we go, out
into the sea sands,
we claim the skies, we are rising
It's measured in high-rises and
encroachments on embankments.

Write, write, in those towers of Babel
all the babble, those god-**** codes
them the world so loves.

settlements be shanty towns,
We need making cars for all over.
Here in India.

Development, we need it.
havoc a few not a big price, now?

Rain, raining fury hail, wind
pouring wail, winds of despair,
for hope to dawn those for rain
who year long long hope for
the season stop be done for now,
neck deep cloud, is nigh enough.
Boats to our homes, forlorn paths
of water now bring all nature
to our lives, this is prosperity
expanding, when the firms paid
to hire our youths melt away
with the public works, here's
a bucket, collecting roof leaks
telling it's own noontime tale.
Walk miracle over the puddles,
giggling ******, ungoldy hour
this too will pass, surely, unfold
the mast of the darkening skies,
grey holding mountain pass, this
hedged path of the nigh stars.

Throb, that pulsating beat,
this beautiful eve,
now this throng of the bass

three, the nuggets of pain
three shots and this throb in my nerve

this is different - gone

gone, erased from this world
blight, darkening lights,

vive le Bataclan, adieu

boom, the booming guns raining fire
by night, sobbing heart
seething eyes, dark this hood
that's come over my city,
where the Caliph reigns

Who is the lesser evil now?

Danube divides artery and vein.

Vive le Paris!

I have visited that hall of broken mirrors a myriad times
still seeking my soul wounded and broken: here this
eikonal space where you still inhabit, somewhere;
For you and me, brother, is written this fate toil and dust,
then, bringing mud in bare hands for a well to be dug
so someone else's daughters could drink of in summer;
Those many hours lost searching for dream kites amidst 
l'hospitals; Time doesn't change the dial, our parchment
lives a palimpsest of who we toil for and why. Now
cut them weeds in your garden, go grow the pumpkins,
wondering by nights, empty the full house of mirages.
Yes, we walk this nigh-trodden path loved of the ancients,
alone in the darkness of the distant suns going to sleep.

Half a milken bowl
               stuck on the wall:

sporting a contraption at its head

all silver, this touch-cold cast,

spouting out a colourless stream.

Sound of an outpouring,
the song of life.

parched desert mirage.

Pining for a love that never was,
I listen to the crooning voices of jazz.
Boy, you made me tumble, you made me fall,
I lay at night dreaming of lips that never met.

Pining for you, I'm sad and lonely,
This are the autumn's blues of such life.

The orange leaves outside fall,
my rain in autumn.
The wind howls through the night,
forlorn whispers of your name.

I'm pining for you,
you who made me tumble, who made me fall,
I'm a leave on the winds of autumn,
Boy, I'm howling for you tonight.