It all started after two deaths struck the family
The house was devastated it happened so quickly
They were still in mourning coping with the shock
When was heard their presence the eerie nightly knocks!

The sadness was soon replaced by a sense of horror
Footsteps were heard with none on the corridor
The lights went off their own stones pelted from nowhere
Doors banged without a gale lost things weren’t anywhere!

Ashes dumped on food filled jug was soon empty
Wastes lay littered in rooms locked and debarred entry
Nights were spent sleepless each stayed on bed awake
Praying for the knockings to stop arrival of daybreak!

The terrorized house lay numb without a key to the mists
Till they had them enough the pranks of the evil spirits
Too long was going this at their cost the ghostly ruckus
Not deterred by one’s boastful claim we got a gun with us!

When the unwanted visitors showed no signs of retreat
Priests were summoned to drive out the evil spirits
They said not one but the house is playing host
To not one evildoer but a bunch of malevolent ghosts!

They performed for three days got bagful royal treat
Then they were gone but the visitors didn’t retreat
It was by now known they would go on till
Their mission accomplished they could close the deal!

One day it all stopped as suddenly as did start
Quietly they left sprightly souls did depart
But also found were gone with the phantoms’ revelry
Grandpa’s saved gold coins all Grandma’s jewelry!

My heart I give to the cloud
my eyes where the grasses quiver
my time is come to leave the high ground
be lost in the mist of the river!

From so far I have wandered
to be lost in you o river
my tears mourn the times squandered
to find you where you meander!

Now is come the time this August noon
to pierce your mystery's veil
to kiss your ripples and die in your moon
go down deep you to feel!

I give my heart to where winds the river
as I stand on your green bank's mound
where the clouds hug you grasses quiver
and soul end of journey is home bound!

I used to eye her more than books.

She had good looks
and for me
in the library
she killed the dullness of patience
the stifled air of silence
with her lips' hidden smile
that was quite a diversion
from pouring over yellowed pages
all the while.

In the garden I sought my chance
but she resisted any advance
telling me it's not her
I needed to be in my mind
but a job I must find
for couldn't be raised a family
merely loving in the library.

I think she gave me love
when I needed a job
but by the time I earned the bread
she was already married.

Once I thought of her as Miss Giving
but now as I look back
I have serious misgiving.

This too will sink I know
Like the others before
This too will go
Behind shut door.

Once a place of rejoice
Where I poured my heart
Leaving is now the only choice
And make a new start.

My work is my blood of toil
Come at a high cost
Digging deep into the soil
What I grew is all lost.

I leave this holiness with pain
Will miss all you gave
Leaving the circling dots to reign
And send old poems to grave.

The sleepy man at the museum
directed me to the balloons.

Ten out of ten shots went astray
proving my eyes are lame
and so my aim.

The galleries were eerily deserted.
(is people's interest in science flagging?)

I looked down the infinite well
for awhile eternally falling into it
recovering from the realization
they were merely infinite reflections.

The man's smile told he knew from my dazed look
I was lost in the mirror maze.

(Was I stuck in all the wrong exhibits
for my age?)

I got a ticket for the sky in September
finding peace in the dark of the planetarium.

They talked about him as the one
who none had ever seen smile.

You couldn't gauge
if he was happy or depressed
no emoji could describe
the repressed expression
but all said
he was dutiful.

Caring husband and father
responsible family head
silent bread earner.

His constant arrangement made sure
the home was neatly organized
not one object was out of place
and but for the children
it would have been hard to guess
if he ever met his wife privately
summing up him to be named
robot
and the belief in his name was strong.

When his wife died
he wailed so loud
it could be heard beyond town.

To the neighbors,
it was mechanical breakdown.

a funny game i wanted to play with me

writing poem within mouth holding
a seed of blackberry.

the fruit was fleshy sweet
till tongue exposed its bone
staled, made it insipid,
as if, was never grown.

spit it out i could not do
that seed utterly dry
for i had given word to you
a poem to write must try.

as i thought up cutish rhyme
that must pleasure fetch
****** grew the seed with time
my mouth was messy wretch.

my tongue was thick of blue
too intense was my plight
but i had given word to you
must hold till end of write.

it's over now this awkward game
what a relief to throw it out
and never again shall i write a poem
with a blackberry seed in mouth.

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.

The poet's manuscripts
are preserved for posterity
with odd bits of his personal things
historical than literary
immortalized with passage of time
as his timeless work
perfumed in air conditioned staleness
letters sent and received
the mortal mind sending poems
desiring to be published
and outside on a falling winter day
in a dog's head
the crumbling desire
for a crumb of bread.

as i drew the curtains
felt a crawl on my hand
that fell on the bed as i ******.

then saw the other of the pair.

i shoved the duo out of the bed
hoping they won't land so far
as to not find again one another.

past my initial reaction
i felt ashamed of the stupid act
and remorse,

for having wasted the time
it took them to be close.

i loved her at first sight
if you ask how
the answer is all white
not one point till now.

was i too fool a guy
did i make haste
right now can't tell you why
that boy knows the best.

that boy who held his gaze
right on her face
read there in his daze
written happiness.

if you ever find him out
you may ask him how
he loved the girl at first sight
and loving her till now.

Windows were once green
bricks fabulous red
upon the wall daylight
glowed like newlywed!

So lovely did it stand
the toy house in the moon
did it ever happen
didn't it end too soon?

Words were fewer then
wild thoughts ran galore
of mysteries now boxed up
behind tightly shut door!

Who stole the girl cutest
was it time or a man
that left her robed whitest
spinning the widow's yarn!

What really it yields
the house that once was red
with love and bricks was built
then broke and never remade!

Thousands of miles' flight
leaving behind inhospitable terrain
for life and warm sunlight
the migrants are back again!

None can to this day
with any certainty say
how they don't ever stray
navigate perfectly the long way!

Never in their path they are lost
as they fly from the land of frost
in rhythmic unison like a rhyme
intent to reach the warmer clime!

My place is where they come
they find here warmth and welcome
winter guests for some time's restful peace
come summer them we will sorely miss!

Pay no heed
To your greed
Do it once
Just to give your greatness
A chance.
Once and then once more
As never before
Defy the greed
Pay it no heed.
Here and there
A small sacrifice
Would suffice
You’re learning to share.
You’re learning to defy greed
Learning the worth of a good deed
You’ve it to take the lead
To free the world from greed.

I blew bubbles in the air.
They weren’t robust
Pretty soon they burst
And were no more there.
I blew them thinking
That those pearly bubbles
Would go build a link
Betwixt me and the sky
And would fly high
To trap the clouds’ rumbles!
But they never really flew
Could never reach the blue
Of them so unfair,
To be soon not there
Fast disappear
Without showing my dreams the slightest care.

the July sun stabs her cheeks pink rose.

where is that wooden bridge i ask her
some way more she says some way more

she never forgets.

the bridge was half finished the last time we came
left us longing what mysteries the other side held.

i think the water has eaten it up
tides are so fatal you know

no way she says only some way more.

then it shows up

six months of wooden planks
six months of waiting
now proudly hanging on the river in spate.

let's go on the other side she cries
in wind scattered voice
her hand upon my shoulder rests.

her way she never forgets.

In that blindest lane
I had gone in search of a door
When on the glass pane saw written
Cadaver Store!

Stood there awhile awed
Rubbed eyes if seen it right
My sight wasn’t a bit flawed
In that hour of perfect light!

Don’t my mind fervently pleaded
Walk through that ominous door
My curiosity left it unheeded
Pushed me in Cadaver Store!

Luminous lights reflecting on mirrors
Caught me in my own stare
Bar my fear’s pulsing tremors
There wasn’t a living soul there!

Haven’t for long been needing this help?
Spoke from the glasses an unseen voice
A deserted place to meet your self
See what have made it of your own choice!

Looked back at me corpses of seasons
Laughing mocking hating on my face
For always finding enough reasons
To let them die in silent distress!

It happens with old men
Have seen it times umpteen
I’m a boy again
You too sweet sixteen!

You sit with folded knees
Pulling down your skirt
Lest in naughty breeze
Thereto my eyes dart!

As long as it’s your face
Things are hunky dory
Tales of such retrace
Tell you as teatime story!

But often it happens
As the dreams unfurl
I can’t make its sense
Appears another girl!

She may be the one I know
Or a face I have never seen
Crafted in moon’s glow
Carved from days of teen!

Such dreams they quickly abort
When her I embrace
Make with her a rapport
On her neck comes back your face!

Next morn I feel glum
Hide behind newspaper
Teatime I sit mum
Without a story for her!

This silent question I asked
for answer endless explored
where’s love grains husked
beyond eyes quietly kept stored!

Is it on the bed we sleep
whose sheet bears marks of lust
or something that’s more deep
hidden neath her layer of crust!

What’s the place love she stores
ceaseless flowing from the start
veiled in her all daily chores
I erred to be the place called heart!

In the house it’s a small nook
here her love makes me dumb
standing mesmerized as she cooks
I wait from her hand love’s crumbs!

He drives with flair..
millionaire billionaire
and such people
on money's stack
all the time behind his back

he drives those racers and pursuers..

the chauffeur.

In the eerie hours half asleep
I heard my name in a soft voice.

It was a wake up call I couldn't resist
The jungle was in dark mist
The night ending but morning was still frail
The call was to tread on the fallen leaves trail.

The trees were shaded dark the sky was pale
Every bush was where the shadows fell
Quiet was the air our heart tautly tense
We tiptoed our best, and it made sense.

Tweet of early birds didn't sound sweet
Danger awaited at all sides to meet
We strained ears for the slightest sound
The jungle a romance on a perilous ground.

On the dry boulded river shapes were deep
Moving in a herd crawling to the steep
We stood frozen on this other side
To let the distance between grow wide.

Years have flown and whenever in the woods
I see my father's figure in jungle brood
He wakes me up and stretches his hand
We fly through the bushes in jungle land.

Detective Dalton is all confused about the ******.

Mr. Smith's head was bludgeoned with a heavy object
the impact reveals the vengeance of the killer
Bill the Butler had before closing for the night
heard the couple quarreling over something
Junior Smith was having a night out with his fiancée
and Daisy the daughter had retired to bed early
for she was to set out for an excursion early next day
Mary the maid had taken her leave by the evening
to attend to her husband ailing for some time.

Dalton has no clue about the ****** weapon
nor any lead to point to the possible suspect
but for a scribble on the page of an old diary
found neatly folded beside the victim's body
that reads as follows:

behind the humble mask is a ***** man
time and again he has ***** a beautiful soul
all just for the pleasure of his flesh
mauled her with his ugly tooth and claw
constantly used her to feed his lust
lost the right to live this man
and he deserves his place in hell
a mighty blow to his head
will for sure end this monster
will do that with my hand
and see his blood oozing out
to recompense for the sin
he forced on her.

The murderer has kept the name hidden in the letters,
Detective Dalton has only to find out.

From the mother's breast
It landed in prison
It was a different nest
For it without reason!
It had not grown wing
Sky was a distant dream
They wanted it to sing
They and their strange whim!
Controlled by alien hands
It sought the mother's warmth
Surrendering to odd demands
Hiding sorrow in a forced mirth!
There was no way it could sing
Joy was barred by walls and ceiling
It had only a fragment of sky,
a grieving heart, mournful sigh!
Then one day opened the cage
It was free from all *******
‘Is it faking death? ' said someone
Never knowing its freedom was won!

Merry Christmas, the voice greets me
humbug I mutter under breath
greed hatred jealousy
only things you live with.

Keep to yourself your mirth
I sullenly brood
such lies are too heavy for this earth
done this place no good.

Relations under cloud of doubt
each soul bears a grievous injury
merriment had long gone out
the greet is just empty.

It's a pity you still find it merry
with all the injustice inequity
man classified quartered
children for food bartered.

Merry doesn't the word stink
while some choose what to drink
fuss about the flavor to savor
many reach it by thirsty miles' labor.

Merry can't hide away the glum
of human habitats in dingy slums
strewn on pavements under open sky
breathing refuses left to rot and die.

Still, Merry Christmas to you*, says the voice
the time is to give and rejoice
the world though is truly what you say
You, I, We, have made it that way.

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.

Deft hands cut precise whirrs the ceiling fan
closed eyes bar view the scene can't scan
before they reach the ground take windy spin
falling in scattered piles gathered for coffin.

Shreds of gray and black dot the white shroud
little to write about nothing to be proud
don't reduce anymore that's about fine
add not to the growing woes says hairline.

Cool the clime crawls the clock at its own pace
halts the head to think about the changing face
would it look better or yield a worse clown
ridiculed by one and all folks of the town.

Nothing can be done enough damage is done
fiercely to blow the heat waits fiery sun
over sir says barber open my eyes
the one in the mirror doesn't look any wise.

There was a handmade cake on my table
and a letter with immature hand:

I start with this
but know that
whenever and wherever I bake a cake
you'll be in my mind.

It tasted not that sweet
I remember
and she was never to make another
in my corners of bitter December.

I have no other Christmas memory.

There couldn't be.

I know I invite reproach
When I speak aloud in wonder
Why boys are the first to approach
And girls are mere responders!
It’s the boy that discovers the chance
In the girl next to him in school
For a courtship and steady romance
Though the girl must play it cool!
If the girl eyes him just once
That’s enough to make him bolder
Just one look puts him in trance
Though the girl must give him cold shoulder!
The boy so oft reads the signals wrong
Cavorting buck with wildly beating heart
The girl cautious doesn’t fall in love headlong
Makes sure the boy is good to make a start!

Cinnamon and black grey
breaks the summer's doze
the voice gives away
it's sitting somewhere close.

The shade of a mango tree
that rests the wings from sun
breaks the day busy
to a lonely space for one.

In its eyes black bead dark
solitude wears a skin
a sadness makes its mark
of a silent cry within.

It dips beak deep for preens
cleanse that's daily a chore
another day quick spins
shadows are longer more.

Bigford Bunny, Bigford Bunny, can you hear me?
If you don't hear me, leave behind a penny.
Bigford Bunny, Bigford Bunny, can you see me?
If you don't see me, how can god, can he?
Bigford Bunny, Bigford Bunny, can you help me?
If you can't, or you won't, you are one of many.
Bigford Bunny, Bigford Bunny, why I call you twice?
You are no god, just a mortal, and that's no surprise.
At will you buy, you occupy, even the outer space
Pollute the pole, lust for the whole, and change the earth's face.
Bigford bunny, big and rich, the world is your empire
You have only today for fun and play, let the future burn in hellfire.

She shivers as he puts his hand on her forehead.

Ma, you have a fever, he says
and pulls up her blanket.

She closes her eyes to hold back tears.

it's your touch, son, her lips hardly move,
like rain on my arid heart, long awaited,

streams of films roll in her head,
the baby, skin of her skin, blood of her blood,
the umbilical cord never separated,
severed as the baby grew up,
a man of another woman,
the expanding distance
huddling all those cuddles into memories.

It's your touch, my son, it heals.

The son rises to call a doctor.

She knows she has no fever,
only pains of sweet memories.

A low monotone ‘snip snip snip'
Drooping heads as in slumber deep
The mirrors reflect telling it all
The shedded strands quietly fall.

Goes on the buzz ‘snip snip snip'
Are they awake or in deep sleep?
Getting off-loaded here's no hike
Lines of souls sit vampire-like.

No one speaks it's nobody's call
Heads mildly roll, tissues fall
Shrouded white from world disguised
The snipper's spells have them hypnotized.

The stupor breaks once ends the ride
A cruel world is waiting outside
The spell was so short, it's a pity
Time again for reality!

Quite a child
she makes me one
mind windward wild
flies gazelle run!*

On the shore
she’s something more
than picking pearl

opens door
once more
she’s a little girl!

She picks seashells
of sea she smells
she looks alien

free she sails
in her spell
i’m child again!

On the sea
wild carefree
she paints me joy

make hills on sands
small grow my hands
i’m again a boy!

The man at the studio doesn't like us

we aren't pretty as the teens
not dazzling like the newly weds
our faces are pretty grim
smiles are once a river
foreheads dry riverbeds
eyes hold no commotion
but he does it for money
and winds up quick.

We walk to the river
where under the grey February sky
she plays with our reflections
babbling and breaking us
into unreadable pieces.

Under the banyan few bamboo stalls
Baskets of garden’s produce
Whiff of fresh fish from fishing trawls
Buyers the sellers amuse.

Brinjals and pumpkins papayas and gourds
Small catch from neighborly streams
With buy and sell exchange few words
Alike a sketch seen in dreams.

Small things small price wish don’t soar high
A few coins to relieve bowel’s pain
Will do enough to let the hopes fly
No need for too hard bargain.

Will be left behind not all will be sold
The fragrance of freshness will stale
They won’t rue hearts of true gold
Having learned this hard fact too well.

Some hours spent when shadows grow dark
Sun decides to recline in west
Wind up they all under moon’s arc
Happy souls homebound for rest.

Sighs the banyan long standing witness
Pains it the quietude of stars
Holds it through dark watches endless
Coming and going of pedlars.

Ms Dolittle was giving her cuppa a sip
Her beady eyes drowned in deep brood
Last night she didn’t get enough sleep
The morning found her in a grumpy mood.

She had never seen them in all her years
Though read or heard about sightings
Dismissed them as mere conjectures
The believers’ flight on fantasy wings!

It might be the moonlight playing mischief with her
The moon can fool with such eerie nightly designs
Or maybe had a peg too many she couldn’t remember
She wasn’t unaccustomed to swigs of grapevines.

Whatever, she saw it clear not imagined in her head
The silhouette of her husband on the curtained window
Something she wouldn’t wish away as merely moon-made
He stood there upright waving to her in the moon’s glow.

Ms Dolittle brave as she is didn’t swoon or pass out
Just lay there motionless without rising to the summon
It was her husband about that she had no doubt
For in a troubled voice it said, ‘Come on’.

So there he was troubled for not having her company
And it was precisely what was worrying her
She had no idea with him how she could be

*She wasn’t yet booked for traveling that far!

When the sun slants
on wings smelling fish
fly the cormorants
to where the home is.

Their memory is a lake
with bountiful food
bill's all the take
that makes living good.

In between the catch
when enough seems done
find a dry patch
hold the wings to sun.

If wishes were heard
it's all I would want
to be turned into a bird
and what else but cormorant!

The serpentine queue refused to budge.

It were the grown-ups that were stressed
the children babbled showing no unhappiness
with the pause offering so much more to do
and nothing that useful to look forward to.

Some faces looked as though made no sense
this waiting for mundane taxing patience
but were eyes that peered staunchly keen
as if the wait's end God would be seen.

Though lumps of time allowed break from the run
not one face showed up some feeling of the fun
anxious and jittery they smoked up the place
to my mind the children were only saving grace.

Back from the sun baked field
she served him hot meal.

From the quick dip at the pond
droplets lingered on his bronzed frame.

She loved them
the way she loved his eating in peace
standing quietly like a shadow
and then when he rose to go
her lips’ quivered glow
would be one more time killed.

As he trudged to the paddy field
her fragrance haunted him
and wind scattered his sighs
to the land
where the crops would soon be gold!

From the day his mother died
He had no time to mourn.
From the very next morn
The same robe he had to adorn
Same wares he sold door to door,
Forgetting mother is no more!

We turn blind in faith
war for religion

stick stiff
to own belief

give gods name
invoke them

and our dogma goes so far
as to turn us

executioner.

in the attic on my way to the roof
pick up the two newborn kittens

their frantic mews at this alien invasion
draw the mother who knows me well

in her owl eyes are written
though love smitten
don't cuddle them too much.

past them i move to the roof.

on the mango tree
the crow nest is empty.

was my bonding with the two chicks
for those weeks
a waste?

dusk falls with a sigh
heavy on my chest.