In the mirror I see his reflection.

*Father reminds me of my mortality.

While I question existence
seek purpose and a god
the dog sniffs the trash bin
in howling hunger

and me bowel driven
trudge home from work
find hope in the neon
where the drongo harvests insects
its black wings cast an irrational night
of drunken refuge...

a home a poem and her.

I'm sorry if my poems don't bring you happiness
thrills of joys and cheers
to liven up your day.

when that happens
give me my failure's blame
for my mind couldn't tame
the sad-istic urge
to clothe them and dress
the figures in distress
on the bylanes and streets
trodden inglorious
for a poet to regret
he couldn't make his poems the way
they made your day!

Only after you lose

you realize

you hadn't done enough.

On a drizzly morning
Many rains ago,
I held an umbrella for you.
The sky opened up,
Brought us close,
Though not close enough
To live under one umbrella-

The painting is there
Seasoned by passing years,

Do you live to see it?

I would die for one more go.

The smoke hazes the setting sun
as the fire burns remains of the last crop
proffering ashes to the wind.

It's all the wind gets
as the memento of the last harvest.

On the new soil
once again there'll be tilling
and God willing
seeds waiting hope laden
will sprout into corn.

What's dead is to be reborn.

In one swift sweep
the head fell to the ground
even before died down
the last gargling sound!

When from the warm plate
I chewed the leg
I felt a little bothered
how the pleading eyes begged
before closing for a painless sleep!

then consoled once more an emotion
by telling me

death was the only salvation

They say
we must learn to live with the pain

I wish
there was a remedy
*starting with me!

It's five minutes
and you are already at home
soar bird in high spirits
the sky is for you to roam!

In me though a sadness rage
rain tears in silent sound
I'm happy bird you're out of cage
your wings are free blue bound!

Catch sweet bird in your wings' span
the freedom you dreamed evermore
forget me soon one lonely man
who locked you in love indoor!

The cage will be there to remind me
my heart's pal Neeloo
who left me sad but yet happy
when he broke the bond for the blue!

What does one need to do to be remembered?

as for me
I would ever remember
how she watered the plants through the summers.

The eyes meet and then
It rains kisses from the heaven.
I turn your soil into mine
And give you a moondrop divine.
Storms our loves weather
Tides bring our souls together
Hearts woven one, we ride into fires
Timelessness is what our bond aspires.
But youth the ruthless mirror
Like a cold creeping terror,
Catches us to leave us behind.

You and I carry its embers in our mind.

When over the rail bridge
on the sky autumn blue
clouds floated in cotton pieces

I longed for home.

The port light tower
and the masts of anchored ships
made me keen to reach home
like a sailor long on the sea
disembarking with dreamy eyes
thinking if at all is one home
a tender lip awaiting his sunburned cheek
or if he would retrace to the waves
and someone waiting was only in his head.

I was at Remount Road an old station
with home not really that far
and disproportionately small to my yearning.

I was making a brisk walk
and when at the door
fell into a reverie of
rail bridge
anchored ships on the port
white on the autumn blue
and the small station
Remount Road.

Words are worn out
till we repolish
to repeat anew.

With you every day’s beginning
Is seeing old things anew.

You aren’t coy anymore
I haven’t to prove anything
Yet as the day unfurls
I act a boy you a girl
That pretends to guess
Something new in each other
Playact a fun chase
Pick pearls together!

Your lips aren’t that red
Mine parched almost dry
You aren’t anymore shy
I don’t have a flowing head.

It happens yet everyday
While we re-walk on the trodden path
We find each other a renewal

I act a boy you a girl!

Pay your obeisance to the Lord,
you'll be paid back with prosperity.

The priest towers above the throngs of devotees.

Within the Lord's precinct is a rush for repentance
the arrogant bows down here
the wealthy falls on the ground
the poor renews plea.

The priest preys on their prayer
the Lord's coffer is full.

In that heavenly scene,
all sins are forgotten.

She was nowhere to be seen.

But I had stepped awhile aside
For a moment to myself
From the crowd jostling the railway station
And here she is gone
With the platform empty!

In that briefest time
I remember arguing with two guys
That we need to remember not everything
And they were dissenting.

Where could she have gone
My mind yelled
what if the train had arrived and left!

We were supposed to board it.

As I looked frantically around
There wasn’t a ticket counter
There was no train
There was no trace of her

When a shiver told me
The station couldn’t be this empty!

Then my fingers fell on my cell.

Oh I forgot
She was just a speed dial away.

Enveloped me a cold sweating

The platform was bare
She wasn’t there
And her cell returned no ring!

It was then two women I saw
Pulling a cart
Of trash and the station’s dirt.

Where’s the ticket room?

They smiled

I froze in fear

Ten miles from here...

my cries traveled far
woke her

*why I keep losing her!

The only good thing about devil is

he resembles me.

Resting the mind is not easy
it dances like a sparrow
and speaks like a babbler
seeking the minutest grain
from the jungle of weeds
tweeting what it has to say
from one perch to the other
in all weather.

Then the aching wings falling slow
by the cold north wind
find no worth in the haste
seek a rest
perching upon some heart.

When unbroken silence is all it has
the mind rests easy in peace.

From over the bridge
the sky curved into the river
and the winds from the distant hills
carved a smile on his face.

So here he was, at last, all by himself
played upon by a feeling
of being not shadowed anymore
but by the one his very own.

light as the bird, came to his mind,
and making sure no one was around,
he spoke aloud
I'm light as the bird.

Yet a shadow was preying upon him,
an unease, a discomfort, a disequilibrium,
as he heard within, his son saying,

Baba, you need to take a break,
to be with yourself, to be away from us,
to soothe the frayed nerves..

So I have been set free, he thought,
but are the birds really as free
as they appear to be?

So here he was, but his mind was drifting,
and he was calculating like a child.

how many feet below is the river,
would the fall hurt, or would one have to wait,
for the impact with the rushing surface
before the final touch by the boulders?

I shouldn't be perilously close, he stepped back,
muttering three incoherent words..
components of love.

Back to the Rest House,
he was packing his bag.

He was not sure, if his reappearance,
at so short a notice,
would at all be, a pleasant surprise.

Beyond the line of high tide
the boat rests on tilted side

her rolled in sails hear dreamily
songs of winds from the high sea!

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!

He gave it up one day.
Closed his pen
Pushed away the keyboard
With a tired smile said
Enough is enough.
He almost wept in his lament
For the time clicked away
In a mad pursuit
Pouring out words upon words
But never getting anywhere near it,
The lost time spent inside his head
When he could instead
Go there out
Bathe in the moonlight
Get filled and drunk
Not wasting words on papers,
Nor let moon pass
Without casting her shadow in his eyes,
Be there watching sunrise
And not spinning words
Paint them in strange colors
Of his imagination,
Stare at the endless blue
Instead of shrinking it
To the smallness of his words!
He regretted the lost time,
When bottled in his rhyme
He got sunk in his words
Letting the earthly beauties
Pass away unseen!
From that day
He retreated from poetry
And was set free
From words in his head
That only mess
The real loveliness!

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!

In the stillness of the night,
The lake was drinking the moon.
Though shattered, he was not crying,
His eyes just glistened with a mist.
She was his world and bereft her,
It meant nothing to live.
Slowly he got up,
And with a sweep of charcoal,
Wrote in bold on the shabby hoarding,
‘I MISS YOU'.

Then he went into the water.

They bring with them the baggage of men
the lost children attempting pathetically
to recreate the aura of time long gone.

If you discount the roughness of skin
travel past the thick hedge of beard
penetrate the silt on the eroded eyes
you can delayer the hardened coats
and get to see  faces barely recognizable.

Some were once too close to be missed
their names and all
but most you could hardly recall
and it agonizes your thought
were they in the same class or not.

You smile till your jaws ache
fetching stories from the blue
dazzlingly colored and half true
for they are all in the mood
to joyfully succumb to falsehood.

You could tell from the body language
who's  in the backburner
and who on the front page.

Forty years break and make men
but they feign happiness
to be united again.

Of his freedom taking stock
My parrot atop the clock!

the boat pierced the grey mist
and her eyes were misty

it has taken us twenty years
to be on that green island
to dig up the time
she glowed like a butterfly
and I shivered from her touch

her hand is ripened now
but that time
still hanging in the air
unleashed a wildness
froth from which
spilled into two children
chasing butterflies.

I could blow to smithereens
the wealth of the rich
could play a rob-in-hood
**** and steal
to give the poor a fair deal
could hang all the glib talkers
from the highest post
feet up head down
publicly displayed in the town
break the iron walls
bulldoze the palaces
pull them down from the throne
where I sent them
put an end to their dastardly game

but this mind’s wrath
this hand’s gun
can’t pop even one bullet
can only ink
a dawn pink emotion

of Revolution.

Years wear down
This body a rusty town
The cells fast shrink,
Yet somewhere deep within
A faintly throbbing green
Keeps us from the brink.
When it all seem to recur
Getting closer to departure
Past stories’ repeat,
Some things don’t grow stale
Their pleasures immeasurable
Memories bitter sweet.

At the worst of times
See me through
Rhythmic rhymes.

Net to net rolls the ball
with the feet fast they scroll
the kicks find the bar too small
too hard to score a goal!

Sweats it out the forward
saves it tough the one at back
like a fort he must guard
not allow a crack!

On the grass no guide or map
rely on footwork skill
pierce the defense find the gap
go for the lethal ****!

The ball if once finds the net
stop breath a million soul
mourns the side in sealed fate
the air is rend with GOAL!!!!

A riddle,
How his golden beard
Parts in the middle?

On the bike the rider is a blazing glory
winds to him whisper hair raising story
whizz past houses, trees, and towns
wheels giggle joyous with the ups and downs.

Girls on the sidewalks look up in awe
as the speed streaks on the wrong side of law
the copper burnt hands grip the baby tight
to ride away from dark and into the light.

Through the flash of clouds, torrents of rains
sun on the mountain, sunset's pink stains
piercing the wind, cutting across rainbow
steams the metal man, in seamless flow.

Days nights roll, beneath the grey arch
on an intense pursuit, one frantic search
he looks for a place where a loving hand
will open the door to the God's resting land.

It may seem so dull extraordinarily mundane
Like a movie seen yesterday to be seen again
Frame by frame alike dialogues repetitive
Seen before you go to bed heard before you leave!

But if you stop skimming the surface see it little close
There are magic happening right under your nose
She isn’t playing the same script speaking the same lines
Her colors change each hour so do her smile’s designs!

If you live the bare surface are content to stick there
You miss the subtle changes for you her redone hair
For you a coat of powder on what’s a familiar face
To move though you don’t notice in your pink favorite dress!

If you feel too weary see in changing hours no gain
Your life seems too ordinary and hopelessly mundane
You miss how she reinvents herself with you in her mind
Hoping you would see and not turn your eyes blind!

It may seem so dull extraordinarily mundane
Like a life lived yesterday to be lived today again
It’s only your turned off mind that makes it look all same
Missing out the new movies she’s building frame by frame!

She doesn't recite poems in the darkish sunset

like golden corns dying to be reaped
she needs a hand to cut her through
reach to where a fleshless lust is still not ember.

Seasons come and fly away.

Her own poems withering
she pines for one simple nest
to rest.

She didn't speak,
Just went on with her work
Of giving her home a facelift.
An ethereal urge filled me
To be near her, touch her a little
And add my hands to the touch up.
The air was rich with the aroma
Of the coming of the season of joy.
I knew something never grows old,
Never requires a word or even a look.
In silence we rained love on each other!

love is one fruit
that with ripeness
does not fall.

Don't let me Lord into the ripe old age
when delirium is the only thing in my head
I don't know when I **** or wet the bed
my mouths can't open a tube in my nose
takes not but teases the end looming close.

Don't let me Lord into the ripe old age
when my legs just wouldn't stand by themselves
can move me nowhere without a hand to help
I don't know when  I would fall on my face
flirts me but fails me that last cold embrace.

Don't let me Lord into the ripe old age
when the marks of time are mind crunching pain
the ones around me don't see a gain
in the struggled breaths that force me to live
defer their tears to mourn and grieve.

Don't let me Lord into the ripe old age
I beg to leave before my mind leaves me
before the loved ones ask wearily
O Lord why not spare us the agony
hasten the end let him die quickly.

Every Sunday he went to the church
wasn't too religious not really much
dressed in his best and tidily neat
he followed the routine by sheer habit
he sought nothing never spelt his wants
joined the others in the rhythmic chants
till years made him frail and old
found him a coffin dark and cold
carried on the hearse to the church he went
prayers were held he remained silent.

When our cup of misery is full
God takes out a spoonful.

But alas too soon
Devil adds one spoon!

Bit by bit the monster river
swallows her flesh
her chunks a little quiver
then break in lumpy mess!*

She loves him in high tide moon
bears him children in insane fertility
falls for his sweet lapping croon
loses her in his enormity.

Since he mouthed her his first kiss
she had given him her ego
shrunk with his each bitten piece
washed away with his flow.

In love she never wavers
to offer her to the river
yielding to the monstrous slayer
knowing him her destined lover!

Had I been a poet river born
Flowed at ebbs to the sea
Fed on her shores fields of corn
On her face etched the sky gaily!

Had I been a poet river bred
Rode her waves of lunar tide
Kissed her bank in cool summer shade
And never ever left her side!

I would have grown a love riverine
For all lives feeding on her breast
Fishes shrimps the dolly dolphin
***** turtles and the rest!

One moonlit night when she rose high
Drowned me in her beauteous wine
In a feathery drop on her bed I would lie
Breathing river poet’s one last line!

Where the river meanders for the sky’s embrace
Her lovelorn bank pines in the banyan’s shade
Blue ripples sing to soothe her travel’s stress
Lay me when all poems are dead in my head.

Write me an epitaph here rests the river poet
Who loved the cotton clouds mirrored on her breast
As her tides rose high laden with desire’s weight
He broke away from chains to madly sail her crest.

Where shines the moon makes the lover’s pathway
Flows quiet the river in her waves shadows sway
Night heron’s feet kiss her soft feathered bed
Lay me in silence when all poems are dead.

Lay me soft down make for me a space
On her alluvial soil in her riverine grace
In her diurnal shine and night’s saline kiss
The river poet would find his eternal peace.

Brown skinny road doggy
sorry you aren’t my priority
often though your furs brush
when by you I rush past
like I don’t look at an empty carton
don't notice your feeling alone
your eyes all the time cast on me
not understanding what keeps me busy
to don't look back to show I care
and acknowledge you’re there
thinking this man if only he knew
how aches a heart that loves like you!

Not all masked men are robbers

*All robbers aren't masked

They talked about him as the one
who none had ever seen smile.

You couldn't gauge
if he was happy or depressed
no emoji could describe
the repressed expression
but all said
he was dutiful.

Caring husband and father
responsible family head
silent bread earner.

His constant arrangement made sure
the home was neatly organized
not one object was out of place
and but for the children
it would have been hard to guess
if he ever met his wife privately
summing up him to be named
robot
and the belief in his name was strong.

When his wife died
he wailed so loud
it could be heard beyond town.

To the neighbors,
it was mechanical breakdown.

chiseled out of rock
the sculpted woman was an instant hit!

her large unblinking eyes held a mystical hint
her full lips stirred an untrodden passion
her stone-carved ******* were forbiddingly alluring
her smoothened rock skin was strangely inviting!

they gaped awestruck the rocky woman
full blossomed radiant in all her curvature
a beauty divinely distant beyond the periphery of touch!

they fell in love with each part of her

for sometime

and when her wholeness eluded

immersed her!