I was not there when it all began
[ there in this fractal space, I know,
    beginnings can nest in beginnings]

but when I peered back in time,
I saw your shadow
stirring in the mists

yes, you measured out the verses,
threefold.

it was all in the pre-dawn hours,
before light

I bowed down to your majesty
and smote them who did not
I bowed down to your majesty
and cursed them who did not
I bowed down to your majesty
and loved them who did not

I bowed down to your majesty
and blessed them who did not

unsure
if it was you, or if it must be you
or if it must be anyone at all,

stirring in the shadows

or if my looking glass went
kaleido, before scopia.

but I know, of deep
where thoughts stir

I've seen your footprints
on the ***** of time.

they too know, the gulls,
the seas, and the skies,
and they know no war and death.
it must be you.

December 2005; January

2006, Summer that year.

           2008 round the middle - no not the crash.

          2009, yes the muddle.

Tell me about how May 2010

was axed by December 2010.

Palm, palm, date palm, ash cloud.

February, April, August 2011 and
that dreaded December.

last grasp of the kite string,

off goes the dreamed of high
far far away the anchor moorings

when transmission stopped, all white
noise since then, empty

prattle chatter of the key board,

two millennia and counting thirteen, fourteen,
fifteen, march, October, March!

January 2016. A new landing.

Leaves that rustle in the shadows
this moonlit night, silent, sleeping
with the mynas on those distant trees,
let them whisper to the winds
this mortal moment: rest, rest on my
shoulder, creeper-like, smile just
that little my heart shudders;
All the world now silent, sleeping
as mist settles, obscuring thoughts
this heavy winter heaving in sighs,
to part or not this is the question, veil:
little, just a quiver, when waves recede

Ancient this mistletoe, dug deep
into the heart of time,
Shadows of the dagger ******
into wet sands, shining silver handle
Ever-closing guillotine of the minute-hand
ticking closer to the neck-line
Mini-Babel rising triumphant a banner
of rebellious spirit run aground
Treachery of the trickster exploiting
the fissures in the fistful of sand
that fertile febrile mass of unknown
possibilities, harbouring seedlings of hope
and future buds of fragrant roses of love.

There is a chorus rising, chiming in the wind
chant for chant, a contest of emotions
yet when the hour calls, let me withhold,
for thus, untouched the petal blooms,
past shadows of dancing fish.

paper boats of hope running wet in the rains,

in the dimpled puddles closed, them odd schools

unstopping cheer

after that long hot season rain, rain


first we take off return in rain heavy rain

meetings and business and eating out wet

cloudy mourning before pale mornings,


then the lakes brimmed another spell

where the water flows, but we did not see,

too busy our lives, we did not see

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.