worry not* I tell her
finding her morose
better time is not far
things can't get worse.

she pulls a smile on her face
basks in my wish
in my hope refreshed
her lips glow pinkish.

what we do are tries
to the rest have no recourse
life's turns and surprise
we can watch not force.

does she believe me really
when I say leave not happiness
or seeing through the cries within me
pulls out a smile on her face?

In the darkly lit room
Hangs the smell of doom
As he babbles about his eyes

He seems bent on a mission
To paint a bleak vision
His elation isn’t disguised!

I’ve them aplenty
My eyes bloodied
In surgeon’s needles

Retinal detachment
Cataract
Glaucoma

There isn’t a trauma
My eyes haven’t suffered

His eyeballs roll
On the sclera
In perverse pleasure

I don’t mind
If I go blind,
The misery around
Doesn’t make eyesight a treasure

I haven’t met a man
To himself this inhuman
Treating the most valued lens
With such immense disdains

More than my suffering eyes
He says in glee undisguised
*I suffer your cruelty,

That’s when you say
It’s my way

To garner sympathy!

Exquisite, universal, sublime,
Your poems never grow old with time.

As you walk
The world passes by
Faces sound scent
Walking is always
Time well spent!
Winds embrace
They kiss on your face
Around you fleeting smile
You walk
Mile after mile!

There’s this girl who left a boy a scar
Times have flown years gone far
One small cut how it didn’t heal
In a corner of mind the story lives still.

Mid sixties noon a war was on
School was closed days forlorn
Mind gone dead as summer wind blew
Longed for what it really had no clue.

There was this girl a breezy butterfly
Pretty and petite was quietly passing by
The sight of her skin just below the skirt
It drove the boy to throw a stone to hurt.

As his idle mind came under devil’s grip
Took a quick aim threw her a basalt chip
But as was destined written was his fate
It flew past her widely missing the target.

She paused on her track her eyes burning ire
Glanced once at him lips curled spitting fire
Sparks flew in his eyes his match he had met
Below eyebrow the scar he carries to this date.

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.

The king it’s well known found it no pleasure
When the princess cited salt as her love’s measure
How much princess you love me what’s the quantum
Her reply left him dejected he looked intensely glum.

You know what happened thereafter she was driven out of land
She lived with pains of ignominy for taking a truthful stand.

Love is too glorious a thing to be measured in spoonful salt
The princess could find a better measure from her heart’s golden vault
But she dug her heart deep for something unblemished without fault
Found none better and precious than a grain of salt.

The princess could say she loved like moon or any such pretense
But to her father she didn’t lie her love for him was immense.

Just think how life without salt would turn dull spice-less
Palate would pine tongues rebel for salt’s sweet embrace
She knew it well in her heart dwelled love’s gracious taste
So she said I love you like salt a truth nurtured in her breast.

*Take lessons lovers you can pass love’s most rigorous test
So long you hold in your mouth the salt’s timeless taste.

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!

I itch for the tea time
I burn to have with her
a steaming cup of tea
and soak with her on the table
the heavenly moments!

I itch for the tea time
my morning’s essence
the time she talks
I talk
nonsense
laugh
bluff
cough
as the tea
refuses to go down the throat
for it too loves these moments
with two voices
in one voice
rejoice
being together
with the morning tea
dreaming
it would last
eternity!

It happens with old men
Have seen it times umpteen
I’m a boy again
You too sweet sixteen!

You sit with folded knees
Pulling down your skirt
Lest in naughty breeze
Thereto my eyes dart!

As long as it’s your face
Things are hunky dory
Tales of such retrace
Tell you as teatime story!

But often it happens
As the dreams unfurl
I can’t make its sense
Appears another girl!

She may be the one I know
Or a face I have never seen
Crafted in moon’s glow
Carved from days of teen!

Such dreams they quickly abort
When her I embrace
Make with her a rapport
On her neck comes back your face!

Next morn I feel glum
Hide behind newspaper
Teatime I sit mum
Without a story for her!

the good continually crushed
the evil prosperous!

the evil tends to stick
being good is being weak!

the good is a dropout
the world the evil surmounts!

the good's voice goes unheard
rule the evil's words!

the good's fate is sealed
gets the devil what it willed!

rules the evil's writ
the good takes backseat!

with the devil infernal
god is partial!

god is good but so happens
the world the evil reigns!

Clammy creepy freaky fright
virulent vermin scary sight
tell me what is that.

Crawling craving webbing prey
frightens her when eats her whey
saved when pounces cat.

Ominous is its wicked lull
saintly sitting on the wall
mischief within skull.

Meditate in a stupored trance
quickly clinches preying chance
victory's joyous dance.

Brutish brownish bitter brat
worse than hornet bees and gnat
tell me what is that.

**** if you can in one slap
break its sticky ******* trap
hear hands' roaring clap.

If one may wonder what kind of guy is me
What’s my real face from my faces of poetry
Am I what I write generous and ideal bound
As in real life as in my poems I am found.

Now to tell you the truth put speculations to rest
Am not exactly as I make out not that much honest
My writes bear my yearning for what I aspire to be
But I could not and that regret finds vent in poetry.

Good ten minutes to four
I reached the temple door.

Take your offer for the God
the flower seller was eager
no haste, he smiled
his time for a rest
will soon be over.

I wondered
why I'm never contented
with what God has to offer
and as a rule
my bag of grievances is ever full.

In the faint light
I held his idol in my sight
listening in the quietude
to the temple pigeons.

With great peace
I bought two lotus at fifteen rupees
from the flower seller
dividing our happiness
into equal share.

‘See we aren’t leaving anything out,
check once more to be sure’
she said with a nagging doubt,
‘we’re going to come back no more
once behind us we close the door’.

The hassles had made her tense
Moving out was trouble immense
I said to soothe her nerve ‘be assured dear,
We would leave nothing here’.

Still for her peace I went in
To make sure nothing lay within
And what I got was a jolting shock
On the wall still hung our bedroom clock!

She fumed and blurted on my face
‘I always knew you’re too careless,
thank god I goaded you for another look
precious things might be lying in some nook’.

I went in not to seek anymore things
But for the spent moments still fluttering wings
Smell our joys and sorrows hanging in the air
Of the times living as a tenant here!

Ten birds on the beach
One in shallow sea
Food is within reach
Air reeks melancholy!

On this misty morn
Veiled in mystic shroud
The one away forlorn
Not foraging with the crowd!

It waits for return tide
For the waves to come in rush
So it can on them ride
Hunt in joyous gush!

Ten birds on the beach
Picture of contentment
Within their reach
Last tide’s remnant!

The one in shallow sea
New tidings its heart craves
To break through melancholy
Lift her on crested waves!

It's a dream childhood
taking the ten fifteen autumn ferry
for school on the other side of the river
little white butterflies
petite pretty ribboned
babbling like river ripples
boarding from the jetty in the sky
traveling below billowing September clouds
living only in now breathing joyous
no worry for a future
ferrying along the river
and now is all that counts
counting by the moments
fairy furlongs
on the ten fifteen autumn ferry.

If you ever travel under rain dotted blue
stop at the ten mile haat.

Sellers there are not smart
buyers don't ever bargain
strange is their dealing art
both parties feel having gained.

Small is all they have
except the smiles on the face
the little the garden has saved
is sold to fetch happiness.

There's no haggling on price
never mind if you don't buy
no price is needed to be nice
peace is just an easy try.

Small men with not much of need
who easily make you their part
an island that lies far from greed
enchants you wins your heart.

And it's not a story that I make
I happen to be there once a while
return with a bag of big take
from the village haat at ten mile.

Estd. 1961,
To wind up
After end of assigned business.

His lower arm hugged her upper hip
the humid air was too much to decline
beckoning of her quivering lip
her sweaty smell pouring like wine.

Her subtlest press lighted million spark
his reciprocating started fire
her lobes tinged with blush mark
nothing more the two could aspire.

Centuries old embedded in stone
posteriors arching for ******
cracked alive in pleasure's moan
sunk in the deep gorge of lust.

The urge to knock one door
find access to one heart
get one eye to seek more
heal one soul from hurt

that gives all toil's reward
serves all labor's cause
when by touch of one word
is born one ponderous pause

one halt gives a priceless gain
one like a pure pleasure
one word blunts all edge of pain
makes rich of royal treasure

the poet craves for one audience
is not above the greed
lusts one mind's caring presence
one eye's fleeting read

Little ones we were playmates that leisurely afternoon
The daughter of our poor maid she danced to my tune
Shyly quiet emaciated slim her eyes were bluish deep
One loud word a raised eyebrow was enough to make her weep.

She wouldn’t hum a single tune nor would ever dance
Loved to be there all by herself kept from me a distance
The lonely hour of that afternoon my mum was sound asleep
The girl was there I sniffed my chance for playing on her mischief.

I invited her for a time together to play with me hide and seek
With downed eyes she moved her head her ‘no’ was feebly meek
On that day I had to have my way to play some prank on her
My insistence benumbed her sense courage she failed to muster.

I showed her the room where she would remain till I found a place to hide
Should be there with eyes closed till I cooed my instructions she must abide
The windows of that room I shut them fast so no sound could come out
Explained to her it was to ensure from her place she couldn’t look out.

The poor girl followed what I told her she was a soul sans all wickedness
As she went into the room a cloud’s shadow passed on her innocent face
That afternoon in childish whim what I did I don’t find easy to condone
I played the game mean locked the girl in left her in the dark room alone.

I left her there in her nightmare happy to have caused her the pain
A playful prank a darned mischief in which the child saw a big gain
When they brought her out she was all weeping the captivity was hard
Time and again they questioned her but couldn’t get her to speak a word.

From that day I never came her way just caught a few times her eyes
There was in them against me no complaint only a sorrowful surprise
Years have passed that afternoon is still to rust she still knocks on the door
Beckoning me to play the game of hide seek pleading not to lock her anymore.

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.

For the girl I love mountain surmount
glide through the roughest ride
what others say is of little count
I stand firm by her side.

So what if eyes in dissent frown
roll tongues in derision
tries the world to tear me down
I have taken my decision.

Don't bother me her caste or creed
her wealth or social class
know this much her love I need
without it I would be poorer worse.

She is the girl that's all I know
worth walking the longest length
stay by her in high and low
protect with all my strength.

Pure innocent wild,
That's the child.
I wish I could be one again
To forget the grown-up's pain
And rebuild life
The way it should have been -
Simple, straight, clean!

They gasped for breath in that dark dungeon cell
A hundred and sixty six men huddled in black hell
In that hole of Fort William eighteen by fourteen
The screaming souls realized next morn wouldn’t be seen.

Two tiny windows were all there was high up on the wall
Slowly passed that night of June hung in deadly lull
Water water they wailed their throats were desert dry
The summer heat poured in sweats as the tears of their cry.

Two women were among them they were the first to go
Suffocated by lack of air their breathing began to slow
Was dying Tom’s fiancée and he wrung his sweated shirt
If could revive his moisture’s drop save life of sweetheart.

One by one they collapsed amid the buzz of death’s din
Begging for a drop of water in despair drinking *****
The dead stood on their feet there wasn’t a space to fall
Survived only forty three men among them Holwell!

In the history it’s known as the tragedy of black hole
With many riddles still misty the Bengal Nawab’s role
Account of that summer night the ghastly horror’s tale
It’s now known was exaggerated by Commander Holwell.

That’s when he gave up his pen.

its reach didn’t save the dog
dying on the melting pitch

didn’t reach vent of his pen
deep enough
to save the vanishing water hen

they all were going
easy game
in the minutes
he was busy writing a poem
in the seconds
he spent naming them
in the hours
his thoughts’ idle wings
mourned their goings

he was never fair
he was never there
as they went one by one
and all his works came undone
with their blood stain!

That’s when he gave up his pen.

At the busiest hour/ when rings the bell
An abhorred guest/ peeps through the grill
I mutter go sell/ your wares at the hell
I want/  none of your deals.

Wish I could/ really be that harsh
Give him my piece/ of bitter mouth
Vent on him/ the choicest curse
Impale him with/ outta here shout.

The minute hurries/ but can’t disguise
His despair's plead/ broken eyes
Just a minute sir/ I won't take more
But on my face/ don't close the door.

Have got no time/ for the seller's trap
Not wanna buy/ all those cheap crap
No tears would swell/ no pin-pricked heart
Would love to see him/ quickly depart.

Too soon he knows/ here is no gain
Hopes would lie minced/ brutally slain
Stoops his head low/ bows out in grace
Must find himself/ another address.

I see her everyday
Am seeing her for years
But sure the answer is nay
If I know all her fears!

I see her everyday
Living at one address
But sure the answer is nay
If I know all her happiness!

I see her everyday
For long sharing the bed
But sure the answer is nay
If I know what goes on in her head!

I see her everyday
Have never been apart
But sure the answer is nay
If I know each beat of her heart!

I see her everyday
For long she’s my mate
But sure the answer is nay
If I know her fully till date!

I see her everyday
Have felt her in every breath
*And sure the answer is yea
If I’ll love her till death!

He lies flat on the rooftop
looking at the stars.

Useless worlds birthing and dying
he muses
the colossal magnificence of waste

if atrophy is the verdict
why create a complex web of universe
just because someone from an island
would stare at them
in awe of the beauty
seeking a key to the riddle
himself a grain of dust
lost in reading the firmament
and not grasping
of what significance
he is
within his shrinking space and time
in an expanding universe.

By his side, the devout chant God's glory
in a life so brittle and fragile
yet not lacking in strength to navigate
on the river of chaotic turbulence.

Some are tearlessly silent,
a few are about to embrace a cry
and there is one whose wails
reverberate and pound the walls.

The ascent to the greater kingdom
is adorned with white lotus
and incense that smell of heaven.

Filled with the finality
there is no point denying,
the atheist sleeps on peacefully.

Remember brother we didn't play with toys
we were two little toy soldiers
on two sides of the cold war
crawling on elbows and knees
in the backyard with a blackberry tree
firing at each other with invisible guns
our mouths echoing the rat-tat of bullets
and it was not blood that soaked us
but drops of heavily falling rains
upon soil long parched by the heat
exuding smell of love all over the wind
when the two would roll over each other
escaping from a war with no real enemies
pleading i'm wounded, don't shoot me.

We don't play wars any more brother
the cold war is long over
and we stopped being not enemies.

“Wake up dear, got something to tell you,
I have ceased to love you”.
“Oh, I knew it all along”, she said,
“but didn’t let you know I knew! ”
“I knew you were soon done with me,
but made it up by a pretense of love,
and it must have been so painful for you”.
“Why, dear? Why didn’t you tell me? ”
“cause sometimes the best place for truth
is in the heart, that’s why! ”
“what’s the truth you guarded in your heart? ”
“it matters little to you,  it was my selfishness”
“what selfishness? ”, I cried,
“loving you knowing it would not come back! ”

I woke up from the dream and knew….
I couldn’t let it out of my heart!

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.

I once asked a bird
‘Would you swap place with me? ’
'Oh no’, it said, ‘I’m free’
“See my feet are firmly on ground”
“I fly high happy to be sky bound”
“I have an intelligent mind”
“Simple happiness I easily find”
“I too can fly in an airplane”
“Lightly I glide in sun and rain”
“My food is served on tray”
“I chase and catch my prey”
“I live in a big house”
“A small nest I build for my spouse”
“I work till late night”
“I catch the morning light”
“I have knowledge and wisdom”
“I would rather have my freedom”

On the deserted riverbank
lay the painted boat
his youth glistening in the half baked noon,
the river wide beckoned him to taste her depth,
skim her stretch and see her other side.
The boat was raring to go
riding the wide river's tide
masts high up full steam
to wherever she would carry him.
At each call of the river
his oars rended a soulful cry,
the river echoed him back
holding into her his futile longing
her waves wreathing in agony on the shore
if that could fetch him to her embrace.

The half baked noon
dull empty unchanging
knew
there wasn't a way he could ever launch into her....
the painted boat on the painted river!

With the veins of my grief
the day dies a fallen leaf
night’s shadows in me confide
the boat is coming from the other side
chirping crickets on darkness feed
thickens smell of mangrove reed
waves rolling in the saline stream
paint a boat in slumbered dream.

The Boss is always right
as his boss is certainly too
ever a man of far sight
do as he wants you to do.

Quietly knock his door
and before you show your face
knock just once no more
wait for him to say yes.

Watch when you enter his room
if he is beaming or sad
don't invite your doom
he can be worse than bad.

Don't speak if he's busy at work
stand with patience noiseless
to speak never embark
till he looks straight at your face.

If he asks you your job's progress
be ready with all your tricks
the best way to have him impressed
is to confuse him with statistics.

Just ensure the figures add up right
there's no glaring mistake
if one such comes to his sight
no way you retain your neck.

Answer to the point he asks
give him the master's due
never ever try to assert
impose on him your view.

Not try to prolong the discourse
make it very brief and precise
your logic would always be coarse
to the Boss who is far more wise.

Move back facing your Boss
keep it always in mind
what makes him really very cross
is to see your swinging behind.

Once you are back to your seat
your wounds do secretly nurse
vent your head's all the heat
mutter your choicest curse.

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.

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.

Today the cellar will be closed
Will lie buried within
Ocean of tears

Dusty toils will turn to dust
Cold nights’ sweats
Will be forgotten years

Dreams made of hard rock
Passions of concrete block
Will sleep under lock

Today the cellar will be closed
Will lie buried within
Secret wishes’ sand

All tools of labor will rust
Dusty toils will turn to dust
Will gust no winds on its land

Underneath the dreamlaid ground
The cellar will be promise bound
By its own fate

*To hold the tears all alone
Not letting it be ever known
Two hearts’ secret!

He has the acumen to charm
His words don’t reveal his mind
With your emotions he plays with skill
He is a charmer deft in his art!

He preaches what he doesn’t practice
His craft hides from you his real face
In his life he has never given peace
Never brought one soul happiness!

His art keeps the audience enthralled
His songs make the listeners sway wild
But in him is a devil installed
He is farthest from innocence of a child!

What he shows to you is the husk
You never get to see the real face
A charmer his art is a mask
In life he **** cares goodness!

Under the gnarled mesh
The shrinking crust
Down the mantle
Collapsing on the core
The child is sinking.

Under the sinful loads
The shrinking space
The burden of knowing
Transforming into despair
The child is sinking.

Under the wise care
The vanishing imagination
The pressure of achievement
Lightening speed to grow up
The child is sinking.

Give it space to timely age
Give it time to leisurely laze
Let it be heard.

Let not the child be a caged bird.

In the stillness of night
The chiming clock sings the hours.
Eyes in deep sleep don’t hear them anymore
Care not in the clock’s rhymes what’s in store,
But it knows its chimes are songs of dirge
For life’s harvest and then the down surge,
And it’s a mere witness in this open-n-shut game,
Its chimes a reminder of time it can’t tame.

As the day dies sun to west slants
my hands water the few potted plants
an evening dawns in melancholic hush
pesters my mood the cawing corvus!

The nose in the air polished jackdaw
can’t fathom why men break nature’s law
wipe out forests root out the green
then on the roof try to grow seedling!

Why at all shrink the men so smart
stretches of wood to build habitat
all the clever brains profound and wise
destroy wastelands to madly urbanize!

The corvus his eyes speak of dark scare
frightened beak caws how is unfair
denuding of trees in insane haste
leaving scarce space to build him a nest!

Carved in rock lies the croc
with sun burning its scale
though ticked for long the cruel clock
came no freedom from the well!

Life is boring days are dull
dragging is every moment
locked within an unscalable wall
eyes seek faraway firmament!

Where's the river its mind cries
swarms of the river fish
the river only flows in its sleepy eyes
for a home that's now dead wish!

Lying in the well dreams on the croc
for a river it cannot ever roam
times fly away with the ticking clock
to get it in the sky a home!

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!

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 is sung no carol!

But its heart still flutters as 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
hoping it's not far away when the bells would ring
the Lord would carry the Cross on his second coming!

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 Christmas 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 again, on his second coming!