Smell of last rain still not dried on their bark
They stand skyward taller somber and dark
I part the sodden grass to see if there’s a mark
Of the autumn’s trail when I last walked the park!

Does it still survive there the hushed canopied shade
Where sweet nothings were whispered commitments made
Dreams grew like wild grass and then in despair bled
As time ripped the woven words made them a barren glade!

Do they still come there in two lover’s timeless face
Sit on the wooden bench embraced in sculpted grace
For in those summer noons they hadn’t an address
Except in the labyrinth of heart a misty priceless place!

Can I still find them the two heads drawing close
Looking bonded for eternity breathing from one nose
Never making it but never timeworn forever new
In the pursuit of autumn’s trail the duo of me and you!

Smell of last rain still not dried on their bark
They bough over the couples in foliage green dark
For years will breeze past but they’ll make their mark
When they choose to hold hand and walk into the park!

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!

The wasp lands on my chest.

I know love comes not a whirlwind
but a quiet whir of the wasp's wings

not knocks the door but melts through it
pierce the skin and reach heartbeat.

I love love's noiseless waspy wing
sweet and bitter sting
its agonizing harvest.

I would never brush it in haste

when lands the wasp on my chest.

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.

My father walked on the roof
at night alone.

He used to come to his son’s home
seeking summer’s relief
from his nine month’s home alone
at the Himalayas foothill.

But he couldn’t leave the chill out.

His seven decades of mind
defied his frail frame
as he hugged the plain’s winter
without a woolen
painting summer on my roof.

Rarely I would be with him
but when he came down
he would speak animatedly
the constellations he had seen
the milky way
about the quarreling owls.

Wish I were there with him
all his nights on the roof
making four wandering eyes
looking at constellations
marveling at the milky way.

Now on some winter nights
I go to the roof alone
without my son
remember father
my heart aching in the thought

One day my son too would come

**Alone

There's too much prose in this world,
Sermons are more than service
Money is more than mind
Polemics dominate over resolution
Truth crumbles under loads of lies.
While millions go without food
Poverty is researched
Sustainability is analyzed
Cost of survival is determined
By people living in luxury!
Baffled I turn to poetry,
To seek symmetry
In this dichotomous world!

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!

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!

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!

Shreds us the life
With bruises and cuts
Our days run rife
In the ifs and buts!

If the day was bright
If hadn’t fallen rain
If quickly passed the night
If living was no pain!

But the day was a mess
But the winds blew harsh
But time was hard pressed
But cloud hid the stars!

If happened how we need
If they all smoothly clicked
If luck came with speed
If clock slowly ticked!

But things ran amok
But nothing went right
But faced a roadblock
But fortune took flight!

Tear us apart the ifs and buts
Do steal away all happiness
Wound our life with bruises and cuts
Alas for them we have no redress!

When they taught me I hardly paid them a heed
now I know my teachers were benefactors indeed
I regret the curses I held in my mind for them
their punishments were blessings not something to condemn!

Sadly those days they seemed to point their gun
on me for unlearned lessons homework not done
for such small lapses the teachers made a huge fuss
pulled my ears made me stand outside the class!

Some of them more zealous went a little far
caned ******* the back plucked out my hair
it appeared so barbaric at my expense their fun
they only knew it wouldn't harm me in the long run!

Such punishments I did never willingly embrace
ran around the room sending them on a chase
in fueled fury with faces in anger red
often flew their duster toward my head!

In life those torments have borne fruit
the running around standing on one foot
they have made my leg muscles quite strong
helped me hold my balance without support for long!

My ears too have still remained intensely keen
my hairs for my age haven't grown too thin
the pulling and plucking had done me no harm
but made my hair root healthy and firm!

*The teachers for sure were prudent and wise
punishment they meted out was blessing in disguise
so if you ever cursed them make amends and repent
say, thank you dear teachers for all the punishment!

Lychee blackberry of sweetest variety*
Shouts the vendor
They look juicily nice
But when I ask the price
Find it too high.

Why them forgone
Summer’s yields live short
I lay my hand on one
They are money’s worth.

And I think of my place
In next year’s summer days
What if I vacate this space

Nothing forever stays.

The birds visiting me
Now I don’t feed.

Blame it on my cats’ greed!

Doel, bulbul, myna
All having fallen prey to
These snoopy lurky hyena!

These petty filthy abductors
Prowling pouncing predators
Have everything that takes
To break my feathered friends’ necks!

Now I know it does them no good
Birds coming in lure of my food
And be bitten and eaten!

I no more feed
The cats’ greed.

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!

The birds raise a cacophony for food
hovering over the river of summer home
washing off flakes of winter memory
in the duck-warm joy of another renewal
bobbing up and down with the waves
like I hold her in my dancing visions
gazing waywardly her way
gauging if somewhere in the ether
hers meets mine
guessing when they do
sparks of fire
will burn the logs
keeping another winter at bay.

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!

Maybe so I willed
In half sleep’s ethereal stream
In January’s mustard field
She hugged me in liplocked dream!

What now she said eye on eye
I’m come past all fear
So our lips never go dry
Nothing stops us from here!

I put my tongue on hers
Rolled in her saliva filled
Her eyes blinked million stars
Traveling time in the mustard field!

Bloomed yellows thunderous bright
Rained sky a sweet redress
Dream came at end of night
Wept wet in her embrace!

I tiptoed on her bedside
Her lips quivered moist filled

Maybe so she willed

Same dream in the mustard field!

Last night too came the demon
My sleeping face he held on stare
Pierced eyelids and had me thrown
To the darkest abyss of nightmare!

He enjoys the way I shrink
As he cruelly muddles my dream
Makes a quicksand for me to sink
Claps in glee at my woeful scream!

He turns turbulent the serenest beach
Rides me up the scariest cliff
His stretched hands always out of reach
The master that he is at mischief!

The demon frequents my nights of late
Himself going sleepless for the fun
Innovating new terrors ‘neath blanket
Conjuring fears where there’s none!

The slices as delicate as her hands
had aroma of her love

her eyes deep ocean
made me forget my space

I slept on her touch
and she loved to touch me.

The beckons to be free
I dealt with her *****
and tears were her answer
when I tore apart the bond.

I loved her
but needed my rightful home
among the stars.

The cloud drops on my lip
On the tip of my nose
I get hugged by the drip
Ah, rain is so close!
The heat is now a story
The balm seems so near
Regaining its lost glory
Surely the monsoon is here!
Tip-tap on my windowpane
Dark floaters are busy
Pouring on men and women
Life is once more easy!
I'm glad the rain is back
To awaken the soil's green
Wipe out the summer's crack
Dance on my parched roof tin!

I can’t get it back, never again
The fantasyland, the windowpane rain
The azure patch, a shrub of green
I’ve lost them all, you know what I mean!
Taken away, my mid days alone
Living my whims, in a world of my own
The galloping horse, looming monsters
Braving it all, the witch’s dark curse!
The dimple cheeked girl with little red curl
She was a fairy with a heart of pearl
By a magic wand she turned to angel
It was no dream, no fairytale!
I rode the horse, the one that rocks
Time flew by, old grew the clocks
Beckoned by the sky, I wish I could soar
Just to get the child back, and live it once more!

Honesty is sheer *******.

dishonest preach it
honest suffer it.

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.

Tick tock tick tock
The seconds hand of the clock
Ceaselessly goes round,
It doesn’t know to stop
As the moments gallop
Stretches time without bound.
Tick tock tick tock
The seconds hand of the clock
Sweeps time without rest,
It doesn’t know to pause
Cannot break the laws
It can’t slow down or haste.
Tick tock tick tock
The seconds hand of the clock
Counts the time in motion,
It moves on ruthless
In a cruel orderliness
With no touch of emotion!

The majority are for the law
But laws are for the fools
The mighty breaks it with guffaw
Fools blindly abide by the rules.
Laws are made for the mass
To force them to follow some rules
By a few known as the ruling class
That frames them as disciplinary tools.
Laid down to prevent anarchy
Laws turn weapons for the powerful
Legalize the might and hierarchy
Of the forces that control and rule.
Laws apply differently for colors of skin
Some are treated more equal than others
Depend on appearances ***** or clean
They don’t treat all mankind as brothers.
The strangest thing about the legal rules
Is most often for the poor they turn deaf
But then you know rules are for fools
The rulers can get away with mischief.

On that harbour town she was to wait for me
by the sea.

I would travel from the city
and at the jetty
she would be sharp at ten.

A few hours' bus ride
to be by her side
come sun or rain.

A girl from coastal sands
she had to take a ferry
from another island.

Boats came and went
I lost count
dreaming that heavenly moment.

With two hours and an empty jetty
I headed back for the city
mad with sadness
for her act of treason
never ever asking her the reason
why she couldn't be with me
by the sea.

That day I was to make a vow
she would be my wife.

That day I barred her for life.

The winter haze hangs on the meadow,
In the veiled sun the ghostly apparitions
Mourn the ritual of yet another day,
To smell the wet exudation of the grass,
To till the field praying for the sun!
Once a while moos pierce the silence
Joined by the clangs of the tiny bells
That adorns the creatures as mournful
As the ones goading them to move on!
They bellow when unable to take anymore,
Hoping for a miracle that would unburden
And bring a freedom only yearned in dreams!
But as ordained the pale orb grows bright.
God frantically pours his passion in the disc
Colors of which spill over in the firmament!
Blazes in another day of harvesting hopes.

The space I have
needs someone to fill up
and found none so far.

I cursed the man for invading
into the May notes of casuarinas
on a space all my own
before the sun was alluringly soft
on the tender hearts by the sea
finding love in whispered notes
sheltered by the swaying trees.

Found many and none
and their vacuous echoes
question where I failed
or was there precious silence
speaking it wasn't a void
that I ravaged into sands
of futile recollections and laments.

The mercury was falling
over the man as I left him
and soon the creed of hope
would break in like evernew waves
around a vacuum of empty space.

From the dusts of day
a day singles itself out
as forever remembrance.

On his calling
they met at the harbor town.

She had traveled all of twenty miles
from her seaward village
to pose with the city boy at a roadside studio
humidly dark from the blinding sun outside.

Time was captured eternally for the moment
the photographer drew them closer
freezing two awed eyes in frame.

They knew couldn't last
that unearthly day on the harbor town
made to stand closest
sparking a craving in their skin
and then passing into black and white postcard
of two sweating face
in absurdly ridiculous happiness.

The boy's copy was lost in the wind
but he loves to believe
the other is safe with her.

She shrinks running on the beach
winds reach her hairs dancing free
smaller she grows far out of reach
around her prance the waves wildly.

Her limps all gone, gone is her ache
she’s now again a pristine child
with sandy footprints skin sunbaked
she catches me in her love beguiled.

In the saline wind her coppered face
stoops for treasure of wave washed pearl
in enslaving thrall of love’s wellness
years wind her back a little girl.

Soon she will be back with worn out shells
boast of her finds from the seashore
never knowing in those moments’ windy sails
she unlocked in me a long locked door.

Come brother let’s sit under memory’s canopy
Walk down olden times chatter childishly
Forgetting the ravaged mind the years’ tempest
Retrieve the tender moments in heart's youthful jest!

Come brother let’s hold hands like the days of yore
Walk down to find that house knock on its door
It must still be standing in the sun whitewashed clean
Waiting for us to go back dig out treasures within!

Come brother let’s go back to that half-lit classroom
Where the walls bear our scribbles the blackboard our gloom
The air still must breathe there our voice and hidden sigh
Unmended is the windowpane through which we stole the sky!

Come brother let’s go back to our childhood’s playground
Where small feet kicked dust at day end turned homebound
It craves our splashing touch contemplates the placid stream
The two that no more come remembered only in dream!

Come brother let’s once more take that precious ride
Tug each other’s heartstrings bring out the child inside
Forgetting the weathered skin the worry beaten face
Go hunting for the lost treasure of unshackled happiness!

aren't real.

Love is only an ideal
a belief we live
and never achieve.

But love stories we need.

Only its conjured spirit
makes some sense

of our existence!

The mist swirls around us
thickening deep.

wrapped shadows lost in thought
drink one after another earthenpot
dream on imagined wings
puff unseen smokerings
pierce the fox-dark night
in tobacco spark light
voice in stupored half sleep
debt and hardship
despite clayburnt toil
on the redrock soil
the treacherous seed
growing never to need.

The night looms wearily old
when the last man walks away.

My tea tastes bitter bottom cold.

Straws and twigs litter the balcony
leaves withered from winter
pigeons have homed here safely
dirtied the place
but I don't mind
not replaced the broken glasses
we can make do with them
our family has grown
somewhere we left the nest
to wither in winter
barely holding together
me and her.

Four men I don't see in the market.

We stopped just short of smiles
we were always about to begin a conversation
we told each other we had years ago
met somewhere
and we talked only with eyes.

Then on a day, for days
they weren't there anymore.

I try to imagine their age
if they were old enough to be dead.

Like a ray of hope I love to believe
they moved away elsewhere.

Four men short and it will be five.

Maybe one eye will look for me
a little sad at my missing
just another man not seen anymore..

An ordinary man, a poet at heart
who felt more than could express.

He wouldn't know.

Skyscrapers are leaving no holes
skydrapers are leaving no holes
like asphyxiated moles we would die
gasping for a piece of sky!

Hidden in the dark foliage of a mango tree
It croons a ‘hammer on the metal’ lullaby
The night has yielded to a youthful morn
It’s a long call and the day is just born.
I look up and see its crimson head
Its plumage of blue, green, and red
It seems certain with no hint of doubt
It would ceaselessly call the whole day out.
It isn’t in hurry, doesn’t care being late
Knows only persistence in seeking its mate
For dipping in romance in her sun-tanned wings
And build a nest together for cute siblings.
The two together in their most joyful mood
Would peck a deep hole on some dead wood
And in no time, the babies would arrive
To make the dead tree vibrant and alive.
‘Tunk-tunk’ it goes on in the rising heat
That sounds like a strike on a copper sheet
I know it wouldn’t stop, today is the date
For its tunes to find its lover and mate.

I wished I were a washerman
of the conscience.

Then I could wash out
jealousy hatred conflict
each first seed of sin
cleanse hearts
spread them in the sun
so once dried
there wouldn't be anymore tears
to dry
than those of joy!

I have ended up
quite close.

She calls me

*washerman's donkey!

What I like best
Is when the sun dips west
To come with a hop
To the Rooftop!
I see how red with blue blends
As another day ends,
After a tiring day looking for rest
The birds haste to find their nest!
As the light grows dim
Colors spill on the sky at whim
I feel a peace rise in me
That breaks all shackles
And sets me free!

My clock never told the time
and looked silently glum

lost its ticking rhyme
with the pendulum
uprooted to be muted
hands dismantled
so you can guess
it made no progress
sitting pretty still
as I went about on my will
set my own pace
not bothering about the dial's arc
but scheduled my work
according to my when
till declared insane
and sent to asylum.

Since I've been sitting pretty glum
like the dead pendulum.

The air smelt of doom
Mystery hung in the room
No one was allowed to leave
Right on the job was Mr. Steve.
One by one they were called
He had them mauled
With questions often uncouth
But he had to get to the truth.
The smart as well as the shy
Had something for alibi
The tall and lean Mr. Brown
Said he was out of town
Ms. Percival said she wasn’t there
Had gone out to see a theater
Mr. Hubbard was stubbornly quiet
His face pale and ashen white
Ms. Christie who leant on a crutch
Was talking irrelevant too much.
Each one of them denied having heard
Any sound that could take them off guard
Tim the butler slept through the night
Janice heard nothing after putting out the light.
Mr. Steve fumed as his vexation grew
Knowing for sure not all said was true
The ****** has been committed by one of them
Who could it be in this hide-and-seek game?
Was the offence committed for material gain?
Who could benefit from these men and women?
Or could it be, more ghastly and strange,
The ****** was done as an act of revenge?
He couldn’t find flaws with any of alibi
There was no evidence to nail down the lie
He found it unsolvable, and that irked Mr. Steve
His reputation was at stake as a great detective.

yet we breathe

carrying like medals
tokens of being alive
food clothes
needs more and more
coming in and out of door
sleeping awake
through midlife blues
lost jobs
broken hearts
unkept vows
groping in the dark
dim-lit days
cathartic nights
masked social
torn in the upheaval
tearing within
making poems our ailment's remedy
our ink's flow
a placebo
the poet's might
a myth.

yet we breathe.

On my shoulder a heap of garment
In two hands two birded cage
In my mind time management
That I love to do with craze!

List of my works to do
Keep growing in a hellish way
Clipping nails polishing shoe
Time is too short for one day!

When to do them you may ask
If all loose ends I’ve to tie
So I take up multitask
There’s not even time to die!

At 8.30 her medicine
9 I must run the pump
I must keep my cheek trim clean
Traitor time not run but jump!

With one hand I push toothbrush
With one eye I keep check on milk
Alertness aids in the morning rush
Time’s too alert for you to bilk!

Stairs to climb windows to open
Pluck some flowers from back garden
Time autocrat hears no bargain
Slow down a bit get a big burden!

I’ve to make time to blow her a kiss
Will be away whole day she’ll miss
While I peck I hold a biscuit
For the dog at the door badly needs it!

I don’t ever think time kind to me
Give me respite a little time free
But chase it hard without relent
A multitasker bent on time management!

*In this thankless pursuit I can’t tell thee
If I manage time or time manages me
But one thing sure I make time on bed
For not just love but what cooks in head!

My friend failed the appointment
and I had this man beside me
with untimely heavy woolen
peering into the condensed haze
of that October evening.

Being alone is scary,
the hoarse voice melted the silence
and being alive sometimes scarier
than not being,

he paused as if
the words had drained him

when you hope it the most
and none turns up
to feel and fill you.

The fog had almost devoured the halogen
leaving me only with the voice.

It's uneasy, I spoke at last,
isn't it weird to be talking
without being seen?

Not in the least,
his laughter rattled the slumberous air
the world long turned away its face
from the face beside you.

Spins around my head
Nature’s LED
A firefly,
Hits the fan
Now it can
Make the sky.

Each goods is hundred rupees
Screams the mobile street vendor

Doing perfect justice to his sale
Each item weighed in the same scale!

It doesn’t matter if it’s plastic or steel
A *** of water or a kitchen utensil
No gloom of loss or elation in gain
Each hundred rupees and no bargain!

There’s no item without a use
For each one is an excuse
Would not rust with time nor would stale
Made in strong mould weighed in same scale!*

The mobile street vendor goes door to door
For hundred rupees one couldn’t have it more
The wisest man with his wares of justice
Brings to all hearts good bargain’s peace!