the old man asks his daughter
would i be a burden
when these hands can't feed by its own
this body is almost an inanimate mess
by its own can't move place
these feet can't walk to the toilet
on bed release involuntary waste
sit on soiled cloth and foul smell
would you come to my room
a hell smeared in ****** gloom
where now lives your father
who would just won't die
but in his eyes write a poem
from a piece of sky

over death we ponder too much
or none at all
but not upon the landmark most difficult to touch

living life well.

am i living my life well?

no, money can't help achieve
nor a good career of success

you know it too well not to believe
they do any better than robbing happiness.

then is it a nice wife and a loving family
kids to hug, comfort you generously?

no, not really, they still aren't enough to ensure
fullness of life as may only briefly endure.

then what is it that makes life lived well

a good sleep to tide the night
a roof over to dwell?

doing just what you like or minding the other's wish
let your desires run wild or hold them under leash?

to me it's a mystery getting answer to which I fail
the parameters of a life, having lived thoroughly well.

but over time I've realized, deep in, its echoes ring,

living life well has a lot to do
with being contented with smallest thing.

love that nice girl
skin dark wild
pink lips when curl
look like child.

can't just move eyes
cast them long
feel like hope rise
fill with song.

when runs fawn feet
winds soar wing
hear then love beat
soft tune sing.

she's that girl
core rich wine
hair with dark curl
mind gold mine.

veiled behind the barbs of acacia
the river bathes in the lazy sun

she's a thousand years or more
but knocks my heart's door
like a flirtatious teen

come deflower me
bare me in your poetry
wear me on your skin

soon she would be lost to the sky
leaving on the banks echoes of her lust

i pause for a piece of her
before my dream turns to dust!

they get into your pant
sting the fleshiest part
concerns they've scant
if the bitten is hurt
no sooner than dangers they read
quickly inject formic acid.

easily irritable they're venomous
the pain they inflict can't be quietly nursed
don't they ever bother size of victim
elephantine fat or grasshopper slim
just one bite and the crisis is dire
body is engulfed in eruptive fire.

they grip quite strong before they bite
crawl on from left catch you from right
not a fair deal was it deserved to be earned
thrown in the fire thousand times burned
they spread everywhere trees and clothesline
upon this earth they're livid landmine.

fear them you might curse them abhor
can't stop them they're mighty predator
one small sting is sparks of whiplash
leaving on skin swollen red rash
the more you scratch the more leaps the flame
be wary of these creatures fire ant by name.

Strong emotions huddle into a space called heart
build up so dense are soon ripped apart
the heat drives them to expand too fast
but time dictates slow down they must.

the strong energy the explosion unleash
go on to create stars galaxies
that retreat from one another but oh what a fate
the final fallout is an unsteady state!

flock to the jhil in December
the birds from the snow

merry goers catch them on lens.

some travel that far distance

like peafowls and hens

tasty with salad cucumber

end up on plates

adorned with spice.

some have a fate that's more nice

brought to the market
sold at high price

so they live grow up in age
with the sky ever beyond cage.

a few of us not knowing why

fall in love with jhil bird's eye.

the orb of light is my destiny.

in my dark valley
escape is a blind flight
on the moonless night

when heavy lies the fog on wing
neath misty sky crickets sing
beckons me the halogen

come embrace forget pain.

be afraid not of the one recourse
come what may fly to the source
soak in the fire of the drizzled night
life is precious with death on sight.

caught in wire stuck on fence
dying this night makes only sense
i fall like rains and at last free

the orb of light is my destiny.

It's a small bed we share
barely enough for the two
but big enough for the pair
to see the years sail through.

The wood now creaks with age
shrunk thin the old mattress
weighed down with passing days
buoyed up with embrace.

The pillows are thick with stains
of tears that flowed all the while
from rivers of joys shared pains
upon travel of the long trying miles.

Loyally it carries us along
our bed of priceless worth
could mere wood be that strong
if not bonded with warmth!

The conductor looks at me
and then at my ticket
the train is running on full steam
splitting the night with monstrous weight
cutting darkness by its beam.

A mess up he says is always on the card
in this journey's hurly burly
if you are even a little off guard
you pick up one too early.

It keeps happening more with good ones
taken by jumping the queue
denied a trial one fair chance
lifted before they are due.

I am amused by his strange remark
what he means find hard to get
seems the guy talks too much at work
can't quietly just check ticket.

Haven't a clue sir to what you say
the mess up and jumping the queue
make it clear if I may pray
this lifting before it is due.

Holding the ticket before my eyes
the conductor points at the date
unpleasant though this little surprise
you are traveling on tomorrow's ticket.

When you are a poet
you don't place yourself on a pedestal
don't spit venomous hate
think fellow writers are dismal.

When you are a poet
you don't feel a superiority
fellow writers you gleefully berate
make yourself perversely witty.

When you are a poet
your heart is a little more wide
you don't fume and fret
readers are not on your side.

If you are a poet
you know better than to be arrogantly vain
don't carry ego's sinful weight
but let your art pour through your pen.

Stray cats dreaming of leftover nibbles
gather when I feed the cats I call my pets.

Wistfully they look at the chewing jaws
that would pick clean the fish from rice
and maybe leave at most a half morsel.

The tomcat I wrote about some while ago
has not since been seen
breathing only as a lingering ache uncomfortably undefined.

But I know from the crop of the present visitors
some I would sniff in the next mango laden summer
with opaque diamonds in my eyes.

she came
when seeds were not yet sown
the sky had not ****** the river
clouds were far away from rain.

she came
when heart was mere flesh
eyes had not known rainbow
and mind was just a wayward place.

she came
when door was only wooden frame
autumn was blooming shy veiled
romance was yet to wear a name.

she returned
there was darkness gathering

love is she forever searching.

As the day dies sun to west slants
my hands water the few potted plants
an evening dawns in melancholic hush
pesters my mood the cawing corvus!

The nose in the air polished jackdaw
can’t fathom why men break nature’s law
wipe out forests root out the green
then on the roof try to grow seedling!

Why at all shrink the men so smart
stretches of wood to build habitat
all the clever brains profound and wise
destroy wastelands to madly urbanize!

The corvus his eyes speak of dark scare
frightened beak caws how is unfair
denuding of trees in insane haste
leaving scarce space to build him a nest!

As the winds break into small feathered kisses
and idly burden the heart this May day
I lament for all the long withered wishes
once whose petals bloomed on my way.

A begone time love feeling unfailingly true
a touch that left a long hovering trail
on the probing soul fertile they grew
before cruel days wore them frail.

Aspirations soared on sun blazed wings
they had to be have on awakened nights
the innocent's hunts for the most precious things
haloed in passions of untamable sights.

On feathered winds were they drifted and gone
notions of love and visions to build high
but by their fire made me a man
leaving imprints as the years went by.

When dark clouds diminished the day
and rain carved moon craters on the river
we were drenched beneath a tree.

Her hand upon mine was more than words could say
but made me once more a hardened believer
in love's miracle of bridging hearts quietly.

Since killed them the Diclofenac
vultures never came back
riverside carcasses in the sun dry
with not one long wing to swoop from the sky.

But vultures around me still abound
preying on the living thriving all around.

Sun does tickle his dreams on the blazing pave
when pass by him countless feet honking cars
fires don’t burn him nor do elements make him slave
upon him the street dirt is powdered stars.

In the luxurious cushions bed is a veritable thorn
sleep defers or visits not eyes’ awakened nightmare
men burn power to being breathing to the morn
while his eyelids at dreams’ wonder gapingly stare.

There’s a kingdom carved by him where gods don’t reign
a few picked crumbs magically brew metabolic bliss
fairies stir laughter misty angels wipe out pain
the moment his head the concretes kiss.

It isn’t hunger that in his deepest bowel gnaws
but a gratitude not battered by existential flaws
for being gifted a mind broke free sanity’s laws
be just there amid rush an island of pause.

The knife cutter calls in the summer noon
on his bicycle he pedals his wheel
sharpens all that rust too soon
knives past prime too blunt to ****!

Glues his hair the sweat of roam
his cheeks bear long uncut beard
pray he finds a wanting home
that needs to sharpen not just word!

If comes his way a timeworn knife
he sits to roll the clunky wheel
works to feebly sustain life
bowing to the smallest deal!

He is no poet no skilled scribe
an old hand from a vanishing age
belonging to a losing tribe
that still gives knife cutting edge!

There’s a mirror
I tend to ignore
rarely stand before it

so little surprise
it’s through other eyes
I get mostly noticed!

They see on the face
creases of stress
shadow or twinkling light

on its marks read
contentment need
glowing day despair’s night!

They watch all the while
ways I smile
countenance sunshine or cloud

if my gaits grieve
stooping submissive
or walks are arrogantly proud!

I hardly see myself
it’s only their help
let me find how I may look

but unlike the mirror
those eyes make error
in reading the write on face book!

It’s good the world is not made to your dream
and people aren’t how you wished them to be
your needs are never satisfied to the brim
your wants keep growing endlessly.

It’s good you don’t get all you love to own
to your eyes all mysteries are not clearly shown
your questions are stuck and queries remain
your joy’s exuberance is diluted by pain.

It’s good uncertainties hinder your way
your lips can’t utter all you want to say
your plans go awry path fills with mess
hurdles keep coming to block your progress.

It’s good you ever feel far the distance
always hope there is a second chance
events don’t take the course you will
you retain a void that you yearn to fulfill.

O wind she is far though
in thy blow whisper to her
to find me on the horizon's glow
read heart's script on the first star!

O wind when thou pass by her
ask if she sings the old song
its notes make her eyes blur
aching for the lover missed for long!

O wind when thou play on her hair
and she feels the touch of my hand
strum the tune softly in her ear
I'm pining in a faraway land!

O wind when her cheeks thou kiss
wet them with thirsty lips' touch
speak to her my only dying wish
to let her know I loved her very much!

By the end of winter
hind the canopy of leaves
they build a chaotic nest.

She sits meditative
he stands watchful
and once only my eyes could intrude
four bluish white nuggets.

When in the first winds of summer
dance the mango buds
small wings would ache
not to fly beyond mother's love.

But she knows no time to waste
so they too on the next winter
gather twigs for a nest.

dreams long lost
swirl around me

in the shade of Arjuna
winds sing a lullaby.

they never die
bide their time
in the cave of eye
neath layer of rhyme

don't the rustles fall silent
yet canopy of new leaves
grow above

crave the same firmament
and away from old griefs
seek new love?

in the winds' murmur
i would never touch them
the seemingly lost dreams

but quietly in the hopes' harbor
rekindle their flickering flame

and let flow in endless streams.

Reason burns the prime
leaves in their cinders no solace
for one likely answer are a hundred questions
where crumbling bones can’t have the will
to climb anymore the rungs endless.

Finds beneath feet a resting ground
that in glimmer of hope abound
a tunnel light an emerging design
to craft from chaos a face divine.

Utters a prayer that’s never too late
succumbs blissfully to the savior the faith.

He just dreams craves to be nothing
soars he never on ambition’s wing
a win for him is not even worth
he’s happy to be a loser from birth!

He talked so little they thought him shy
the teachers caught him looking at sky
never won a reward or a good grade
but you know of loss he isn’t afraid!

A good job wasn't meant to be his
a girl to love him lend him a kiss
the one he took fancy soon took flight
found another guy winner and bright!

He doesn’t regret not having a fat purse
his lack of aim and mediocrity’s curse
he would rather give away the game
retrieve from dust a windblown poem!

They call him a loser a defeatist a flop
a toddler lifelong while others gallop
he is contented with his chosen pace
happy to look around not run the race!

Poetry is surely the finest wine
Its words most lavish *****
You get drunk with every line
By the end all sense you lose!

There’s no wine to cast more spell
Whiskey ***** gin or ***
So long in it your thoughts dwell
Soul suffers blessed delirium!

Ecstatic is the poetry’s fizz
The froth at the mouth of nib
Gushing out of passion unleashed
The kick with each falling drip!

Poetry is among the best antidotes
When I crave a drink or two
I inject its overwhelming shots
Pains melt to moistened dew!

You lose a job
the lover you tied your life with drifts elsewhere
the place you grew root seems not home anymore
the days are vacuous and nights a crawler
your head echoes with the deafening groan

I deserve no love, even from me.

Surely it’s the worst portrait you drew of yourself
and an erroneous one.

The job was filling your purse but emptying your purpose
the lover was no fairy but a fair weather friend
the home was only a harbor you anchored before sail.

There’s a world at your doorstep begging your attention
withering without your love.

Pick up and hold them to your breast
see how quickly unburdens your chest
your spirits soar.

From thence you would never cease
to love yourself from the core!

For some days they talk about the dead
he was a good man even his enemies say
kind friendly and very well bred
may his soul have peace they pray!

By some magic death bares goodness
hitherto unseen come to the view
you wonder the man made so much place
that when he was living you hardly knew!

All his deeds get a paint of shine
it is said he was a soul to emulate
his manners is seen as highly refined
more than the living turns dead man’s weight!

The ones who had journeyed his life
lived close to his bone and flesh
they wouldn’t know children and wife
how weighed on him his loneliness!

I met that man in a coastal town
over his face beards flowed wild
his eyes they knew only to look down
his years didn’t count he was a child!

He smelled of bile feces and phlegm
his skin was a thick layer of tar
from his **** hung loose his shame
they said he was a castaway who came from far!

Sun and rain found him a barren rock
a sculpture that birds could err to perch
standing unmindful of the passing flock
as if he was lost in a deep search!

He just stood there holding his ground
eyes cast down on the paved road
none had heard him utter a sound
muttered neath breath even one word!

To the townsfolk he was a statue on the square
that losing his way hovered on the brink
but I had a feel within him somewhere
was a man looking for a long lost link!

When I asked him how old was he
Giving a mischievous wink
Said won’t tell you straightly
But in a riddle to think!

If you add up the digits of that year
Multiply it by three
You would be almost there
But not there exactly!

Three more to it you’ve to add
And that’s my age no doubt
You would make me really glad
If can figure that out!

The two digits that make my age
Have a difference of one
You’ve enough clues to the maze
To work out my age with fun!

The digits added is short of ten
But from one too far
Would you now take the pain
To make my age clear?

I should converse more with my son
stop him recede wider from me
should lose no time to hold him strong
we haven’t exchanged much recently.

Our morning tea must find me a way
to draw him to talk and look at my eyes
seize I must some time every day
so I succeed after a few failed tries.

Our dinner shouldn’t pass silently dull
but spiced with jokes and diary of the day
must break laughter the hardening lull
and ensure on the table a longer stay.

I should converse more with my son
grab all the time could be together
days are shorter and crying to be gone
but the bond we leave must be worth a treasure.

I put a lock on the clock
tied its hands with rope
if that made time still
halt its fast gallop!

There was an eerie silence
as lay dead the tool
with time now my slave
I could take it cool!

With there nothing to pass
I felt the burden off me
to lie back and relax
lead a life sans hurry!

For a while it seemed so nice
my time was what I liked to be
reading and writing and dreaming
walk hourless freely!

But soon boredom got me
grew a void of unease
a dead clock wasn’t that good
closed time killed my peace!

Time’s passage the timekeeper speaks
so we aren’t complacent too free
but keep the flow somewhat disciplined
by following a tool friendly!

It’s a perfectly golden day
she isn’t loving you less
no obstacle on your way
eating up your space

though fine on surface
you feel inside unrest
of a sighing emptiness
weighing on your chest!

There’s a wind blowing strong
no speck clouds the blue
your ears get birdsong
and you don’t have a clue

what stirs the ache
that finds no easy heal
but for you to break
lose strength of will!

The petals burst in bloom
crowned in sprightly leaves
yet shrouded in gloom
you wonder why heart grieves!

Winds brought her smell on the Broken Hill
it stirred a butterfly somewhere inside me
danced my **** to get her skin’s feel
grab her impale her ride her merrily!

But she looked scared the few times she saw me
kept moving away at quickened pace
in her hazel eyes seemed written boldly
in the stream haven’t you seen your face!

I had no notion of love but a void of pain
that sighed as the winds’ moan on Broken Hill
her laughter with her guy of a clan alien
made my hands itch to go for the ****!

But I refrained for the yawning difference
sensing I could never be her match perfect
the way she walked to me made no sense
she was taller and strangely more *****!

The monk shows me the scar
where he took the bullet
the 70s fiery rebel
is now a Shiva-ite by faith.

I try to see in his eyes
remnant of youth’s spark
believing the fire never dies
from time now buried in the dark.

The March wind blows the dust
banyan trunks make a cool shade
in the lull he relieves a past
no way could he obliterate.

A time was I held a gun
the police was hot on my trail
day night I was on the run
in the pride of being a rebel.

Cast shadows an eerie silence
now evening could no longer wait
I wave to him from a distance
Shiva waits on him to meditate.