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

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!

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

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!

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!

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!

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!

Honesty is sheer *******.

dishonest preach it
honest suffer it.

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!

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!

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.

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

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 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.

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!

On and on and on
In a repeated motion
It goes on revolution
Seeks the ocean!
The ceiling is firmament
Glass is the wall
The trap is permanent
Its life is surely dull!
The box glows bright
It’s all synthetic light
The world in its sight
Has no day and night!
It hears the feeble sound
Of people moving around
Sees their awe-struck face
Envies their happiness!
It knows not the conundrum
Why is snatched its freedom
Yearns lifelong to be free
To go home to the sea!

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.

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.

Dishes served full are well laid on the table
prawns are glittering adornments
though only yesterday
their tentacles were tasting the river
not knowing they would be in another water
in the river of saliva
grinded and pulped for a tasty moksha.

The rain falls unabated from last night.

Who'll go out to feed?, asks a voice.

Does never being hungry feel the same stress
as being hungry most of the time?

The answer is in the clouded eyes
watching the eyes
joyful for one more chance.

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!

Don't be disheartened if you miss the bus
There'll be misses, life is not all plus
Let not your heart despair in one bad weather
Know for sure for each missed bus there'll be another.
Don't be crestfallen if one chance goes past you
There'll be lost chances but you will get your due
Let not your resolves die in one chance gone
Know for sure many more for you will come along.
Don't be heart broken if you fail once and again
Life is not all tenderness without the thorn's pain
Let not your determination evaporate and die
Know for sure beyond failure chance of success is high.
Don't be fed up with life even if your days are dark
There'll be darkness but through it you make your mark
Let not your soul be stopped from seeking out the light
Know for sure the sun is waiting beyond the dark night.

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.

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!

When I return home
bird chirps nest breaks rest
smiles waft free windborne
air wears look of fest.

Babbles she how was day
if I had timely meal
or forgot in rhyme's play
doubt she always will.

Merrily she chats her mind
tidbit honest gossips
weariness recedes behind
break in smile my lips.

Betwixt I slowly undress
she wants not a word missed
I don't leave her place
sit in towel for twenty minutes.

Can't say when sweats dry up
spent is this sweet span
cold gets hand's teacup
by warmth of heart's woman.

Voice feels spent this day
when death is a quarter away
and life has passed real quick
without a voice worth to speak!

Have I it properly harnessed
raised where most needed
or have it always compromise repressed
its urge for truth kept unheeded!

Did I war to blow it genuine
hushed it when demanded silence
or wore it with a fake coating
to buy peace with vain pretense!

Voice is ever enslaved to me
used as I chose to be
never able to utter its core
and life may only be a quarter more!

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 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.

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.

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.

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!

what from my own kind I hide,

in strangers confide!

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.

Where are you now the magpie-robin?
The fleeting moment I saw you
Lies imprisoned with me
Though I never met you again!
Where are you now the magpie-robin?
I'm drunk with your innocent eyes,
Your songs of the sweetest melodies,
Your smell of the earthen love!
Where are you now the magpie-robin?
I hope having found a place to roost,
You've gone back to the greenest garden
Leaving me your whiff in my heart!

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 cloth bazaar was quietly breathing rest.

I was scanning rows of hangers for summer shorts
picking up here and there
dresses without skeletons
smiling in the revelation
why skeletons don't need shorts.

I found a poem in one of those hangers
**** with no words
begging me to drape it with some
enough to make it one summer shorts.

Something welled up in my eyes
bare as the poem and as true
and thinking of it
I bought summer shorts
not one but two.

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.

You reflect in befuddled wonder
is it the time to be happy or morose
when is reached that page of calendar
where the year comes to a close.

There isn't much you could do about it
there isn't much you could hold
you tried though your every bit
not all pages were written in gold.

It's enough if you remained fit and agile
it's enough if you got a few smiles
it's enough if you could travel all the miles
you stumbled but walked all the while.

It's enough if you hid some of your pain
your bleeding you kept to yourself
it's enough if once without thinking of gain
you offered a stranger your help.

Little you could do to change the events' course
but you tried and it matters no less
it's enough if you've used your little resource
to make this world a better place.

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.

Her monstrous tongue
spits fire

before her ire
the demon cowers

his limbs sloth
before her fiery wrath

by her annihilating eyes
no more can he rise.

Returns lull

*when she wears his skull!

The world I did roam
Sea bottom to mountaintop
But close to me near home
I didn't see on leaves the dewdrop!

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.

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!

slosh slumber river noon
dumber life behind
skim fishing gull's croon
poetry far from mind!

flirty wave tosses boat
why a dream no clue
script for day someone wrote
only for us two!

winds too know cavort blow
land as dusted kiss
dizzy lips drink it slow
doze in lover's bliss!

stakes are high hours short
must grab hold it tight
'fore it melts on the port
dims the river light!

Best poems are lost in the warmth of blanket.

Lured away by sleep
they could be precious keep
if I could hold them through night.

Best poems surrender to warm bed’s comfort.

Lulled into stupor quietly abort
before I could take them on a sleepless ride,
they seek a dark corner find it and hide.

Best poems brew though in the stillness of night.

I cannot birth them show them daylight
but let them die in abject disgrace
on warm bed beneath blanket

sunk without a trace!

Clatter clutter on the pave, feet on the run
furrowed brows faces grave, life is no fun
home to work work to home, time is so mean
to and fro on the track, heads in a spin.

Red for the pedestrian, green for the car
quicker may save the day, sights are a blur
conspires the digit light, ticks ever slow
holds up adds to fright, the cruel red glow.

Just on the other side, a few blocks more
you are late again, ears hear the roar
had they only known, the hurdles on the way
the daily mad struggle, to save the day's pay.

The road is clear now, on a quick glance
here's the time to move, grab the prized chance
clatter clutter on the pave, feet on the run
blood spreads on the tar, redder in the sun.

Two dogs
On the street
Locked in mating heat.

On the street
Two dogs
Haven’t cover of sheet.

Two dogs
Messy
Need no privacy.

Know to seed
The need to breed
In ecstasy.

i feel uneasy when i act good
feel upon shoulder a weight
what if next time i ain't that good
and your expectations are not met.

there's a liability in acting good
for it easily makes you a brand
if next time you ain't that good
you invite a strong reprimand.

tempts me easy to act ever good
be the pleasantest man in the town
but lurks the fear if ain't always good
in all eyes i would soon go down.

it extracts a price trying to act good
as your image in no time shines bright
but for each instance you ain't that good
you walk the sharp edge of spite.