Don't ever get down at Remount Road
on the train's brief pause.

Once I couldn't resist
when through the window
I can't say what beckoned me.

The sky after a drizzle was awashed blue
and its miniature carvings on the puddles
sprung from my steps like thousand dreams.

There on the unshaded platform
were faces as puzzled as mine.

I didn't intend to detrain here, I spoke,
we didn't too, the voices echoed
but it felt so like the place
we wanted to be but missed.

Walk me barefoot on the sodden earth,
a girl offered her hand,
recount to me the unfinished stories,
make me a home.

I won't miss this time,
I was crying.

I have recounted the story to many
but they all have eyed me
like I am mad.

They only repeat there's no Remount Road
on this route.

Be there at the clock tower sharp at 6 in the evening
Pleaded her note adding she needed to tell something
6oclock in the evening how long seemed that hour
With a quarter still to go I was under the clock tower.

In me what she had seen to me what she would say
What would propose the girl that lived a block away
I had seen her a few times she didn’t look that impressive
They had been there a few months and were about to leave.

Was she in love with me the girl with a drab freckled face
Our paths crossed a few times though me she didn’t address
Maybe I didn’t know it she fell for me on the first sight
The thought gave me a shiver in that uncanny evening twilight.

Seconds moved in year’s speed I stood in the yellow streetlight
An emotion started to stir in me inside a light glowed bright
A cloud had gathered above me the air smelled of a shower
10 minutes had passed by then with me under the clock tower.

Why I felt upsurge of something as I reread that girlish scrawl
Beckoning to share a secret with me bearing an urgent call
Was it something to do with me or she had something else in mind
My heart beat rapid in feverish strokes I had only 5 minutes to find.

3 minutes to 6 opened up the clouds came down a heavy downpour
She must come now to tell me what she mustn’t hold it anymore
The clock chimed 6 men ran for shades only me was under clock tower
She didn’t turn up it was her call my heart lay bleeding in the shower.

Next day they moved out to someplace else where I didn’t ever know
I caught a bad cold and but for that note I got nothing more to show
Even now in some evening when it so happens I get stuck in a shower
I wonder what secret she had for me for sharing under the clock tower.

Says the owner of the roadside eatery
For each day of work you’ll be paid fifty
But more could be your take home keep
If you serve them well earn their tips.

Your polite bow a courteous smile
Showing you care all the while
Helping them to feel quite at home
Could get your pocket extra income.

Treat them well if you treat them must
Wear a face that breeds their trust
Will do you good if you are sweet
Help them pick the best to eat.

Fifty rupees will be your day’s salary
But dimes in dozens would pour freely
When you don’t just serve them food and water
But present yourself as a caring waiter.

Now between writings I create a space
so could read in ease and not in stress
to fill me with things I had less
not let my mind be drowned by pace.

Now between writings I create a space
it lessens the hurry kills the stress
helps to see ways find new address
discover light in untrod recess.

Now between writings I create a space
it shows me the order clears the mess
I think now more write down less
my soul is happy to be out of the race.

Now between writings I create a space
it reinvents ways kills the stress
lets me to places I didn't access
of unseen tears unread happiness.

If I had one long wand
That reached far up to the sky
Would have poked it in the cloudland
Can’t see the earth so dry!

Can’t see the earth so dry
Scarred and deeply hurt
If I had a wand to poke the sky
Would have torn the clouds apart!

The parched earth is crying for rain
The soil is a desert track
Need a long wand to break open
The clouds to heal the crack!

The peasant is waiting on his tilled ground
May not his toil go waste
It’s time for the clouds to be earthbound
Save the season’s harvest!

O god give me a long magic wand
To dispel this summer’s looming curse
Force the stubborn clouds to melt and disband
Come down on earth as showers!

When the yellow day coppers to dusk
I paint my weary eyes dreams.

They nudely wade the crabhole muds
for marks of the great marksman
climb up the chunks going into tides
tiptoe through the needle roots
sniff a wind that smells of stripes
thrilled
death if comes
would be a momentary stir
a dangling cloth
resting on the trail of blood, marking,
someone ventured.

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

I deserve no love, even from me.

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

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

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

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

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

one day i'll wed you
said the child to the girl much older than him.

echoes of her laughter rippled the winds
planting a rose on the child's cheek.

the child said knowing nothing about wedding
and nearly nothing about her
except

she filled him with a vague feeling
that made him wait to see her
when she was not around.

she was lost many decades ago
and the child moved far away
from that wedding vow.

the news came through the wind
she had died of cancer
somewhere far from homeland.

the child still dreams
her laughter rippling the winds
echoing by the lake

remembers his wedding vow
on that summer noon
still knowing nearly nothing about her.

Set your aim well
narrow your eyes to see
where hatreds dwell.

It's everywhere in the land
with guns in our hand
we are fighting a war
brother against brother
a battle without cessation
nation against nation
settle with the bullet
more right is which faith
decide with gunfire
which race is placed higher
for centuries the same story
battles make bulk history.

Races raged cities burned
but we never learn
to build one world city
one humanity
only aim further well
narrow our eyes to see
where differences dwell.

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

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

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

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

i never heard of the golden ratio
or any of the beauty's rules
was in love with her in one go
needed no measuring tools.

i fell in love not with her look
with the proportions on her face
i didn't go by any rule book
just loved her in her wholeness.

never cared if her lips had a pout
the distance between her eyes
the length between her eyes and mouth
i was lucky not being that wise.

a feeling sparked in the core of mind
in my eyes she settled as a star
her attraction though was undefined
i fell in love with her.

The curtain quietly rustles in the taunting silence
Bearing no mocking shadows to bridge the distance
For death is certainly the ultimate solemn toast
There’s no getting back of even a faintest ghost!
Nothing but a fading smell that’s not really much
Other than the living one’s yearning for a touch
For words left unsaid and relations that never grew
Alas no rewinding, a once more living through!

The leaves on the grave rustle in the taunting silence
The gnawing pain inside, no phantom lessens!

slosh of oars
ripples the night
of tremulous moons

the nightjar soars
on silver light
a sad tune croons!

tides up swell
lap the wood
in ceaseless kiss

moon grows pale
in deep brood
of broken wish

the misty haze
spells the core
spins a dream

mind in daze
forgets shore
drifts upstream!

she was standing close
her waist an hourglass
in flirty girly pose
skinned in hue of brass!

nay it's all my hype
her girth was plumply round
skin was of dark type
teem such girls abound!

she was on my sight
sweet was her fragrance
her eyes were happily bright
mind loved her at first glance!

it's my fancy wished her be
her eyes were cloudy dark
she was smelly and *****
with none of beauty's mark!

yet long held her my gaze
this heart craved her close
eyes feasted it for days
her small black mole on nose!

At the tiffin break they surrounded him all wanted to have a look
He held it tight in the dim class light in his hand the hidden book
The boy was proud for the gathered crowd each wanted to win his trust
Went on to plead made frantic bid reading the book was a must.

With no option he started auction the boy saw in the deal a chance
For the mystery book seemed worth more than a mere cursory glance
I stole a look at the tempting book leapt my heart of a curious child
On the cover glowed bright in dripping blood the title ‘Mysteries of the Wild’.

In childish imbalance I lost all sense was gripped with one mad desire
Come what may at whatever cost from the boy the book I must hire
The boy having got a whiff of my plan and gauged the urge on my face
Said ‘ten full rupees is what you must part I would settle for nothing less’.

Ten full rupees was real big money no way could be arranged by a child
Knowing it was absurd still I pondered at stake was ‘Mysteries of the Wild’
That day I ran home with just one thought haunting the mind of a child
Ten full rupees is no big deal for an access to the mysteries of the wild.

On that evening of ceaseless haunting I gave all my lessons a miss
For there was with me a note of ten rupee given by dad as school fees
It needed a tough will to strike devil’s deal put the money to misuse
But possessed as I was to know the mystery I needed no reason’s excuse.

Next day in the class without a fuss I paid him the sum of school fees,
‘Give me the book as you promised for I’ve brought your ten rupees’.
‘I’m so sorry’ said the cunning lad ‘the book is taken by someone,
so stand by for the time be in the queue like the other boys in the run’.

Hell on me broke loose tightened the noose I could hardly stand on my feet
Heard my dad shout when the truth was found out the result couldn’t be sweet
The thrashings I got scolding and what not the bitter memories of a child
Sank all passions drowned the obsession to unravel the ‘Mysteries of the Wild’.

Years rolling by buried the child’s sigh lay hidden in the lost mind’s nook
The momentary thrill that remained unfulfilled forgotten was that prized book
Then one afternoon as I was passing by an almost antique bookstore
It peeped through a timeworn glass that book of mystery from the yore.

I felt an inexplicable yearning to own for once that book
To retrieve from its breast my childhood dream it took
‘What price’ I asked the man ‘I want to have it please’
‘Never mind it’s unsold long not worth ten rupees’.

I got the book with a heavy heart came sat in a corner of the park
Caressed soft held its bound cover that at last got my finger mark
In that twilight hour under evening star I wept like an inconsolable child
Knowing no more I had need of it I would never open the ‘Mysteries of the wild’.

it loomed like a ghost in the falling day.

an hour past the town on the way
the old man's eyes bore surprise

i wouldn't advise it, sir, not wise
waking them up is no sport

they who're sleeping in the dead men's fort.

All along i've been a phasmophobic
they ceased never to rule my head
lurking in nooks and under my bed.

it sounds nice to talk about spirits and souls
but at nights when hollows of burning coals
mistily appear and not in a dream
choke me out of scream
to that terror i fall an abject slave.

but my companion on that dusk was brave
looking at those eerily towering spires
he said let's try meeting a few vampires.

there was no door opening with a creak
but inside was a musty dark hole
where daylight made a quick retreat
as if to let the dead peacefully stroll.

we climbed up stairs strewn with dry leaves
amid sensing a storm brewing on the wing
for the awakened dead in anger seethes
to have their rest broken by the living.

soon swept us a gale of the squeaking dead
driving us out of that well occupied well
surely startled by the intruders' raid
the winged vampires were fleeing like hell.

when you go to that lane
where the houses are graves
their rooms only pain
shadows' dark waves

where winds pause morose
light is barred
closed doors and windows
keep sunshine debarred

where walls are deadened
reeking of moss
the way is a dead end
weighed with cross

you would meet a hollow face
covered in hood
who would ask *all these days
you did what good.

Perhaps on an idle afternoon
when sadness lies heavy on chest
your eyes shimmering like crystal moon
upon my poems would come to rest.

Words of love and touching her shore
yearnings sharp as edge of knife
wrote my mind of twenty four
gathering all from a half seen life.

You flip the pages as years roll down
reach to where past high tides sailed
the ink flows soft as calm of dawn
in peace of void when heights are scaled.

You close the book breathing a sigh
your eyes are wet of misty dew
by then fallen twilight asks you why
the poet on the cover looks like you.

write a poem everyday
make it a daily habit
note whatever you've to say
the bitter or the sweet.

stare at the screen before you
or the page if it's so
there's always something new
awaiting your ink's flow.

some you've to dig not much
a few need delving deep
some may feel like feather touch
a few would make you weep.

sometimes the hand would just not move
at other would run like horse
sometimes the words would sing and groove
cry out like waves' roars.

while you write you may bleed
or kiss the blue like bird
jotting down is all you need
the inner voice that's heard.

The family is smiling on the dinner table.

This morn the hearse lifted the pall of hush
as white flowers rolled on wheels
lifting the spirit to heaven with the incense smoke
and the electric furnace like the magician
shrank the remaining kilos into neat pile of ashes
for the river to scatter to the sea of infinity
amid the silent prayer we're alive, long live the dead
the trudge back home where the count is one less
on the dinner table
mourning and celebrating.

It showed on their face.

The rides were fun
but they were breathless.

From the cable car
the sky seemed not that far
and to the wind it was unfair
to have two men without much hair.

Rain had brought color to soft eyes
huddling and cuddling at free wills
but sought shelter these two guys
from the teen lovers' merry squeals.

They rushed to be in time for the first row
childishly enthralled by the 3D show
dipping the whole of their emotion
in the history of origin and evolution.

The day had been too soon done
when in the melted afternoon sun
the two forgot all the worries
in the romance of rediscoveries.

what's there to write about
a floor scrubber?

in the sun on my shoulder
its light plastic touch
polythene wrapper
gaily fluttering in the wind
breathing its last light of freedom
before consigned to lifelong prison
standing damp dreaming to dry
but for that fleeting time
it rests on my shoulder
comforted on flesh and bone
on the brief journey
from the shop to a nook
enjoying the glances of passerby
curious my carrying it
a hint of boast in my gait
flaunting as if a magic wand
the floor scrubber transient yet eternal
a glorious poem material
a poem name
and a man's declaration

there's no shame
doing your work
your way.

They’re almost gone now a vanishing tribe
Peddlers of fresh sweets honeys from hive
Sellers of fish heads such sundries on head
Toys and bangles and blankets for bed.

Don’t see them around those struggling men
Making the choice of voice trudging the lane
Hoping to sell one piece in dream of gain
Faceless wind ringer in sun’s bite and rain.

Gone are those plaintive cries on summer noon
Raising road’s dust on trail singing the tune
Traders of trinkets girls’ ribbon hairpin
Yoyo and plastic top with endless spin.

Why the times ruined them made them a flop
Sellers travelers with head-full of shop
Sending their song of hope past locked in door
None could now fill that space nothing anymore.

everyday you pick up the hammer
you hit on the head of the nail
words surround you madly clamor
you can't make head or tail.

rarely the nail penetrates the wall
oftener it breaks by the blow
all that's hidden inside the skull
more refuse than pour out to flow.

you drive the nail's head with your might
wishing it goes all the way
miss in the wrath to hit it right
fail in what you badly need to say.

the hammer gets blunt slows your hand
you are saddened no progress is made
on the next day the same place you stand
looking at the twisted nail's head.

had it run just straight
with no turn on either side
we all would surely fret
life is such a boring ride

life is so dully made
that's all we would say
the road is clearly laid
same looks every day

no bumps and no holes
sharp bends of surprise
the way blandly rolls
we don't fall and rise

thank god ain't so made
life has twist and turn
in search of what's ahead
we persist with the run.

I was seeing many girls
when she stormed into my life
broke my run with her resolve
to find her place as wife.

I was seeing many girls
when she came reined me in
halted me with all her force
determined to win.

I was seeing many girls
my dream was up to stars
when she arrived fully knowing
this man was soon to be hers.

I was seeing many girls
none of them could be wife
she knew it when she came
I would stick on her for life.

Why die a thousand death everyday
when you've the option to choose the easy way
of dying the one death faster and supreme
slipping into a blissful sleep sans the bother of dream..

Her voice tried to be uttered from mouth horribly agape
but words had sunk too distant to take anymore shape
the horror shadowed her eyes like when death is too close
mocked by his hand's syringe now emptied of overdose!

He smiled to have accomplished for a cause another ****
help a life escape the pain of a grinding mill
by being a stoic missionary out to achieve a goal
decreed by heaven's will to cure a tortured soul.

He would now record his notes on her physical state
the stage had reached terminal death was natural fate
so her people would be convinced to bury her peacefully
and not approach a coroner to perform autopsy.

your behavior is ******, she writes to him,
you're a boar, without a cure,

my good ant Anna often asks me,
how the hail i except you,

she says you belong to that banned of men
that effect a woman's life badly

she also suspects you of elicit affairs
goes on to ad you are to me not fare
and we too don't make a good pare

its about time we go our own weigh
since we don't feet each other at all.

i'm sorry though
i had to pain you this heartful later

but bitter swoon than letter.

p.s. thank god i mate the man who scares and laughs me more than you.

Knolls of potatoes glow like gold
spreading the shine of good harvest
fading in the dark of her eyes.

The bounty is a curse on her purse
for as long as she recalls
market grows slow
prices rule low
abundance eats away the toil.

Yet so long her breathes willed
she would come back to the field
feeding herself away
to the soil.

On the grills the rust
Stands in stark contrast
To your serene eyes

They see it all
Ocean black eyeball
Still hold surprise

Brimming passion
What love in that ocean
Your pleading eyes

It makes me pause
There’s no greater cause
For a passerby

Your gestures bold
Said words untold
Your droopy ear

Ever so keen
To lovingly listen
Holds a stranger dear

You looked at me
With a loving plea
Oh passerby

Greet me awhile
Lend me a smile
For that I die

As I pour you stories from my memory’s cup
Comes out another childish tale of a wolf pup!

One wolf pup dad was telling me for weeks
He would bring home I was five or six
Would you bring it Dad from the forest?
No dear I’ll get for you from the market.

Ah a wolf pup not just having a dog or a cat
Only in our home how wonderful would be that
When it grew up what a sight that would be
It would cuddle me and growl at my enemy
Unleashed it would roam our home all night
As neighbor’s envy and the burglar’s plight
Our neighborhood accustomed to the night owl
Would now reverberate with a wolf’s howl!

I basked for days in warm glow of pride
Imagining a large wolf walking by my side
Each night after dad left for his night shift
I spent sleepless dreaming his morning’s gift
Each morning as soon as I heard him call
I ran to him to see if had arrived the furry ball.

Days came and went and dad could sense
His child was nearing the end of patience
One night leaving as he kissed my forehead
Told me dear son the pup is fully made
Don’t worry you’ll have it on the next day
A child trusts his dad that’s what they say.

I stayed awake the whole night with the night owl
Cuddling a big wolf in my ears its booming howl!

By now you know what happened I never got the gift
Someone else had taken it my memories only drift!

The day a lightning struck my home in September 2010
I read in it signs of bad time grave misfortune’s ill omen
Early morn it fell the night though didn’t hint of a bad weather
Jolting us further a bereaved family my father had died that year.

Spitting fire it chipped a chunk of attic struck dead an arecanut tree
Blew the TV dead lights and fans fled it vented such awesome energy
What had we done to deserve such a deal why befell us the curse
Redoing the roof replacing dead wares it was taxing on our purse.

They say it’s too bad when god goes as mad as to strike your home with lightning
You must have sinned to incur his wrath more misfortune it probably would bring
So we brought a priest for peace and worship we had to appease the deity
In our quest to strike a deal with god’s will was forgotten the arecanut tree.

The house was mended things returned to shape we brokered a peace with god
It all looked fine the mishap forgotten no calamity struck our abode
As a relic of that time stands the arecanut tree without a leaf on its head
Mutely it bears the brunt of god’s fury so is the way it is made.

One autumn morn there was a tapping sound on that tree’s hollowed dead bark
As I peeped through the window I saw a woodpecker its beak was busy at work
So many times I had thought to cut off the tree for it could never grow its root
The bird has got a nest for little ones’ rest god’s will has borne a sweet fruit.

i sit across her
on the round table

i see her delicate hands
twirling on the spoon
on this ethereal summer noon
when she looks incredibly pretty
beneath the cobwebbed ceiling
amid the Doppler noise of the city
her eyes on the coffee
and mine on her.

I am just a name
No money, no claim to fame
Just an ordinary guy
Who holds his head high!
You can count me as any
One among the countless many
Just another face in the crowd
Who has not stopped being proud!
You may ask why the vanity
You can pity the humble's dignity
Not knowing the true measure
Of the possessions in my treasure!
I have a richly simple life
An undemanding girl as a wife
My heart she really does win
She's a woman no boasting queen!
We have a son (a daughter it could be)
A bubbly one that babbles in glee
I don't mind missing the sunrise
We see it every moment in his eyes!
I have a house with little to show
But a patch of blue from window
And a backyard so cutely thin
To barely hold a streak of green!
But it's not the house so much
The wonder is my wife's magic touch
That tides whatever the weather
And keeps our home together!
So you know dear reader my mate
The key of my pride the secret
With all the world's wealth on my side
Shouldn't I bear myself with pride?

High atop the spire beneath a cloudless sky
the Cross stands forlorn Christmas is nigh
since long in the past time beyond recall
no bells chime here sung no carol!

But still its heart flutters as it hears the Lord's voice
I carried your burden and set for you the choice
to do this world much good and love your fellow men
be happy in others' happiness take share of their pain!

Kind Lord mutters the Cross men still live for gain
act the way it seems your blood was shed in vain
they war and breed hatred between them raise wall
hanker for pelf and power in their loss they squall!

The church lies abandoned starkly white and bare
only the Cross bows to the Lord in silent prayer
still hoping it's not far away when the bells would ring
the Lord would carry the Cross on his second coming!

It's only when
you are in the other room
realize how much you love her.

Stings you the pain
sinks you the gloom
the void seems impassably far.

You wish could walk back to her
cover the space  with a run
look her eyes' dying star
plant there a risen sun.

The other room chills your bone
cripples you with fear
here you are terribly alone
with the hatch shut forever.

Pause before that long distance
where love meets its doom
for hardly is a second chance
once you enter the other room.

Some a flowing field of corn
some a barren plate
they die if they are ever born
falls quietly to their fate!

There's little in your hand to choose
not much that you can do
surely isn't a fun to lose
knowing so fast they grew!

What was once the face's grace
boastful glory of crown
vanish without leaving a trace
black or white or brown!

Know the truth bare and harsh
whatever color we dye
from sapling to the tallest grass
is destined to wane and die!

With only a lifetime to behold

*waste no time pondering.

Where the river abandons herself to the creek
and the mudbank is cratered with crabclaws
waits the old man.

He doesn't know his years
but his ears are a sonic gift
catching the tonal variations of tides
seemingly for eons
evolving with the mangrove map
into a flawless tracker
of how far the moon would recline
for ***** to be holed out
and what shoreline the water would touch
before the shrimps starlight driven
make a beeline for the net.

I encountered him once
in the absurdity of a time
when I was high
and he lowly crouching
was making art by the creek.

Who was the poet
I could never tell.

twenty years on
and i still look for her
on the seashore

it was a promise she made
that even if given to another man
she would break up for once
come running to the sea
for me
and if i wasn't there
she would go deeper
leaving on the sands a note

i was here as i promised

she came to my life
she came to be my wife
but twenty years on
i still look for her
on the seashore
she ageless
waiting for her lover
and then going down to the sea
leaving a note
on the sand
unerasable

*i was here as i promised

So nicely says Louise Mckay
in life's few years' span
she would love if someone may
give her one life's plan.

(in her words)

So what are the rules and guidelines?
This I really need to learn
There should be a detailed manual
to guide us through twists and turns

How do we really prepare?
Can't we just follow certain steps?
We do it all the time
but I haven't seen the manual yet!

I know this may sound so strange
but I like to get things right
I want to always be prepared
for those things, not yet in sight

Strangely Louise there's no one plan
that can give us guidance
so diverse is the human clan
traveling the same distance.

Sadly no guide from where we learn
know our acts lead us which way
how to sail through twist and turn
find us a brighter next day.

The morrow lying hidden darkly there
may be rosy or with thorny spike
it can be green or aridly bare
a morrow we may like dislike.

Life would have been so horribly dull
if what lies at next bend was known
Time had not made a blocking wall
let all our futures be shown!

rained heavy on the forlorn
white stone

April dusk had stood still
on deserted lane

iron gate to the lawn
showed mossed sleepy graves

tiptoed on the overgrown grass
for epitaph hard to read

Expect great things from God
opened eyes to more widely catch

Attempt great things for God
couldn't ruin it the ravage of years

outside tombstone waited a world
in the drizzle echoed the missionary's deathless sermon.

A lonely mouse
In a lonely house
With a lonely piece of bread
A lonely philosopher
On his lonely bed
With the lonely thoughts in his head!
It was a queer coincidence
Though both of them aloof
They were in true essence
Were living under one roof!
The philosopher gave a laugh
Shaking his disheveled head
‘Mere thoughts are not enough,
I can’t live without bread’!
The mouse whined in regret
‘It’s really no good
Such is my fate
I only think of food’!
The philosopher without bread
Not a word he could carve
With no thoughts in its head
The mouse didn’t starve!
The philosopher thought the mouse
He really couldn’t befriend
Though they shared the same house
They couldn’t unite in the end!
If only they could share
With each other thoughts and bread
It could be a great affair
In the way fairytales are made!
But they never made a start
The philosopher and the mouse
And lived poles apart
In the lonely decrepit house!

When I find a seat in the bus
thoughts throng me words rush
when I stand in the jostle I regret
how rhymes are frittered go a-waste!

But in standing there's a silver lining
I care to see the visages around me
darkly grim or happily shining
the many faces of moving poetry!

I stand by the period bed
where Dupleix rested his head,
wondering at his kind of life,

if he lay there with wife
or some native maid.

doesn't hint his bronze bust
if he lay there bare
in ebullient lust

stirred by a girl darkly thin
bowing himself to her embrace
finding in his war beaten mind, happiness,

or, there wasn't any such thing,
he lay there staring at the ceiling
far from even one warm kiss
storming his brain to defeat the British...

I think of the kitten that survived a few days,
it still pains.

In the museum, I rhyme dust with lust.

In what hidden pain
says he

*I'll never love again.