When the west moon tilts and goes on the wane
Becomes a dying streak on your windowpane
Your frenzied sleepless mind breaks in roaring lust
To hammer the unyielding night into powdery dust!

All else but you in slumber dwell
Your rebellious thoughts burn hunger’s fuel
To pry out from darkness fading treasures of night
Dig them intact and bring them to light!

You could buy peace and live within norms
Bathe in moon’s kiss stay away from storms
But a ****** madness in you wreaks havoc
You nurture it, allow it to run amok!

Past the ebullience of night your furies vaporize
Can’t hold back the transience, stay in poet’s disguise
The dawn would devour it for transform you it must
To conventional sanity from the garb of an iconoclast!

a suffocating pain crawls up his throat
as he watches from the observation deck
a home once his now pathetically remote
in the cosmic vastness an agonizing speck!

brave wanderer was his dusty restless boot
his mind a yearning traveler on endless roam
love flew like sparks without growing root
never was one place could he call his home!

now before him stands an infinite rocky terrain
inviting him to unveil her unexplored asset
replicate a habitat of a different light and rain
build there a refuge retrieve a broken nest!

his lips seek a prayer as if to shake off fears
as creeps up his spine cold night's stardust
whispering the void of four ninety light years
the story of lost empire and all the broken trust!

In the process of ridding my mustache of white
To pluck as many and bring black to sight
I had dug too many holes on that stretch
To present the mirror with a perfect wretch!
My missus smiled under her frown
Said, ‘you look the funniest man in town,
You could have dyed the hairs brown
And not made yourself an awful clown!
Fretting more by her pinching poke
Told her ‘it’s no time for a joke,
Help me clean up the mess a bit,
So I don’t become a laughing stock on the street’!
She quickly came up with a plan
A clever woman, she did it with élan
She dabbed her eyeliner on the mess
To restore me a presentable face!
But the story here didn’t come to a close
It yielded love’s another sweet disguise
Whole day I smelled her eyes in my nose
A strand of my mustache she bore in her eyes!

Marionette spread
On her bread
Some cheese,
The evening sun was red
When flew above her head
A few wild geese!
As she looked up the sky
To see them prettily fly
Buzzed around her head,
Black honeybees!
She held her ground
Moved her hands around
But they do as they please,
These stubborn honeybees!
The smell struck their head
Fine cheese on bread
So luscious was the sight -
It whetted their appetite!
Marionette felt uneasy
The bees kept her busy
And obstructed her sight -
She was not allowed a bite!
It was getting late
The sun was about to set
It was coming to twilight,
But our poor Marionette
In her agitated state
Couldn’t enjoy the sight!
Cute little Marionette
She went down on her knees
But her evening was spoiled
By the uninvited bees!

Keep them close hold them tight
with them be as long you can
love them whole day and night
life is too brief a span!

Bonds are fragile time merciless
frail is the bridging link
fleeting are moments of small happiness
go would they all in a wink!

Keep them to you as long you can
give them the all you own
fill as much this short span
love them not leave them alone!

Days wear out past comes fast
forever is a figment of solace
love them hard so long they last
treasure them in warm embrace!

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

give me a break
from the seas rough
I greed a bellyache
badly need to laugh!

for too long weathered
a stormy bumpy ride
I need a breather
bare a guffaw wide!

give me a break
give me a break
life is burdened enough

give me a break
not give a heartache
I badly need to laugh!

been too long bowed down
with the pangs of grief
needs himself this clown
a laugh’s relief!

long buzzed this head
with the groans of pain
this heart has bled
time and again!

*give me a break
give me a break
life is burdened enough

give me a break
not give a heartache
I badly need to laugh!

The king says with a long grim face
My wealth brings me no happiness
With all the courtesans around my throne
There’s no fulfillment and I feel all alone.
My courtiers have only good words for me
I know they’re not genuine but mere flattery
They smile at my smiles and frown if I frown
They wouldn’t have cared a fig but for my crown.
You may not know but my crown feels so heavy
With the curses of my people for the taxes I levy
They suffer to see me in wealth and affluence
The king’s might make them bear it in silence.
You may envy me for all my treasure trove
Not knowing how much I pine for little love
Crave for freedom and life’s little pleasures
That cannot be bought with all my treasures.

the red girl turning blue
means she's falling for you
displays her love's basic
your charm has done the trick.

the blue girl turning red
means your chance is bleak
displays no love is bred
your sight makes her acidic.

the red girl remaining red
the blue girl remaining blue
in this worst case I'm afraid
she's neutrally looking at you.

So you say poems don’t sell
ain’t no buyer for your works
arduous hours of a job done well
go down the drain fetch no perks!

You’re right poems do don’t sell
though you fill them with heart’s spice
by the hour growing weary and frail
you surely can’t feel any nice!

A dollar a poem how fine it would be
add a dollar a read to it
but poems are meant to be sold just free
you aren’t to be paid for the feat!

But you’re wrong poems do sell
them the readers do buy
when to their heart your thoughts travel
and their spirit soars up sky high!

They had a love for the boundary wall
Where occupied round the seasons
Their frames slender or substantial
Meditative eyes in philosophic brooding
Till in the sunset years or sooner
They disappeared beyond that wall.

Many of them have warmed those bricks
When the night’s chill forbade to be outdoor
But the restless ears strained to hear
Brushing of body against body
Till their blood warmed in the moon’s heat
Covered the delirious trek to the dawn!

Now have come up the fence of iron spears
Burying the joys and yesteryear’s tears
And the restless ears can now only hear
The cold bricks groaning in the night’s lull!

Quietly bids the time for the transit
Beyond the boundary wall!

Another love poem? I ask myself.

She's a red streak
where the waves froth her feet white
a girl scouring the sands for shells
in the ageless haze the sea spews
bending and rising like the doubt
if time by some quirk has stopped
and the slanting beach is that warped space
where for long has homed
all the free souls of the world
love being their only name.

I walk up to her richer
by another love poem.

The temple rises
high above the humid earth.

The sun looking through the playful clouds
colors the terracotta in the golden hue
of God's emotions
long forgotten by the travellers
down on his earthly abode.

When need to be with myself
sets in a lonely mood
mind seeks a space to delve
sink in solitude

I slip to that unused room
where a window to the north
paints a sky of white lily bloom
for dreams to merrily birth!

I fly above the town house tops
up the tallest palm
reach the clouds to touch raindrops
drown in deep calm

whiles pass mind travels eon
far beyond the earth
till lands back to anchor on
the window to the north!

A lens crazy guy he clicks at fast pace
At all leisurely moment, available recess,
Faces, landscapes, each fragment of life
Untiringly imaging his children and wife.
At home, when away, his eyes are on the look
For hunting out objects from the darkest nook
He freezes everything nothing escapes his lens
Sunlight and shadows and season’s first rains.
Years roll by his bag of catch brims full
He clicks away in passion with one simple rule
That none of his shots should ever include him
Only preserve in its frame each passing dream.

Remember brother we didn't play with toys
we were two little toy soldiers
on two sides of the cold war
crawling on elbows and knees
in the backyard with a blackberry tree
firing at each other with invisible guns
our mouths echoing the rat-tat of bullets
and it was not blood that soaked us
but drops of heavily falling rains
upon soil long parched by the heat
exuding smell of love all over the wind
when the two would roll over each other
escaping from a war with no real enemies
pleading i'm wounded, don't shoot me.

We don't play wars any more brother
the cold war is long over
and we stopped being not enemies.

3 mice on the tin roof
though their minds were on food
an impulsive id drove them
they swung to different mood!

I warned myself here no poetry
no story to make out of it
let them have in privacy
a good time bitterly sweet!

3 mice on the tin roof
swayed by their id
I should have stayed aloof
and not watched them in greed!

I told me there’s no poem
in the 3 mice and their id
leave them alone with their game
but my greed paid no heed!

It’s not civil not nice
to act a peeping Tom
see furtively the 3 mice
breaching all courteous norms!

3 mice on the tin roof
to me I had this to say
go your way stay aloof
and not venture on their way!

Running in the moon's shadow
I catch your glimpse,
Your eyes wear a burning glow
A cruel smile is on your lips.
I know what's in your mind,
Revenge for all the wrong,
The slavery, the perpetual grind,
The suppression borne so long!
You walked the fire with patience
Stretching limits of your endurance,
But my might, my blinded sense
Felt no remorse, no penitence!
I'm fleeing from the moon's shadow,
From the wrath your heart drips,
Your eyes wear a deadly glow,
A monstrous smile is on your lips!

With your bottom resting on me
you roam the world of poetry
display spectrum of your poetic mood
ever bothered about this piece of wood?

I hold your frame over day and night
weight of your spirit soaring to height
your struggle to find in all only good
ever bothered about this piece of wood?

I rest your arms on my armrest
for your comfort I do my best
see you don't fall when in deep brood
ever bothered about this piece of wood?

For years my touch has kept you at peace
carried you safe seated with ease
when empty yawns the space I stood
is it then you would realize worth of my wood?

No one goes to the beach anymore.

Through the casuarinas the waves look a long trek
the lovers when from the city take a break
can only hold hands on the sands
wistfully eyeing the sea a mile away
then kissing and making up the day
riding to where the winds take them
spinning yarns along the thickly saline haze
of what could be and will be
downing the present in the crystal pool
placid as the lost yearnings in their hearts.

Madame Blaine isn't happy.

Every night his apparitions appear
and they're getting darer by the day
(sorry, by the night).

Her fault she didn't tell him to go
the first few days on the southern window
rather she felt bad as he stood out there
thought it better to offer him chair.

His hesitation stoked her kindness
not much she would lose if sat face to face
recapitulating life they were together
barring the first few spent talking the weather.

Once in the room he gave her his ears
(or so it seemed)
as she talked of loneliness with hint of tears
blinking and nodding an occasional sigh
but not once offering a courtesy of reply.

He would sit unobtrusive in the gentlest manner
till his proposal last night dropped the sky on her
(sorry, the ceiling)
the first words he spoke shattered her peace

May I Diane, offer you a kiss?

She fumbled to decide an aye or a nay
silence was all her voice could say
the apparition rose to grab the moment
reading in her muteness a loud consent.

Since then she is wondering if she can boast
of having been kissed by one now a ghost
or hide within her as an indelible shame
an indulgence that could earn her bad name.

A prolonged war with virus has worn her quite a bit
Back home though from hosp she is still far from fit
I don’t know how to cook can’t make a simple meal
She drained of strength has to gather all her will.
For she knows for all my rhymes I’m practically no good
Won’t budge from my ignorance to make for us some food
In the kitchen I tell her ‘show me how to make
A few basic dishes I’m tired of cornflake’.
She says ‘too late dear, know what I feel?
You lost thirty years to grow some culinary skill’
Then she busies herself while I get lost in rhyme
Her occupation is life saving, mine not worth a dime.

A plastic bag without a handle
A pair of straps without a sandal
A briefcase with rusted locks
A pair of old worn out socks
A never used candelabrum
An empty jar of finished gum
A broken door iron cage
A lost book’s tattered page
A piece of cloth insect holed
An old calendar neatly rolled
A fluorescent light long dead
A clay puppet’s broken head
A fountain pen sans its cap
An old atlas dusty map
A bunch of cassette in tin box
Nails and screws unused locks
Cable tape wire and plug
Grandpa’s brolly faded rug

Can’t disown throw them out

Fond attachments without doubt!

A good man is soon out of company.

The woman he lives with
believes he is a fool
and having seen no sign of his cure
she feels insecure.

He is weak and so acts good,
she rues in bitter mood.

Goodness buys him no good place anywhere.

People interpret his grace his kindness
as his meekness.

He leaves his seat for others
but is never offered a seat
with sellers he is nice
but parts paying the worst price
being never vocal with claim
favors seldom find his name.

Yet in goodness only
his heart loves to dwell
and on the humble bed
he sleeps well.

Our maths teacher wasn’t amused.

He solved hard problems for us
taught sincerely in the class
but the moment he held the pen
sweats would flood his palm
like a nagging rain
that his army of handkerchief
couldn’t bring any relief
with the dripping moisture
like a school of sharks
devoured our paper’s ink marks
and from the workouts already done
steps were wiped out one by one.

At those times he wouldn’t speak
only looked at us apologetic
burdened as if with guilt’s weight
for the treachery of his ceaseless sweat
that forced him to desist from anymore writing
close his pen and start dictating.

Then one day we saw him bring out a cream
his agony had reached such an extreme
with that he rubbed his palms with glee
looked he had solved a great mystery
said now this would lock all the doors
stop sweat’s pour through skin’s pores.

I have been in the land of the dead,
Green valley of infertility, with no end in sight
Where end the flights of steps, reigns eternal night.

But a night it is unlike any on the earth
For a suffused light pervades the horizon for hopes to birth
That on this land though echoes, the wailings of the dead,
Yet can herald a new beginning from life’s leftover thread!
I stood on a high wall and as far as my eyes could see
Walls stretched beyond farthest limits of vision’s boundary
Between them lay bottomless wells glowing with red hot coals
In those abyss moved burning flesh cindering tortured souls!
As I flew over those pits of doom saw many a flaming hand
Waving up in one last bid to be carried away from this land
I couldn’t help them nor save them from their tormentor
I had come here in my dream, just as a passing visitor!
Scared by the hellish sights, I thought it wouldn’t be wise
To foray afar, see more of it, but from dream I must rise
As I turned to leave, in those pits I saw, blue ocean and the sky
Where fleshes burn every moment, desires rot and die!

Summers ago when he was ten
his first blush was born from her glance
on his yard fell the first rain
he had but met her only once.

Most precious gift gave her tiny hand
one that he kept in a matchbox
no ring it was a red rubber band
long lost still at his heart knocks.

How can stop time by a girl's whim
stales never a moment of closeness
when love was an unripened dream
lust was an unknown address.

The boy soon grew to become a man
the girl went to some faraway land
they come but once in one lifespan
his first blush her hand's rubber band.

In the village today is one more widow.

Only last night
on the warm love bed
was smudged her sindoor
all over forehead!

Her skin is still raw with his claw,

his neck fell today to the jungle's law.

We all dreamed to be something when we grew up

doctors, engineers, lawyers...

but none a poet

for even in youthful immaturity we knew

being a poet wouldn't do

the ones we happened to meet
looked such impoverished!

As now then too
poets were honey gatherers

seeking discerning minds
one read one lit up face
one sip of the nectar!

Most of us never achieved what we dreamed to be

it really didn't matter

the doctor could be an engineer
the engineer a lawyer

*but maybe one of us
in his heart of hearts
wanted to be a poet

pursued sunshine

sank in darkness!

As the day is bled into the river
I watch the coming and going.

Place me in them
each one has a name like me
a home and a family
where their mind work laden
would have a heart to anchor
children to love and care for
a night to stir the fire
to burn all the bitterness
and be reborn the next morn
to shuttle one bank to the other
of the wide river.

I marvel at the chance
of meeting them once
suffering the absurd pain
of never crossing their path again.

The first bird (bard?) of the morn
I peeped into the salon.

Are you ready mate? I queried.

His eyes were ashes of night
and I doubted his mood.

I should be, he said
your hair is my livelihood.

Make it short I said
top bottom and the sides
and his scissors was Beethoven
soothingly rising and falling
making the sweetest sound
celebrating martyrdom of my hairs
resignedly falling on the ground.

But too soon it was over
and he held the mirror.

Wouldn't a little shorter be fine?

Nope, he smiled
considering your hairline
further recession would be a disaster.

I paid him buying his logic
and like a symphony
skimmed the air merrily.

Long ago a lightning had burnt her dry
But her resolve its might couldn’t foil
Her gnarled hands spread on the merciless sky
She stands on her root in the soil.

You may think she’s there without a purpose
For no foliage now adorns her frame
Not one leaf rustles in south wind’s rush
You can’t even tell what’s her name.

Petals don’t bloom she’s ****** long dry
Her shade lures no traveler to rest
You may wonder she stands there why
Bereft of seasons’ colored fest.

Her trunks sunburned naked and bare
I ask why this purposeless waste
Till I find out one cute raven pair
Has made her their dreamful love nest!

So the only thing you lay claim to
is you are a poet.

He was referring to my CV
where it was mentioned boldly
the art I dabble in.

But that’s no skill
shrugged the questioner
doesn’t hone your ability
in finance management
or marketing strategy

can’t fetch one good deal
for the company
your poetry

but to be frank with you
I too wrote a few
only to dump before it got me
your poetry

otherwise I fear
I would not have been here.

Outside were faces in nervous wait.

I wondered if among them
was another poet!

Her hairs bereft of oil
Unkempt with dirt
The girl of the soil
I can’t reach her heart.
I can’t reach her heart
The girl wears no rouge
Like arrow she darts
She can’t be my muse.
Her teeth aren’t pearls
She hasn’t a smooth skin
On her no beauty curls
Her heart I can’t win.
Whole day she toils
She wears no cute dress
The girl of the soil
I can’t kiss her face.
She isn’t to any school
The girl knows no tune
Her heart I can’t rule
From me she’s immune.
Her words pour out pure
In her way she is smart
But she makes it sure
I can never reach her heart.

her fingers tenderly feel
the alphabets on the mail
dusty from lying in the letter box

she was away these two months
and now is back to a home
cobwebbed in cold silence

crawls up her eyes
a terrifying tear

this day last year

*he was here

The path winded through the jungle their tread was cautious slow
Walk they must still a long way till the sun goes down below
They carried with them precious merchandise monies earned from trade
What dangers lay on their way what would befall them they were afraid.

They walked ceaseless in worried face their words broke the silence
The shadows lengthened it bothered them still long was the distance
As luck would have it there came along a retinue of tradesmen
They too were heading the same way carrying with them trade's gain.

Thank god we have met you for we carry with us good treasure
The way is not safe we have heard dangers lurk in immense measure
We would be secure if we travelled together in large number's strength
For our wealth we must safe keep till we reach the journey's length.

As was proposed so was done they befriended and resumed their way
Warmly chatting sharing anecdotes not knowing when passed the day
When came evening they halted at a place set up camps there  for the night
Unburdened themselves for rest and gossip enveloped in glow of moonlight.

They discussed business profits bargains the many losses and gains in deals
Smoking hookahs chewing betel leaves passing time till served their meals
When dinner was over they sat together shrouded in smoke and night's song
Basking in friendship not once doubting tomorrow would never come along.

Behind each man sat another one a silent sign game was on play
Eyes roamed on eyes death in disguise waited to fall on its prey
Then came one call ominous and small a voice said let's take break
In one clean swift sweep fastened handkerchiefs strangled the unaware necks.

In less than a minute stopped each heartbeat with such precision was it made
Bodies lay still the hunters got their **** without much struggle and bloodshed.
They buried each corpse leaving no trace the two groups became one
In the name of Kali they had used the noose got the ***** for a job well done.

The broken leg jackdaw
he lost his greed with his leg

now saintly dumb
it's enough if he gets a crumb
complains not when foodless
knowing by his creator's grace
he would be given the span
this world needs his breath for
would live to run the length
in his lone leg's strength
felled by no deadly harm
till ends his term

The broken leg jackdaw
stands on the cornice
in peace
and his jet-black eyes
are deep and wise!

I do love Saturdays,
for crafting in mastery a Sunday
that's a master at breaking promises,

a S(hu)unday when she breaks her promises
I invariably break mine
and soon Sunday fades like a penciled line
leaving the Mon(strous)day to glare at you!

I do love Saturdays
with the prospect of a Sunday
with no prospect of ever keeping the commitments
and let the day speed by!

I do love Saturdays
the day I can freely lie
and realize why
I do need a Sunday!

I do love Saturdays
for we pair up well,

*commit all and fail!

Missed the ‘l’ typed the ‘r’
Clime became crime
Don’t think I strayed too far
It was in tune with the time

For man sees no harm
In Globe’s getting hot
If oceans rise changes the clime
Earth becomes a melting ***

More of rain more of drought
Heat and cold in excess
Earth’s heating up is not in doubt
It’s happening without redress

The rich they don’t feel the heat
Glowing too hot in wealth
It’s the poor who’ll take the hit
Scarce food will mean ill health

You may ask where’s the link
Between crime and climate
The answer is there within a wink
Scarcity drives up crime rate

Crops will fail when the globe gets warm
For we couldn’t forsake a motor ride
Didn’t foresee belching smoke’s harm
Cared not to take earth on our side

With little food to feed hungry stomachs
Not enough to sate belly’s growls
Folks will forage like the wolves’ packs
Will take to crime the innocent souls

As for me the seller of rhymes
Though they aren’t worth a dime
When hot climate breed lot more crimes
Surely will arrive my time

*The impoverished poet with his wand of poetry
Will roam the burning roads of asphalt
Singing his rhymes in tears of misery
Selling his balm amid tumult

I visited her at the hospital ward
smiled my ladybird
baby delivered!

Her two ponytails in red ribbon
not a woman she was
but a girl overgrown!

In her arms lay a little fairy
wasn’t just a baby
but a piece of me!

Beamed its face looking at me
recognized joyously
here was daddy!

She, me, and our baby
we're stuck in that place
*ever happily!

Does the poet live his own words
Measures up to what his verses promise
Strives for the heights his thoughts reach
Plays the part his writings reflect
Goes to any length to be good
Rids himself of all meanness
Is generous kind faithful trustworthy in his personal life
A lover a friend an aide a benefactor,
Or at the end of the day
Just a preacher
Who never is as tall as his sermons
But remains a run-o-mill guy
Who endowed with poetic skill
Spins in self-deceit webs of lies!

Does a poet ever endeavor
To become a poetry in motion?

Marvelous looks the way
same route though everyday
amid leaves' rustles
and street hustles
walking jogging running
merrily with the nimble steps
skimming on winds
in an imaginary land
soft little fingers
slipping in and out
of the age worn hand.

Ten minutes to ten minutes fro
changes the landscape though
stiff barren dull sad heavy.

The trudge back
along the insipid land
with no hands to hold.

The landscape holds nothing..
it's all in the mind.

Stubble mushrooming his chin
he showed up on the door
without his trademark grin
he looked clearly sore.

He motioned me to sit on a chair
in the room with low watt light
his sullen stare and disheveled hair
said things weren't alright.

I sat in the embarrassing silence
thinking what might be the cause
what lay behind the simmering suspense
why my friend looked so morose.

There wasn't a sound in the whole house
the creepy stillness was deafening
with only the clock ticking sleepy hours
carried the night on its wing.

Sensing something was definitely wrong
gauged from his eyes swollen red
his father I knew was ailing for long
surely he was mourning the dead.

Where's uncle I set words in pace
long time I haven't him heard
making a dispassionate face
he pointed his finger upward.

So proved true my worst fear
the son was mourning the demise
everything was now clear
my shock I couldn’t disguise.

For you what a terrible blow
so early for him to have gone
my words poured sad and slow
may his soul rest in heaven.

My friend now spoke in awed face
I couldn’t miss his perturbed glare

*My father is fine God bless
he is only resting upstairs!

The owl winged night is hanging low
in marshy fragrance moon's powdery glow
winds whisper day's sun tanned pain
what happened once can happen again!

The moon lights up the hidden hulls
some in view some within walls
there's no class in her beaming reach
by magic wand sleep the poor and rich!

On their thorny beds the aching souls
in feathery dew by glowing coals
their eyes moving in silvery gleam
fly on wings catch a passing dream!

It's time for the cloud to play mischief
darken the night usher in relief
to veil the moon when her job is done
so she no more hinders sleep's healing run!