From the rooftop
I see the houses sleeping in moonlight

(My chance ascent to the roof
for a space to be aloof
begets this poem)

I know this stillness is deceptive

behind the half glow neon panes
or the wooden ones shut tight from light
beyond the dumb walls of white
tears and smiles are flowing
also grunts of despair
moans of flesh upon flesh
stopping at the skin
or going far down to that misty spot
and even far past all them
two hearts holding the flame
of years buried on the bed
a child still in their head
or there but really not there
somewhere too wide to build a bridge

(Thirty minutes past nine
the toy houses in the moonlight shine
in their chambers holding life not seen)

And I atop one such house know
it's time to go down the stairs
to take up the script again
and write and act and write
for the length of night.

I go back to that place

Through the green door
Enter the red brick house

Mikhu is still the little fairy
My eyes look for
And still my shyness
Forces me to look away
In her mother's presence

In the faraway attic
She furtively cooks me a meal
We make love
That brush our skin faintly

When I come out
She stands at the green door

Then upon the here
She is no more

everyday you pick up the hammer
you hit on the head of the nail
words surround you madly clamor
you can't make head or tail.

rarely the nail penetrates the wall
oftener it breaks by the blow
all that's hidden inside the skull
more refuse than pour out to flow.

you drive the nail's head with your might
wishing it goes all the way
miss in the wrath to hit it right
fail in what you badly need to say.

the hammer gets blunt slows your hand
you are saddened no progress is made
on the next day the same place you stand
looking at the twisted nail's head.

She sits from where
the rainbow arches into the river.

As I eye her fishing net
she reads the question in my mind.

I'm waiting for three thirty
when tides begin to fall
but the shrimps can't go back.

When the bank begins to bare
she glides into the waves
till the water cools her *******.

I walk away knowing
she would bob up to the hour
the moon is upon her face
and she has made another morrow
from the river.

I hold my ears keen
Keep eyes opened wide
But can't solve the riddle
Of who's on whose side.

Today Tom heaps praise
Showers laurels too many
Tomorrow hell is raised
Tim is Tom's enemy.

How fast makes Tom amend
Finds Tim full of flaws
Pete is now his friend
Tim Tom unfollows.

He digs out wrongs of Tim
Finds him crooked and sly
So inducts in his team
Pete the nicest guy.

I can't hold back smile
Though at end of wit
How friendship is volatile
Sour turns a relation sweet.

I wonder why it's so
With life such a brief ride
We never really grow
Feel the need to be on same side.

had it run just straight
with no turn on either side
we all would surely fret
life is such a boring ride

life is so dully made
that's all we would say
the road is clearly laid
same looks every day

no bumps and no holes
sharp bends of surprise
the way blandly rolls
we don't fall and rise

thank god ain't so made
life has twist and turn
in search of what's ahead
we persist with the run.

Dead heads stare from the wall

one can't tell if their glassy eyes
hold the relics of past life
or the sadness of having lost it
to the fires of royal pastime

tiger eyes look pathetically pleading
for re-stitching the stripes on the bones
leopard head growls only in anguish
of his spots being soft spot for target
the open jaws of the croc
can't still swallow the stuck bullet
awed eyes of deer is yet to sense
the muzzle that ruptured its innocence
the jackals, birds, langurs, civets
all frozen in the suddenness of the ***** out.

The hunter's head peeps from a dusty frame
having got his place of pride
among his game.