Deluge tears, the storm clouds engulfing the wide world,
none to steady the canoe on the Galilee;

This the dust-path yoked to the burden of our deed,
beaten for teaching love, up the hill of penitence:

for here we traded the Spirit for passing gain,
calumny for mercy, who showed us the mirror

bearing witness, the wind heaving in the silence
we handed him over to the lash and the crucifix,

Yet, inscrutable this love for an ungrateful world
that parts the seas, and calls to life our faith dead,

pouring down, a heavenly stream though undeserved
carrying us across in arks and covenants

When the winds got to the depths
they came alive, them embers
that I let smoulder
deep in the sacral chambers
bathed I returned in grace
but not before

I shouted out into the well
a fiery hymn
a flaming rant
empty now my soul
drenched in the echoes
each more tormenting
than before

this is how you lose it
this is how

The wave beating solitary on the shore
every once in an aeon, comes an hour
when the fuzzy bundle of timelines
must collapse to a certain certitude

Long hours of labours past the dark nights
that have borne their ends but not far
speak in hushed voices of defeat
and surrender, and dejection,
that it is all over and what else but

There, in the distance is a brewing morass
a descent into chaos and death, a war
that has no winner but the abyss

factions ranged, outweighed not by
their arms but destiny

that now threatens to ****** away everything
that a people fought to preserve memories of

on the  island where death rules the heart
this little patch of a shore
hidden away in the alcoves

the one hope of redemption

Here you are, holding court
in the sanctuary hewn of stone
in the depths of my hardened heart

I was searching  everywhere

ages congealed in the story of my quest
distant those memories flashing in lightning hues
when we made for you a throne in the skies
you were a king, being vast and a Son.
Fire,  light, word and the cosmos.
You grow with me,  beating with my heart.

so many tongues invented sacred,
each the supreme and the last perfect for all times
ending futile muted
that broke your icons but
fail to uncontain and unlimit your vast formlessness

Now after so much death and darkness

clad in the ashes of those endless cycles of dissolution
with your hosts, ghosts and goblins
in the silences sliced by cymbals and bells
at the pinnacle depths of being
Holding court here

Yes, I am the same God
that dwells among you
Grace incarnate
again and again
in times and among peoples
various as the stars

if that mighty being
beyond all description
but experience
ever begat anything
it is but me,
me, love and grace

wherever the heart shrinks
and tyranny reigns
and lust and greed
masquerade as law
into that parched desert
do I descend, when
Jordan baptizes the soul

Ichthys of God, I make twelve
the anglers of fisherfolk
who cast their nets wide
and catch me in their soul
so they can behold
Him, that I am,

no greater miracle than this
was ever made

Those ripples
spreading hope among the waves
in torrential despair

foreboding

right behind where I toil away
with all her ships and sails
hidden in her receptacle soul

broken them rudders
we're sinking
as I hold out a palm
for some cheer
to gather. Macabre.

The Ocean, she came to me
and sat silent in the jar
not a whisper of a wave.

lives, palimpsest soul
stepwell storms
revenant, re-sonant

In the alleyway of sorcerers
and tricksters
One step back, ten deepward
away, away, from sun and lime,

forms, thickened smoke, gone
all the familiar, but fear

an industrial hammer
beating to a pneumatic heart
pulverized, powdered glass

Now lining the string to my kite
soaring, one among the shapes
dotting the kaleidoscope
Retreat!, I can cut.

bangles, once they were
I gave you

Hooded, darkened, enveloped
in hushed hymns and
chimed mutterances
come hands held out of cloaks
that I accept for friendship
cold, as the heartless should be

erased, gone among
the shadows, lost a young soul
tottering at the edge of a cliff
tremor that ripped the heartland
blocks of stone, elevated
icons of hope and love
lining the pathway here
disfigured so beyond repair
even moonlight cannot restore

once a thinker, a poet, a scholar

where peddle the whispered
offerings of an underworld

I am searching past these dunes
and dune song

It was easier then,
easier then.

ghost-like come
echoing in the winds,
drenched in the sands,
wrapped in the folds of time

comeuppances
coming undead
appearances

there go flying past,
those petals, dried,
fragrant still after these years

that with eyes moist,
I cannot say.

few them petals,
uncut rhyme
on the knees

but you know, I know
codwelling

through alleyways of life.

that was all, that was all

Saying, I don't say.
It is all an intention
in percussion.

Feelings
from those wellsprings
we know not
but are aware of.

Muggy muggy reflection
them canopies warm certainties
this misty morning, tall
brooding over a ray of light
silences all around, for crickets

splashes a worry, a leaf
reed-song of mourning
against grey-greenery rippled
bright painted gay pink
fuzzy fudged hope emerging
floating fleeting deafening
broken hush of the wood

speaking colours, mute, them
thoughts stuck in the web
confounded, rioting rebelling
colours, shoots, many petals
of a resolving healing love

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

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.

Totem poles, bare naked, arranged in a row
fiery headed, emerging out of the mists

Mysterious all light and no flame
by some source subterranean fed,

Either side of a path paved of dark
this moonless night, by the flickering star,

walks the shadow of some being with eight
wondrous arms cast symmetric about its head.

oh the flaming lights, dying into the mists,
extending into the depths of the distant night

Dear Lord,

I thank you today for this gift of food. This, was another child of yours. Abel Abel Abel. An intelligent bird. A member in its dumb chain of life, family: what is family to that insentient mass? Do they mourn when one of them is gone? Does it affect them, does it bother them, does it pain them,

As it does to us? Yes, we, the great golden yardstick against which to measure out the universe.  Dumb, may be, but dumb life with a heart. Who knows about the soul. Isn't soul that little pin-***** somewhere deep in the heart? Do I have one? Do I care, do I mourn, do I see the pain that I cause to these fellow children of yours:

But if not this, what else - a leaf that covers in fear at being plucked, a root, a bulb that in ways we cannot sense with but an instrument, cries out in pain at being uprooted, skinned and roasted live. Or a fruit, that mothership, host to a million seedling lives, every one of them that could grow out to outlive my life by orders. A stalk, a branch, name it.

Yes, this is food. This is a chain. I eat and am eaten. Terrible, this creation, that has sprung from wellsprings of love. Or is not this world the product of a loving God, but that of the evil non-God? But where your omnipotence that is screaming through the scripture hoarse?

No, I am a sinner. I have sinned, to be born in this wretched world. A dead child was washed ashore, the other day. Until then, I said, to hell with those barbarians crossing rivers and mountains to reach my land. But what of death? I boil and burn a billion little lives in my glass of tea every morning, many times over. Oh plasmodium, that I have to **** to live, oh this life that hangs to me like a necessity!

Good Lord, have you made me in your image? What is, whose reflection in spacetime appears like this visage, flesh on ribage, beating heart, pumping lung, viscera and nerve and vein, bone and nail, wallowing in pleasure and pain? That is an inverse problem that baffles our genius. It is ill-posed for certain, with no means of regularization for sure.

I must live I must live I must live. ****, that organism is small, dumb, unintelligent, insentient, it's pain is of another kind, we can't eat air, and we are atop this chain, cobra's head, that houses all the venom. This is evolution, we are evolving space suits to head to the stars and spread the Gospel to those unknown realms still sunk steeped in barbarism.

Yes, He is great, he can be heard in the voices of lunatics that some times  get recorded and transmitted across the generations. And I follow the masters, they were vile, very vile, they were chosen, yea they were chosen, so vile is virtuous, I be vile, I be virtuous, I am chosen, yea, I am chosen, I head to God, on the backs of a thousand dead souls.

Amen. Peace to all those I consign and all the masters I quote. Holy Cain!

Bleak the rays shattered through broken panes
life, dust, dust,  future and smoke
automobiles and gunshots solitary this hour
when screams rend the air, not my turn today -
no, not as yet. Mother, I want to rest my head
in your lap. Can I weep?

Cactus in my soul, I ask, Can I, all that I am?
Lust is the death of man. Gouge your eye that lusts.
Broken void of my afterdays, that mourn
like the wind on the dunes

         Mother, I am well. There is love, there is hope, light
         hidden like nuggets in piles of the dark.
         Mother, I must be well.

It was the other night. Nightmare in loop.
Shamed, stripped beaten violated.
I am in a well, deep pit, drained
of all the essence of light
I can hear your voice echoing with the ray
shattered tumbling down the walls

free, free I am the wind mourning in the dunes
can you tame the wind?

        In the depths, and in the deaths islanding life
        mirage of oases, Mother, I have found him,
        my Senor, to whom I give my ring

Violate me, visage of the abyss,
burn me, but can you find me?
beat me, chain me, but can you enslave me?
I am not here in these nerves and veins.
I am all of Augusta, America,
I fly in the Masts above the skies

Sweet Lord, I see you have deemed heaven
for me, no purgatory but here.
I accept, I surrender, I submit. To thy will.

            Mother, do not negotiate. I am strong.

Where in my naked body have you found me?
here, in these bruises, have your embers soothed?
I am the Lamb that does not cower.
I haunt your soul as guilt.
In what little's left of it.

He finds you in the catacombs where
I haunt the crypts that no vicar penetrates.
When all is lost, when death is certain at the sea,
there opens a way and I will walk out

           Mother, I am coming. Have faith, for faith maketh.
           I hold you here in my *****, smouldering pain,
           that gets me to wake every haunting day.
           Every day that brings the sound of darkness home.

*I fly in the Masts above the skies.
Tame me, I am the wind breaking the dunes.
Ilohi, lema sebachtani sebachtani

An evening comes wading through the clouds
crimson the feet wet in mists unfurling

silences whisper hushed in shadows and leafless
stalks, tangled hair, moist in the mellow winds
foreboding the hour when minnows sleep

it will rain tonight
                   soft on the lotus ponds
landing by the dancing canvas leaves
                   painted in hues of cream-white
                            birthing buds of pink
                                     smiling shy

robed in the regal hues of the moon
blushing behind the mourning palms
painted against the skies
solemn

whirling, whirling like a dervish

it is the hymn of the skies
it is the early moon
it is the late koel
the pond overflowing
in longing


I will swoon rhapsodizing

Saying your name in syllables
whirling, I rise levitating
You are there in the distance
You are here by my side

Come marauder, sword unscabbarded, lay  
siege by deceit, wound mortal my coil again:
I live in aeons where millennia are puddles -
you will be assimilated, your venom spat out.

What of nations but the notions of separation,
people go, languages die like colours and petals
but here lies anchored, the soul of the world.

Deep in that recess where no man has gone,
by moonless nights, unfurled ancient
the song of the stars flowing in  distant skies

Who knows when time began? Who clocked
the beginnings? Here I asked of nought and nigh,
here the endless vast, and out of a featureless past
speaks the wisdom that lights continents afar
heroic the call to selfless action in the field of war.
Here was love born, in all her colours, and the lore
of the unhinged compassion of the liberated soul
here I asked of the highest god, why none above?

and came war beating its chest, lust laden again
pillage and plunder of the savage kind

but, I live, I live, I live,

I live in the cave temples of the unknown world,
I live in the music of the evening sun,
I live in the dance of the spirit drunk of love,
I live in the ruins whose soul is beyond plunder,
I rise towering from the ashes,

There - flies the wheel of law on the horizon high

There is yet a mighty dawn waiting to rain
down light on the veiled world, free free,
I am a spark of that thirsting fire!

Oh Penelope, Penelope
in the winds blowing distant!

when storms gather at night
and lightning pierces the sea,
I see how Zeus has struck,
such is time, that
slices through the heart

Oh Penelope Penelope
Did I love you over honour?

Athene oh Athene,
were my prayers not enough?

In the small hours' brewing
pain, how I took valour granted,
oh to believe that destiny
is all but deed and dust,
that victory is about winning

Burying my knees in sand,
set on the horizon, here I mourn:
turning over the wheel of time,
too mortal my soul
for the love of a nymph

Oh Penelope, Penelope,
in the winds blowing distant!

Now girl, how do I live without you,
and what my existence without you?

Sundered from you,
I go sundered from my Self

Coz it's just you now,
just you, my life,
my peace and pain,
my love.

And we are bound this way,
unbearable apart,
For you, I live every day
and give myself away
no moment be without you,
in every breath, your name;

Coz it's just you now,
just you, my life,
my peace and pain,
my love.

For you, I give myself,
your trust, that holds
and soothes my soul
woven, my destiny with you
and with you,
I'm unfulfilled no more

Coz it's just you now,
just you, my life,
my peace and pain,
my love.

Sundered from you,
I go sundered from my Self

It was a night of sulking darknesses

there in the distance, clouds thunder
raining tears down the shanties

crickets scratch the silences elsewhere
as winds bring the smell of ash home

in their thousands, mayflies clash
for a swab at an orb
hung hazy into the shadows
canoodling the trees

foreboding come thoughts clouding

the morning after, the stairs are awash
in swarms of broken wings
and shattered dreams

a newspaper's thrown across
there are deaths:
heaving at the heart.

And there, ascends the seraph winged of fire
into realms azure beyond ours
that here lighted our lives
with courage and dreams:

what humble the beginnings, that
we see not in humility of conduct,
what joy of the spirit
that does not come flooding into our hearts
and dream, that does not lift a people

that millions rise, ignited
heeding your call,
O King by demeanour,
in palace but a pauper with books,
and the rhythms of our souls

when parched for some,
wandered we
by the mirage wells of a nation
dessicated of hope,

oh Thou dispenser of our destinies,
did you not send a message
scribbled across a smile
that connected silver curls of age

that now leaves us broken
for we shall never be the same
until we meet you there
in realms azure beyond ours

We think it's in the protection:
above, the vast canopy called Sky;
then we want freedom
when pervasive is intrusive
and seek shelter

Searching, we expend lives. Rain
finds a way in, we run seeking new.

We think this is unique,
then neither vast not endless,
but blobs floating in space:
it is in the beauty of illusion; then
disbelieve, hopping bruised on.

Neither in protection nor in freedom
nor in anything other;

Under the canopy again,
up on a hill, until
buried deep somewhere in us,
we see, it was there, all along,
and we grow up.

What's in the first? What's in the second? Ancient heirloom, toothless smile. What's in the fourth? What's in the fifth?  What's in the sixth? Seventh?
A ring. What's in the second? What's in the third? Papers worth millions.
What's in the fifth? What's in the sixth? Seventh?
What's in the first? A key to fortunes. What's in the third? What's in the fourth? What's in the fifth? What's in the sixth? Seventh?
What's in the first? What's in the second? Keyring. What's in the fourth? What's in the fifth? The holies. Seventh?
What's in the first? What's in the second? What's in the third? What's in the fourth? Old Bangle.What's in the sixth? Seventh?
Gold, gold, it's gold. What's in the second? What's in the third? What's in the fourth? What's in the fifth?What's in the sixth? *Faith.

Where do you walk to, Senora, across

mist-wet beaches moments before dawn?

Shy waves are savouring their lone time.

The sun, a truant kid behind the clouds.

Fisher-boats quivering in their dreams.


Where do you walk to, in your free

glowing tunic, garlanded of fresh flowers,

silken moist hair caressing the winds?


Now the leaves are awakening to stretch

in the breeze, now gold is abundant.

The trees have shot bird arrows of love

slow darting into the horizon blue. Not

enough answer, the Smiling tiara turn gaze

Let the film end before intermission
characters be underdeveloped
let the plot lie open like cut veins

and let the the background score
resonate in the hall at its shrill note

It's a broken piece of the heart
cracked into two:
two faces reside here now
on either sides of the chasm.

Make whatever you wish out of it
Sweet or bitter end,
tragedy, comedy or farce
or thriller or horror,
write your own story, make it up.

take any road up the hill
to eternity beyond.

I cry out to you in voices and guises,
and in many tongues:

Every morning and tiring night,
becoming the muezzin,
I cry out
piteously for you;

Sometimes I deck myself in finery
and offer flowers
and fragrances, bursting out in hymns
wrung in ancient tongues;

Draped in seraphic white,
I sing in a dozen voices of the soul
chiming in halls
adorned of ancient glass

Sometimes, I strip myself bare
and chant as I whip myself
in savage frenzy and sacrificial rage
in some forest cave or secret corner:

Yet I fail
the dune song in the desert
wave dance on a lonely shore,
bird flight in evening gust

I cannot love.

Circle of smoke and fire up high
winds of the late eve
dispersing, crimson tiara
of gulls and gusts

Captive bubble, I saw tears
on your cheeks, and let you free
oh the transient beauty
that exploded
tears on my cheeks

Sing peans to the upturned life,
possibilities skimming past
endless the stream of thoughts

that rush by the little selves
that rise and ebb in the vast

go go, Gustav free, setting clouds on fire.

Yes No Yes No Yes No

Dribble!

No missed passes there.

Yes? Yes. No? (equally, emphatically) Yes!

Cancellation then? Annihilation then?

Sometimes, may be,
all the time, may be,

but, there, subterranean,
somewhere lingering,
sub-zero, a fuzzy something

that we can't make sense of.

invisible, the scaffolding that
erects the edifice of our life.

Yes Yes Yes. Goal!

.

O Lord of the hosts!

His eyes shine in radiance
in whose heart is your name
whence the origin and where the end
the earth, sky and stars
pay homage to him
and fear fears him
whom your shadow protects

O Lord of the hosts!

He who earns the blessing of your love
wealth finds him in whatever he does
and a shoreless boat is he who
has not found you whose
benevolent eyes keep watch over all
shattering the storms of sins,
whose glory never ebbs,
he becomes a master of his own destiny
even forgetting the world, who has
found your grace, come riding the mouse,

O Lord of the hosts!

Anointed of the dust of your foot
on his forehead, who lives mortal here,
the immortal nectars cannot tempt him
he can drink venom smiling
just by the shadow of your grace
the wheel of the chariot of time moves
and by a spark of your ire
abodes of demons burn

the minions of enemies stand defeated,
a particle is a mountain,
boon become into this world, comes your name,

O Lord of the hosts!

Glory, glory to the dear one adorned of peacocks!

Rain song in the deep, spiraling
camels down the hazy dunes
mystery of birds in the early sky

glimpses, working on inner space;

I caught the shadow of your smile:
scribbled across the skin my soul
the mystic syllable of your name.

Secret scaffolding erecting
tier upon tier

emerging beauty of my life.

Rush-stream of memories
concealed in the bush as the
morning fires die,

the flags are waning in their zest
festoons are withering

ambling along empty streets

yet the story is never done.

I was shipped across seas whipped and cuffed
Cattle, not human I of colour. Aeons on,
I was finding hope
in the life of a carpenter's son.
here comes hooded, undead.

born on a shore kissed of seas, I grew up the country hill
swimming rivers at dusk gathering berries for the stars.

gathered to mercilessness in death.

My skin was hide for shoe and soap.
Herded into camps I was worked to death.
For you believe therefore I am.

O veneer that wears thin on a whim,

to think that gods can walk amongst you.
gory, gory your glory

blessed vaunted humanity.

I became island chains
in search of the mainlands;

horizon birds in the morning mist

fires lighting the distant sky

what else

when you smile like that leaning on your arm

I am dragonflies delirious before rain
I am the hummingbirds
I am all the waterlilies

I am going tumbling like the fall stream
drunken peal of the wind chime

gushing, crashing, ambling on

the gulmohars have come dashing down
now the street is crimson eyed

when you smile like that

New, the form. Awareness new.

Now I am all the lilies
sailing into the expanse
of water, lake mourning your loss
this misty morning.

I am all the birds calling to you,
frenzied.
Birthing consciousness new.

All the trees drooping.

Crimson haze on the eastern sky,
you passed this way:
I am wailing with the winds.

Time is a strand. Channel, tunnel.
Among many burrowing through here.

Who picks this dust path for me?
I call her destiny.

Daubed wet, the horizon blue,

featureless:
three stripes of wet green
ascending in

wet sands of the bank river
winding, dancing ripples

little red rose smiling shy
behind rows of wet grass

rain is the smell of earth
cast wide, love is

staring at the impossible gulf
wanting to cross puddles

Hold me
for I am yours:
outside, slow mountain rain
damp the hill-song of the soul worlds
now split.

Dissolving under my feet,
as in a tidal ******..
slipping hand, don't let go!

Here by the wood
by the hill under the sky,
under the stars,
dark, lies a world curled up:

fly, fly to distant realms,
never away from home.

I hold the torch deep and
find traces of your presence
here: footsteps that show
you passed this way.

This is my Janus face:
confounding who to heed:
Señora, I who call to you,
or I who harbour all
the muslin shades of dusk
in my shadow soul?

Now the wind is blowing
wild, biting the hissing fire.
The hour when waves recede
and thoughts retreat,
the slow winding hour,
when I commune with you.

Light begets light and so
come finding me, for
wavering, I may never
head any further here.

business Friday that ISIS took control
Husayba sometime around
I tell you Love Ramadi Habbaniya
non leader. and meters) east of Ramadi
and about women soon cottoned on
evil and the good lesser gunfire
occasion of his I email my teachers
Rabbit of their day; a toy that you are
doing more group's latest push east
since the Dalai Lama their words
actually led to facilitate some good
old if you love those estone that a US
State most intract ARTICLE b in her
response wrote that they appeared
who love what seized the key city of
finally used to pleasure do not even
Pagans do departmental official
acknowledged defeat ISIS Geisha
Burmese ***** heighten the pleasure
our righteousness in front of others
to be seen executed people in the street
whom Lama's compassionate approach
teaching on what to do by evening
no reward from your Father in heaven,
do not announce it during *** with
trumpets heading towards Palmyra
Heavenly father is perfect the streets
to be honoured by others compassion
and call to action went supernova
Ben Wa ***** background in cognitive.
remember to give thanks more efforts.

Here, boughs and stalks will wait,
eyes laden moist in longing,
every overcast eve,
mourning your absence;

Here, the winds will
go still and rapture-swell
at the song of your flute,

Here I will stay, clutching the lotus
memories of our love to my heart:

Overcome
in longing here
Jumna stalls, when wonder
nights of raas unfold in the mists
of time.

I am but a maiden of these Vraja fields,
go, friend, kingdom and world await you.

Let us go to Galilee
that four yard cell in Mathura,
deerpark in Varanasi,

and ask where are we headed?

Fallow the field we furrow.
Lost the harvests of our youth.

And when all's done, this
our fear, that it was not enough,
that it was not enough.

What does it mean to
love, find peace in works,
uncover the joy of existence?

(Mere) myth, delusion, infant
babble of an evolving kind?

Weeping 
the garden lamp 
flooding all the moorings     
now a deluge of memories      
rush in.

Orb under the canopy          
sobbing to the late winds  
 
Floating lantern
Smoldering to a portal mouth;
One eye of a weeping dragon
                                                 
Mist-capped reminder          
of all gifts unrecognized,                                       
clenched fist of fate,                      
drooping fruit of the tree of life.

I sit holding a torch to the ingress
where your presence seeps into my soul:

is there more I can offer you, Senora,
Sovereign of all phenomena?

You shot in here, a quiver of birds, this
morning as the fires are burning down.

Shearing open the skies for crimson hues
of peace that now flood the quarters, after

the rains when roses have withered, I find
you stealing past the fragrant path westward.

I am become a lighted lamp, bowing
to you in every smile that greets the day.

Rain snaps at the distance
one more wet dawn, I sit
longing by the porch,
as the leaves rustle

Of realms ethereal,
Senora, how would I
honour you in my
coarse, this peasant home?

Do not but assume this
frail form, that caprice can
find shelter, human
in you: I can't bear,

I will wait an aeon,
if only to grow eyes.

Now past drunks at the late station,
past pavements stuck with gum and
roads caressed by wind-swept litter

at the savers, that single pole that
ruminating on the evening spent
I hold every evening in the same
compartment, more or less, past milling
toters asking for spare, the same
crowds, them smelling jackets, clarinet
stations that get empty the same times
muggy glazed nights, as scanty-clad
girls head inward to the city for fun
who must these be, not of us, sure,
Yes, carrying bagfuls that hurt that
by the smelly bin overloaded with
beer cans and assorted junk,

could be a serf working in the farm
a hammer and a sickle later
a shovelboy in a dingy mill,
reading runes by the torch of hope
lighting the hovel by night,

waiting for
the bus that will get me home.

And then
I held your hand:
where have you been so long?
Our worlds intersperse, but seldom
we meet.

How has life been since you
had gone over? Does the horizon still
shine where you look from ?

A statue have I made of you,
and I sit reminiscing
every morning, sun-kissed.

Do you wear bodies the way we do?
Do thirst and hunger bother you?

I have so many things to ask,
but first, let us
go strolling in the park, years, since
I saw you in the dusk, dust-laden.