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He thought he could easily glide
But on the road hit his head
The dog was on the other side
The dog wasn’t fed.
In that wee hour he bled
The winter fog lay dense
The poor dog remained unfed
There wasn’t an ambulance.
A little faster and he could make it
But he landed on his head
The car had him deadly hit
The dog wasn’t fed.
A few steps and he could be there
But he was lying with a swollen head
God he was not fair
The dog wasn’t fed.
He could have taken his time to cross to the other side
The car could have seen him and not knock his head
But ifs and buts as always leave possibilities wide
He was so keen on it but the dog couldn’t be fed.
His eyes askance gazed lifeless at the sky
His blood stained the road red
Though a kind soul that made an honest try
God saw the dog wasn’t fed.
My father died in an accident while crossing a road to feed a street dog on the other side. He still had biscuits in his pocket.
A God's child was born in the mud
Earth had no place; it was nipped in the bud.
There was no mourning, only the mother wailed
God quietly succumbed, he was once more impaled.
In a room dark
I’m killed everyday
I can’t see the wound’s mark
As there’s no sunray…..

No religion no race
In the darkness
I’m just someone with no face
To be killed without trace…..

They could set me free
My stomach was empty
I was starved and lean
No way could I win…….

I pray for a little light
As anyone would on a dark night
To see where it hurts
When the bullet departs……

Hunger has stilled my sense
Can’t feel the death sentence
Still in the dark I pray
To a God who kills me everyday!
She counts her shells

her feet sand ribbed
her toes ricely white
her hair windy vagabond
her eyes low tide sea.

She gives me back my years.

Through tears
I count eternity.
The golden potato beamed at him in the sun
When he had almost stopped his quest for this one
The others in the pile smeared his hand with red earth
But it as if for his eyes lay hidden apart.

Make me your choice do pick me
Lift me from this dump set me free
I deserve no mash no steaming boil
No cut into pieces to be fried in oil.

Get me quick for I come from a land
Where soil grows rich in golden sand
They have a song for each seed sown
That when they sing all grief is outgrown.

And the harvest when they’re spread in the sun
All hands embrace all hearts welcome
In each sapling that sprouts from the soil
Is seen the miracle of god’s earthly toil.


He picked the precious up from the red dirt
Needing it dearly for his backyard desert
Where he would have it on this summer sown
Till the rain shoots it up all grief is outgrown.
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.
Pamela Pallett and Stephen Link of UC San Diego and Kang Lee of the University of Toronto tested the existence of an ideal ****** feature arrangement. They successfully identified the optimal relation between the eyes, the mouth and the edge of the face for individual beauty. They discovered two "golden ratios," one for length and one for width.
Some even suggest that Leonardo Da Vinci used the golden ratio when painting his 'Mona Lisa.'
http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2009/12/091216144141.htm
Gleeful parasites intent on obliteration
feed on the stillness.
Starlight can't warm the damp grass.
If only he had cosied up once
for one last chance
to embrace.
In the sunshine she stood
And then she was gone
Yet she’s there for good
I see her off and on.
Her face is dolled goodness
Her smiles drip moonlight
She quietly leaves her trace
In my dream’s fancy flight.
She salvages me from pain
From wildly raging storms
Inside me she remains
A healer in many forms.
The fiery wind burns our skin
this simmering summer noon
but our resolve is not paper thin.

the river is all ours
I tell her
and she whispers love notes.

When we retreat under the banyan
she scans the grey for clouds
and I her eyes for a mystic hint.

how lovely it would be
if it rains now

she says.

it would
I swear by the river.

We walk away
dreaming good crop
swaying in the river wind.
My friends say I’m good
my wife calls me sweet
they don’t mean to be rude
so lie every bit.

My friends say I'm kind
my wife calls me warm
they know it in their mind
such untruths are no harm.

My friends say I'm nice
my wife calls me smart
they speak all these lies
so i'm never hurt.

My wife and my friends
speak good of me
that's something they lend
to see me live happily.
On that bright day his mind was unusually calm
He stopped by the beggar to offer him some alms
Feeling at peace with himself without a trace of qualm
He took a deep breath, with life he was coming to term.

Goodness he pondered was quite an achievable feat
A small spark that made him offer the old man a seat
Each familiar face he smiled at such easy was to greet
Inside him he grew healthier being good was great benefit.

Why men suffer jealousy fight for one-upmanship
Instead of trading for goodness most precious human keep
Just not burn to earn his food comfort and restful sleep
But live in shining goodness make life a rewarding trip.

Being good with one’s own kind he felt wouldn’t do
Other lives around him must kindly be treated too
A crumb of bread for the street dog on its head a little pat
Pints of milk and a little care for the weak and ailing cat.

As he walked the road thoughts like these lighted up his face
He found waiting on wayside many things begging goodness
Determined he would reach them all do them a little good
He sprinted along in a sprightly gait his mind in deep brood.

Back home when she opened the door he gave her a broad smile
She glowered a little askance for he hadn’t done it a while

*What brings you this sheepish smile what for the elation?
Don’t even think you can ever make on me a good impression!
This is my graduation class
and I have bunked quite a few of them.

terrifyingly I realize it has to be a long time

for I am frantically looking for the college
the home of my graduation class

and here I am groping to get my way back
asking people the way to my college!

Must be my long absence playing tricks on my memory
but that hardly makes sense.

At last I find out the iron gate

from there a narrow passage shows flight of stairs

but my class, which floor is my class?

doesn't strike me the hush
as I run up the steps

wasn't it the fourth floor?

and when I reach it gasp for breath

my graduation class looks unfamiliar
so is the head stooping under the table lamp
his specs almost falling from nose
intently gazing at something
from the maze of electrical apparatuses spread before him.

I don't recollect having ever a teacher like him

but today I don't trust my memories

too many things I have forgotten

must be the fallout of missing classes for too long

the man there in my graduation class
has to be my teacher!

He looks up as I start speaking

I'm sorry sir, being ill I've missed some classes
but I'll manage to catch up.


Then it happens

my bag swings in the air
pulled by an invisible force!

He smiles at my awed face

don't bother, you know, it's so strong
the electromagnetic field of course
such nasty pulls they make


in a flash a floodgate opens

my graduation class doesn't have a lab inside
my bag by now flying in the air is an office bag
I have no business in the college anymore

I had left my graduation class
over three decades ago!
From morn are at work the grass cutters
Clearing the weeds to make way for men
In the wind I catch their mumbled chatters
Of lives deemed wasted in no gain.

*Had my parents had enough money
I would not have been here cutting grass
But worked at some big company
Earn enough to live with full purse.

But you know I can’t blame them
They had to spend last bit on food
Fended for years gave me a name
Saw that I grew up to manhood.

As soon was born some sense in me
The feel to realize my debt
I searched for way to earn some money
And here I am with my fate.

But now I know must do my best
In the hope that only matters
To see his life doesn’t go waste
My son becomes never a grass cutter.
Today I wouldn’t tell you about me

I would tell you about the green coconut
His eyes begged me a drink

Good sir just ten rupees
Fountain of life
To quench your thirst
Feed your hunger

All these sir for so cheap
Have it one please
For just ten rupees


His shriveled face
Shrunken eyes
Stretched palms
Offering heal of pain
Life’s fountain
For just ten rupees

His eyes begged me a drink

He knew my thirst
His healing remedy
Green coconut
Building between us
A bridge
For ten rupees

I’m sorry I failed
In what I said at the outset
For now standing here
I’m telling about me
An empty green coconut in my hand
In his eyes me

In this distant land!
I'm escaping again to Green Island.
Here the landscape never changes,
The rocks never grow moss,
The mystic river is never stolen.
They are as they were eons ago.
I am the odd man there,
Worn out by time,
The bald patch on the green,
A barrenness on the fertile soil.
Yet here I'm forgiven
For seeking her face,
Youthfully there on the wallpaper.
By the time we reached the final act
our dialogues turned to whispers
warmed us the pledge to the silent pact
we would be rehearsing under the stars

dew would damp the players' cloth
all but the two were gone
who were tied by the burning oath
must shape their roles to perfection

owls hooted in the night's shadow
world slept behind shut door
we were numbed to the time's flow
by the sounds of claps encore

one the alien had blood thick green
that only the ****** revealed
when unbeknownst was cut his skin
by the other soon to be killed

that time now ***** to yellowed page
long back fate set him free
my skin is now bold in age
he's evergreen in memory.
In fond remembrance of a friend who was snatched in youth. We acted together in a few amateur plays one of which was Green Man.
This took so many years in coming.
green hungry eyes wait for me at the road corner
a forever mourner
my disappointment i can't hide
failing once again to feed a mouth on the roadside!

her every evening i meet
waits the pariah on the street
for one scrap of biscuit!

she's my sullen evening's muse
quite easily i find an excuse
sorry sweetie i was lost in thought
am sorry i again forgot!


she waits till the last of my sight
till gone in the stark length of night
her eyes pleading tomorrow when we meet
must celebrate with a piece of biscuit!

the night sky brims with the stars
in the air is grim chill's curse
*what if she's carried away on wings
leaving me with desolate evenings!
Nice to see you are opening the shop.

Saying this
I search for lines of distress on her face
On her widowed eyes a painful strain
For when went her man
The way she wailed
It seemed she would never be sane again!

She smiles *now I run it alone
Sale is low
And I’m weighed down
With his pile of debt!


In her smile are hopes regrown
A telltale sign of grit

The show must go on.
Beckons him the freedom’s verge
Atop's blue ring
Lures him the wings’ urge
To think nothing,

Lies his feet
On window ledge
He sees the writ,

His heartbeat
Says this *******
Is bitter sweet!

He could make the world his home
The span endless

He could wherever freely roam
Stay every place,

Yet his feet on window ledge
Shun the move

Ponders mind on freedom’s edge
The lovely groove!
Little child stop growing old
The world is not a happy place
Full of sufferings untold
Worries to disfigure your face!
Your smiles are till now so sweet
In your eyes flows the river of innocence
But as you grow up they will retreat
To burden your heart with pains!
Little child you would rather not grow
The world is not as simple as you
In your heart streams of joy flow
You glisten like the morn’s drop of dew!
It was a small little thing
Between us a silent game
I wished it ‘good morning’,
As it brushed my window frame.
It swayed happily at me
Softly holding onto its root
The chance-grown guava tree
I thought would never bear fruit.
‘Good morn, Guavo, how are you?
My window frame, did it hurt?’
‘Nay, I’m fine, had my cup of dew,
I really made a good start.’
I loved this cute little thing
To ask it ‘how do you do?’
Loved the undernourished sapling
Why I really had no clue.
After sometime it started to fade
Keeping relations is not so easy
‘Guavo’ disappeared from my head
I forgot the lean sickly tree.
Then one day my wife came along
A big round guava she brought me
‘Taste how it is, the plant is fine and strong,
It’s from your friendly tree.’
It came back to me inside and deep
Our time-buried sweet story
Guavo hasn’t forgotten our friendship
I must run to it and say sorry.
There it stood proud and high
A full-grown guava tree
Swaying in the wind, saying ‘hi,
I haven’t forgotten thee’.
The cold moon breaks through the crevices
and where do I hide?
there's nothing to haunt my mind
but only the guilts inside.

Told not to venture into the night
I braved in the power of moonlight
where every shadow was a ghost
every dark nook a lost coast.

If I had someone with me
it wouldn't be all that scary
but I left them on the way
thinking I wouldn't need them anyday.

The loves I betrayed
the souls I traded
descended behind the tree
like the waning moon.

Before long the dark would devour me
knowing, I moved down with the moon
with none but the sighs on my side..

The derelict offered no place to hide.
Simultala, April 5, 2024 night.
Gur
Gur
In the chill of the mist
we walk on the almost deserted way.

I have little to say
being filled with her beside me
and she breathes the wind in
as our lonely world spins.

Sometimes we touch as we walk
prompting her to look at me
with a veiled smile across her face
when the walk seems sweeter than happiness.

The date trees are brimming with juice, she says
the pots will be filled in no time, I affirm,
some farther and we will be there.

Something akin to love
brews with the nectar.
Mukutmanipur, December 27, 2024
Under the banyan few bamboo stalls
Baskets of garden’s produce
Whiff of fresh fish from fishing trawls
Buyers the sellers amuse.

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

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

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

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

Sighs the banyan long standing witness
Pains it the quietude of stars
Holds it through dark watches endless
Coming and going of pedlars.
When you speak my silent desires when you read my mind
I don't feel the slightest wonder seek the mystery behind
for I know it's made that way preordained and sweet
you can read the one you love when you love by habit.
I'm bought with your love - habitual.
Regret it honey,
None of my habits
Can fetch money!
poetry included
people that mattered didn't stay,

i begged of them not a day
or a night together,

some while,

a pause eye on eye,

hint of a smile
glimpse of a cry,

but they weren't easy,

people that mattered were too busy,

shadows moving, moved away,

while i begged of not a day
not a night together

only a while
eye on eye

to make things better.
I haggle over the price a kilo

a city fellow
deft in bargain

The veg seller
she’s a minnow
simple plain

Cuts the price
smiles so nice
her profits dip

She didn’t say
if I had my way

would buy her cheap!
Hair styles
Hair colors
Hairdos
Hairfall
Blonde
Brunette
Redhead
Grey
Or just black

A few strands of which
I found in her comb
In one untravelled recess of wardrobe
An untouched memento
From past two decades
Not graying
Not growing
Undeclined
Undestroyed

black and thick

the only relic

for her son!
‘You seemed to love her deeply’
I told my uncle.
It was raining dense
As I held him back,
The evening was not one to go out.
‘Deeply enough no doubt’
His voice echoed in gloom.
‘But she wasn’t your type,
she was flirtatious,
she had many like you’.
‘Still I loved her deep,
loved her mad,
loved her till and after
she broke my heart’.
I saw a glint in his eyes.
‘Forty years and she still hurts,
batters my self respect,
taunts my defeats’.
‘But you got yourself a steady partner,
not flirtatious, never leaving your side’.
‘True but she did the damage,
she left me to seek her in all women’.
Outside the rain stopped
And the sky begot a half moon.
He still loves her, I pondered,
Her fossil he bears
All these forty years,
But had he got her,
Could he carry the cross of love so far?
You forget there's a sky above
Birds don't chirp trees are few
Gone is the hamlet that shaped your love
For a blade of grass cries the morn dew.

Mesh of wires runs over the sky
Air is thick with the reek of petrol
Scare you the trucks heavily passing by
Dazedly you search for the village of the ole.

Here was the home your soul's green abode
Where winter was cold March sprightly Spring
Your feet ran the soil not dusty metaled road
Dreams soared high on boundless wide wing.

Now all around are the townsfolk on race
Ruthless pace crushing ole hamlet's peace
But so is fated by the wheels of progress
That shows the gain more than all that you miss.
The time is running out real fast for me
I’m on death row and there’s no mercy
I was on the run they hounded me out
Found me guilty without a trace of doubt.
I’ve been living since in a six by eight cell
Counting my time for the journey to the hell
Confined alone a caged beast than human
Not allowed to meet and talk to loved ones.
‘Let the end come early’ that’s what I pray
But hangmen are scarce the reason for delay
Before me a queue of men waiting for the rope
Their mercy pleas rejected and so without a hope.
They can’t find a hangman, it’s what they say
Nobody is willing to **** for just a little pay
But that’s what I did, I killed for little gain
So I can be a hangman, if I’m ever born again.
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.
If you think my time is out
I'm old and decrepit
man I leave you in no doubt
you're wrong in every bit.

I can still live on my own
don't mind standing in the bus
still straight I keep my backbone
am hurt when you're too generous.

Am hurt when you offer me yours
in deemed kindness for one old haggard
thinking I'm a spent force
that has said its last word.

But I've not can take the bus ride
standing as tall as you
what if youth is not on my side
me an old man I don't view.

Man when you offer me a seat
hold me in sympathetic gaze
unknowingly me you mistreat
by mocking my hard earned old age.
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.
Many a times I have been to Harwood Point.

When the travel bug bites my feet
My eyes pine for the marine froth
In the May’s summer heat
I pack in my kitbag the barest cloth.

At Harwood Point

The river runs in turbulent progress
Maddened in the pursuit of the sea’s embrace!

From Harwood Point

The river would carry me to the sea.

When the sun spills blood on the river
The vessel would leave Harwood’s wooden jetty!

As that small port diminishes from my sea bound way
It sets me to brood.

Who was this Harwood?

Why this Point bears his name?

As the vessel picks up steam
I fall into a deep dream.

J.T. Harwood 1831.

Some British Surveyor
Lost in the pages of archived Register
Laid to rest in the dust of fame

But lives his name
To this day
On my sea bound way

A name without a face
Where the river runs for the sea’s embrace!
Having inquired from local people, googled for some information, I still don’t know who this Harwood was. I have come across the name of J.T. Harwood in the Asiatic Journal and love to imagine he is the one though there is no reference to link him with this place. The mystery remains.
Over the years I stop at that point
only to board a vessel
to the other side of the river
for further journey to the sea
but for the brief period of waiting
I keep pondering about the name of the place

Harwood Point.

Who was this Harwood?
what was he doing here?
what good deed made him deserving
to name the place after him?

I am still baffled
after a quarter of a century.

Googling throws up many Harwoods
dead and distinguished
but there's no clue to connect any of them with
Harwood Point.

I imagine he was one of the administrators
who left the shore of England
to be stationed at this place a century or two ago
then a tract of almost inaccessible jungle
for surveying the prospects of trade
for the East India Company
but that leads me to further questions.

Was he a noble soul that loved the place
and came to like the people there
so much so that the natives after his departure
made his name permanently etched there?

Or was he among those typical British Officers
who vented their wrath for having been interned
to a god forsaken mangrove wilderness
treated the natives with extreme disdain
proving himself worthy of his position
and duly rewarded by his masters
by making him a part of history
ironically undefined and unrecorded.

I love to think though
on a night when the moon
made the tide rebellious
he walked into the river
and was lost for good
and to this day none knows for sure
what happened to Mr. Harwood.
This is one game
I always will choose
to lose.
After the hunting tour
he rested there with his paramour
the setting sun and her face
erased the day's weariness!

As the birds nest-bound fluttered wings
his fingers and hers muttered whisperings
for soon would end the day
and time for the two to go their way!

Now the westerly sun kisses the weeded stones
the wind stops here howls dirgeful moans
the pervading melancholy knows no redress

*we are lovers of now and time is merciless!
lovers' resting place in ruins, please see my cover photo, it haunted me last evening.
Cats galore here in our home
Crawling kittens in their tow
Puppies in our rooms roam
We don’t need anywhere to go.
My wife she proudly hosts
Boasts of her budgies many
Now she has added two parrots
We are in glorious company.
The bulbuls are kind to stay outside
But they too have to be hand fed
The mynas in us lovingly confide
Our rabbits love to be on bed.
She says she needs a few hens
That in the backyard would freely roam
I know you don’t see any gains
In having a zoo in our home!
i tell them when they come under me
though my shade won't make you cool
love as much wholeheartedly
for love break all the rule.

stay together for years on
for small things part not way
if from life love is gone
it's hell each living day.

it seems they don't hear me
though i say it in high voice
tell them live life willingly
and not once waste the choice.

i tell them live life together
till death do you part
don't just let a bad weather
break your loving heart.

it so seems they don't care
though i always tell to them
let no storm break the pair
extinguish heart's flame.

i tell them it's not that hard
can do it each of you
if can do the two lovebird
you two can easily too.

i doubt it if their ears
lend time for my voice
when it says through joys and tears
stick once you make your choice.

i can't do more from my place
than tell them wisdom's words
i love them and heartily bless
while scaring away the birds.
It may take an aspirin to rid a headache
But there’s no healing when you’ve heartbreak
A balm may do wonder cool soothing menthol
Mending a broken heart, does it happen at all?

Once you set your heart to win another one
Thence start your stresses till the job is done
It’s oft than not you ended up in a mess
Tapped the wrong door knocked wrong address.

It may sound unpleasant but a truth to endure
It’s thus designed love is destined a failure
Yet we love to repeat it not mind the cost it take
Failing time again suffering heartbreak.

This write isn’t intended to talk of the ache
Caused by heartbreak or a tearing headache
But to share with you a feel bitter sweet
Always worthwhile love is divine pursuit
.
suffering from a severe headache
There's no haste
take rest
while the doctor
eludes you like a specter!

Minutes seem like hours
doesn't care your time the doctors
you wonder what you get in the bargain
other than boredom and a back pain!

He is taking his own sweet time
leaving for you few breaths of rhyme
then by the time they call your name
you forget all your problem!

Wouldn't remember what you came here for
why you needed to see a doctor
such a waste it all would mean
chasing a doctor his medicine!

But you've to walk in sooner or letter
a little distracted and feeling better
to thank him for his taking time
that saw you healed by a passing rhyme!
How him I envy

at age of ninety
he cries like a baby!

It needs not much of a provocation
without a cloud his tears flow
wind's rustle a known birdsong
half moon's glow
bell's ding-****
never ever his overgrown years
made the choice of stopping the tears!

I wanna know in what treasured gain
falls easy eye's undrying rain
leaves' wintry fall time rusted tale
chiming clock rosebud's smell
never held back tears
his ninety years!

In tears never miserly

*he cries like a baby!
true, like all our poems are.
Heeramon, stop for me a while
For one lost word one smile
Long brewing in deep
For long caged in lip.
It’s time we made a start
Rein rush and speak our heart
In moments precious holding hands
Pick pieces of that lost word’s strands.
For long we have lived in thrift
Two islands remote adrift
In coldness distant aloof
In silence under mortuary’s roof!
Heeramon, it’s time for rewind
Walk back the times left behind
On the stretch of frittered away mile
Where we left one word one smile!
Heeramon, my love.
I held his hand firmly on the fairground.

There were ferris wheel and rocking boat
even a flying saucer
of rides worth a few pennies

but the boy embracing that unlucky age
had his eyes stuck on the shining silver blue
beaming behind the sparking glass
full with rotor blades ready to take off
dreaming a ride to the sky
past the high tent of the circus
over the tallest coconut tree
into the haze of stars
where to only lonely pilots could fly
for being loved and understood
and not questioned for the cracked voice
for the thin hairlines on upper lip
for glancing at the girls
but inducted into the team of thirteen
for perpetually traversing between stars
on free rides into freedom
worth a lifetime.
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