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!

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!

"Good evening", said the cyclist,
It echoed in the evening mist,
I was baffled I never knew him,
The dark stranger tall and slim!
Before I could acknowledge
He was gone in the haze,
The unknown messenger of good wills
A roaming angel on two wheels!

"Good evening", I said on my way,
The passerby was baffled had no word to say,
In the silent evening of misty haze
I was happy to turn a new page!

In the crowded platform
he sure was the dancing peacock
in his heart was blowing a storm
he feigned though looking at the station clock.*

Not the clock he was eying that one lovely girl
her face storm gatherer like her hair's black curl
he blushed every time she would catch his eyes
stealing her a look in indifference's disguise.

He was within enjoying this farcical foreplay
didn't know her train his was an hour away
imagined she too was singling him out
from the flock of men his contenders no doubt.

Did a wispy smile float on her cherry lip
few moments' encounter could it be that deep
still in his wondrous thought the girl he did own
on that absurd stage for her his love was grown.

One could not tell what was going within her
her eyes were they touched shone there a star
was she too mindful of him held him once in gaze
or her mind was too far away on a different page.

The hour passed quick in the young man's trance
between changing trains with the peacock's dance
when chugged in her train flew away the butterfly
the whistles of his train drowned his rending sigh.

When I stand before the mirror
to my horror
I find I have lost me

stares back at me
Sherlock

though I hate him
he warms up to me
takes me in his reins
morose eyes twinkly
gait sprightly

I become him
waken and in dream
memorizing his line
making his habits mine

like him I sprint
trails of footprint
and in all his fantasy

I'm no more me.

He scares
haunting in nightmares
one part
one heart
one role

He steals my soul.

Much adored is the dead poet

Within the glass case
Away from dirt
Amongst the books pressed
Rests his heart

Such was the silence he dreamed
When words streamed
Like riverine flow
In all might arose
Seeking the order in chaos

Orderly bound now his name
In peace standing behind wooden frame
Yet with the ceaseless commotion of wait...

Much adored rests the dead poet.

She walks in her ordained cage
Where reigns an eternal night
Her only window to the day
Is a peephole for a pencil of light!

Can’t say when her lips part in jollity
Or clouds gather in her eyes
Her face only the privileged can see
The world must see her in disguise!

You may wonder if she ever has the will
To break from the decree and be free
Remove from her face the veil
Run wild for all to see!

Still with me his memory stays
A boy I knew in childhood days
On street corner he bore the sun
From rain emptied road didn’t run!

They called him ******* up bit insane
His skin was numb sense felt no pain
Else why he would just aimless roam
Most of time outside of home!

If asked his name in whispered hum
Would say I don’t know knows my mum
What’s two plus two if asked some fool
His answer was not taught in school!

To a school he was though never sent
His class was road book firmament
All he knew was that syllabus
His own riddles and plus minus!

He was known as good for none
Except for pranks and some fun
Ill clad uncared like an urchin
There wasn’t a home with a boy like him!

Woke me one night footsteps and shouts
In a neighborhood house fire had broken out
Amid billowing smoke and leaping flame
The crowd was crying out the boy’s name!

He had gone in there without a thought
The fire’s fury he was afraid not
It seemed so silly this heroic feat
But the boy you know was too ******!

To this day it haunts me to know
Why he did that what to show
I heard the buzz rumors were rife
He had gone in there to save a cat’s life!

As soon as I start feeling low
My spirit dips down in the pit
The dog reminds me take it slow
Ease down will soon melt the heat.

Your life is so blessedly made
Gifted with so much of gain
Yet you are always afraid
Of even a minuscule pain!

You grumble at everything sore
Sulk in your mires of sorrow
While I wag happy at your door
Without having much of tomorrow!

The dog he knows it too well
Ever eludes a man happiness
He looks for it too much outside
When within him it dwells!

Kick the dog, they kick the dog
Living a life worse than a dog
Shabby smoky hopeless hogs
Used to the lives in the bogs!

The dog is innocent, it’s so good
It scours the streets just for food
These guys are dingy, dark and morose
They kick the dog when it’s too close!

The dog wonders what it has done
Why the hell do they kick him?
Is it hatred or a moronic fun?
The dog is baffled by their whim!

Unburdens the dusky river

dreams of flow dead in the bog of hyacinth
harvest burnt in the scorch of aridity
ripples robbed by the silt of dogma
sunbeam denied by the **** of creed

I was meant to reach the sea,
now I would never make it.

I pick the river's shattered pieces
with my own from the wintry dusk.

He stood on the grassland of Ledi Geraru.

The sky was a vast expanse of melancholic gray
and the crimson blue light made the night imminent.

Each twilight his feet felt the kiss of the dewy shrub
as he waited for the first star to come out
that in a hushed sweep descended as peace.

He would raise his finger to the sky
and upon the river of his eyes
the star broke into fragments of tears.

He was slowly dying
but a greater him was to tread the grassland.

His eyes weren't found.

Only his jaws still stuck with the beauty
were dug up from the stardust.

I hummed a song, uprooted my sting
I have given up anger from last evening
Only yesterday morning in hours of rush
I lost my temper and rebuked missus
She had lost my wallet, misplaced my suit
Cause of all my problems, all my troubles' root
My shaving kit was lost, important papers gone
Who could be responsible other than my son?
Everything was in disarray, chaotic and messy
Surely to fuel my anger, a grand conspiracy!
On my way to office, things were no good
The nudges and the pushes worsened my mood
I banged my head on the shutter, tripped on carpet
And just like any other day, I was once again late
The boss was bad, my colleagues a pack of fools
Nothing was in order, no regard for rules
The day staggered along, so longer it did seem
Till the evening softened it with cool luminous gleam
The south wind composed me, let me sink it in
Triggers are not outside, my anger swells within
With just a little try, a contemplating pause
I would know for my anger, I'm the lone cause
I must make amends, repair myself
Anger only harms, it never really helps
If I for once think it properly
I can see my tantrums can make others angry
But surely my missus and son have better sense
To put up with it and not be angry in defence!

Whenever I think and have it strongly willed
I fly to the place where stands the play field
to run in the sun and burn in the heat
be again amongst faces that haven't changed a bit.

Catch they cry out the ball in the sky
coming down fast tho soared up high
staking my heart I roll on the green
both hands grabbing to smother the spin.

Who'll be in which team they call out loud
to be in the game is enough to make proud
blazes like lightning the foot with the ball
attack and defend, rise if you fall.

The bruised little frames are smeared with dust
have given their all though win isn't a must
so in this field they'll again come to play
the children of past and then another day.

He lives life in his whim
No light flashes on him
Unhassled and free
He in his own way is happy.
He doesn't mind his way
Doesn't worry what he's to say
His mind is aimless as is his thought
He's not troubled for what he is not.
It isn't that the sun doesn't please him
The moon doesn't bring him the dream
He drinks them without getting dizzy
They pour in smooth and easy.
Beyond avarice and greed
He walks life unnoticed
A familiar face you pass by
He is just an ordinary guy.

When dark clouds descend on her eyes
Her pale skin exudes a cindery sadness
Pints of bloods flow out her vein
The stubborn poet breaks down.

All his creative resolves deliriums
Adorned garlands of his mind
His visions beyond the present
Mock him draws him in her pain.

What remains of him is not a poet
Not one looking down from a pedestal
But a mere mortal brutally battered
Brought down to earth crushed.

For the swells in her heart
Her futilely seeking oasis
Wind drift to no anchor
His poetry is a lavish indulgence.

The conductor looks at me
and then at my ticket
the train is running on full steam
splitting the night with monstrous weight
cutting darkness by its beam.

A mess up he says is always on the card
in this journey's hurly burly
if you are even a little off guard
you pick up one too early.

It keeps happening more with good ones
taken by jumping the queue
denied a trial one fair chance
lifted before they are due.

I am amused by his strange remark
what he means find hard to get
seems the guy talks too much at work
can't quietly just check ticket.

Haven't a clue sir to what you say
the mess up and jumping the queue
make it clear if I may pray
this lifting before it is due.

Holding the ticket before my eyes
the conductor points at the date
unpleasant though this little surprise
you are traveling on tomorrow's ticket.

Upon sleepy creek she rests
calm water dull august noon
memory are now all the crests
riding the waves in the moon!

Sailed the lunar breeze pearly sea
swam wispy phosphorescent gleam
when the night sang a lullaby
stars wove a blanket of dream!

Held her heart all the lovers’ trance
stolen kiss blown in the wind
on her breast joyous feet’s dance
tears of romance fallen ruined!

August noon resting weary
spins a sea for her to retrace
must find her way the ferry
to be lost in the waves’ embrace!

There’s always a fifth man in the cab.

The fifth man
Pathetic pitiable
Ignored
Smoked out

And the one to go out
Before the ride begins

The fifth man never finds a place in the cab.

Find on his face
The smoke’s trail

Find in his look

Written bold

FAIL.

He’s the one without a place

He’s the one leaving no trace

He’s the one without a room in the cab.

Find on his face
(though you wouldn’t care to look)

the smoke’s trail

of time and again failing
to find a room

find in his look

written bold

DOOM.

For the fifth man there’s no space in the cab.

While others win
(or so they think)

ends his journey

before it begins.

The fifth man is forever out of the race.

Never makes one of four

When closes the cab’s door.

Find on his face

Written bold

LOST DEAL.

The fifth man ever out of the cab

Still

Isn’t a fifth man

By his own free will!

On the paper the first dot
It doesn’t know, cannot,
It really has no inkling,
What would become of your thought
The shape of theme and plot
Sentiments the pouring words would bring!
It has no chance to know
The course the stream would flow
There’s no way it can foretell,
The route your thoughts would take
The many make and remake
How the words would finally gel!
It finds it deep mystery
The complex tapestry
Of the strings the words form,
It can never really guess
What brews in inner recess
Sunshine or roaring thunderstorm!
On the paper the first dot
It doesn’t know, cannot,
Your mind’s secret treasure,
It has no way to know
From here where you would go
The journey’s anguish and pleasure!

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.

In schooldays my aim was terribly perfect
add to that an attitude unfair
a soft teacher was an easy found target
not one bald head was allowed to be spared.

The moment the poor man turned to blackboard
his baldness shined as a gaming site
the sleeping devil woke up and deep roared
dispatched were chalks on windborne flight.

Only a few did land on wrong place
but found mostly their rightful targets
and bore no qualm the thrower's face
when cheered by the fellow classmates.

As the victim turned with ire's full steam
nursing stings that came with good force
we in the gang were such an honest team
never revealed it came from what source.

It went on smooth till luck failed one day
has to end all games one once starts
a traitor midst us the secret gave away
memory of the thrashing badly hurts.

As the sun pierces the winter haze
She finds blooming marigold all around her
Her eyes though on the newspaper’s page
Her mind drifts elsewhere.

Last February the gardener was here
Tilling the soil’s fertile reach
Chiseling each flower to joyfully share
The garden this Feb is so bountifully rich.

The silken sun gives her shiver of loneliness
Each marigold showers shadow upon her
The flowers bloom without the gardener’s embrace
Last February never seemed so distantly far.

familiar with all weather
broken rims of existence
soliloquies of despair
rainfall in silence

ripples of loud mirth
echoes of joyous feet
stillness of nightly earth
tunes of bitter sweet

romance of blind hearts
oaths of porcelain
stains of leftovers
fragments of bruised skin

lying in broken stones
living on river's face
nothing the ghat owns
but its loneliness.

Every night he knocks at her door
Calls I’m hollow without it
Give me back want nothing more
The love I left at your feet.

Beside her is heard the snore
From her man in slumber’s bliss
The lover’s plea to settle the score
Doesn’t break his dreamful peace!

Give me my love the lover howls
Bereft it I’m dead
Echo him the barnyard’s owls
Heart dies when not love fed.

I’ll not come back once
Am ready for an honest pact
Open the door give me a chance
Return my love intact.

She alone hears her lover past
Sinks in her bed in fright
The jilted lover in lost love’s lust
Comes back on her door each night!

Buried in time-holed yellow papyrus
of an unread book of poems
lay hidden a card

the token of a gift

inked in skeletal scribbles
indecipherable

but for five words

indelible in dusty piles' ravage

speaking the gifter's voice

time has come
right now
ripened
to read the book of poems
honor my words.

**read when you forget me.

she dries her hair in sun
in red frock windborne high
dreaming there's one
one day would pass her by

enwrapping in heat
sun licks her oily skin
flows down her lithe feet
craves one peep deep within

tickles her wind's mischief
its murmurs's caress
titillates her like a leaf
paints a rose on face

with her i can spin
yearns in my core
she's sweet sixteen
i'm two scores more

Dostoyevsky lies above Chekhov
The yellowed pages of Marquez
Stands aside in sad mood
With hundred years of solitude
From the bearded Tolstoy
Peeps out an innocent boy
For a small piece of land
Just enough to rest in peace
It's all a wildly strange mix
Where Tintin rules over Asterix
Hawking confuses the soul
With time's history and blackhole
On a pedestal Shakespeare loses might
His musty volumes half eaten by termite
Tagore not yet ready to lose his vigour
Shines upon eyes with portly figure
There's astronomy, history, magic and science
Rubbing shoulders with morality and conscience
Neatly stacked one upon the other
Mostly crumbling by time's weather
Ill preserved and not anymore read
Muddled words lost in the head.

But I only admire the tidying woman
Who labours hard does the best she can
Arrange them to restore their old glories
If by chance someone reopens the stories.

Every bad has some good in it
like silver line round the cloud
a bad isn't bad every bit
has something to make feel proud.

One night on a rainy day
out on my aimless roam
saw a koi that lost its way
caught it and brought it home.

In a bucket it lived two years
no way I would ever regret that
had I on that day chosen to stay clear
it would have been taken by a cat.

Once she bought a bird cheap
back home we soon found out
surely it wasn't a prized keep
was lame in one leg no doubt.

But be sure we chose not at all a wrong
the foot though not cured healed a lot
the budgie would not have lasted long
had its lameness prevented to be bought.

Living in the same stretch of forest
He was suffering from acute boredom
What came to his mind he knew best
The animal decided to leave his kingdom.
Perhaps he was tired of the same old story
And decided to explore new territory
Or ran partner-less and sought a new mate
So tried a new path thought it the best bet.
After walking for miles throughout the day
He found a tall fence obstructing his way
He halted on his track gave a growling sound
Looked for some opening some way around.
Before him lay temptingly sprawling greens
He thought he must go there by any means
Then like a flash an idea crossed his head
There was no looking back he must go ahead.
Going back some length he gave a mighty spring
Flew over the barricade like a bird on its wing
It was a miracle he could land on his feet
Stranger still the fact the animal made it.
It was dreamlike he felt supreme pleasure
Roared in joy at the newly found treasure
But soon he felt himself an intruding stranger
Others of his tribe considered him outsider.
They looked upon him in utter disdain
Here he was no king nor could he reign
After a month or so he yearned for his home
Longed for the land he could freely roam.
He thought only of taking a quick flight
Once more overcome the fence’s tall height
You know what one can do with freedom in sight
The tiger escaped the park leapt the 18 feet height!

I have the gun in my hand
If I shoot you on the head
You’re a dead duck.
If I miss
It’s your good luck.
I have the gun in my hand
If I shoot on your leg
You’re a lame duck.
If I miss
It’s your good luck.
I have the gun in my hand
If I shoot you in the eyes
You’re a blind duck.
If I miss
It’s your good luck.
I have the gun in my hand
But in this game
It’s your heart I aim.
And if I miss
I’ll run out of luck.

Not a thought that me haunts,
A smell,
That in fiery times me lends
Respite from hell.
It’s no fragrance wafted in air
No sweet scent,
It I feel right there
As healer of torment.
I smelled it first
From my time in her cavern
It was to begin my thirst
For the love of a woman.

I hide my eyes behind dark glass
Paint weird colors on my hair
Day and night with a painter’s brush
I try if I can catch a stare!
I want to be noticed, I want to be seen
I want to rise high
I want to be admired, I’m so keen
To be a star among stars of the sky!
All those layers of colored grease
Give me a space to hide
The hidden ‘I’ say, ‘Love me please,
Take me for a trail blazing ride’!
I want to be noticed, I want to be heard
But who the hell is that ‘I’?
I’m still on the lookout and I’ve grave doubt
If ever shall I know it, if ever afore I die!

When behind closed doors, in slumbers’ shackle bound
Weary eyes dream in bliss, the world makes no sound
He’s out on round to reach each door in hunt of his man
His face unseen but he sees them all, the hooded horseman!
One night he stopped at a door on hearing a painful moan
The agony in it was so intense, melted his heart of stone
He went in to find a man, in pain’s utter anguish
Mumbling ‘o god have pity on me take me away please’!
The hooded man greatly moved asked him what’s the cause
The streaming sobs of his painful cry was in what remorse
All the while as he said these words, never took of his hood
For he couldn’t, knowing it well, it would do the man no good!
The man replied ‘in my ripe old age I’m left alone
With ailments, without a care, as all my own are gone,
So I asked god to take me off, I can’t bear it anymore
Staying alive with crumbling bones and festering bedsores!
The hooded man said ‘wait a while, let me see to it,
If it’s there, your name, features in tonight’s list,
He scanned it hard then shook his head ‘nothing I can do,
There’re names galore for outbound trip, not one of them is you’!
Saying thus he mounted his horse, here he was needed no more
The hooded horseman on his ceaseless errand, galloped to another door!

In the height of summer
The pond shrunk to a hyacinth heart.

The kingfishers left for crystal streams
Village belles no more washed their hidden shames
Kids broke their frolics on her kissing splashes
And men dipped not in her to whisper secrets.

She prayed to hold through all the pains.

The sky heard her and sent her rains.

Amid the dense foliage
You’re caught in my lens
Your eyes that me amaze
In them the innocence!
My lens seek not the plumage
Nor their colors in the light
Your eyes that me amaze
Their goodness burning bright!
As they quietly close in
My hungrily probing lens
To shoot you spotless clean
With a laborious patience,
Amid the dense foliage
My senses taut and tense
It’s your eyes that me amaze
Holding a sparkling innocence!

On a y-shaped twig hanging on the stream
The kingfisher was absorbed in fishy dream
Move close I told myself move as close
To make sure you shoot its meditative pose.

Instinctively manifold alert and smart
It didn’t oblige me as an object of art
But flew away with the thought in its mind

**No luck now with a ******* creeping behind!

A chance acquaintance on that island bus
said he was eighty of age
have fled for some years the city's rush
on the island have rented a cottage.

I live here in peace the place is nice
live life the way I please
four hundred a month is no high price
to pay for the freedom from leash.

No fan in my room I don't need one
make do with a sixty watt light
when my leisured day is fully done
there's a bed for resting out the night.

But one regret my mind still bears
no way now for it to recompense
it took me so long my life's most years
to know having little is big gains.

He got down from the bus one stop before me
waved with his age shriveled hand
he would never know how him I envy
the loner in one remote island!

He held the gun pressed on her forehead

say what ya want to say before you're dead

but he left her with really no choice
she couldn't speak gagged was her voice

this is one death I'll never mourn
her response was a muffled groan

I have endured you long enough
time for riddance, killing you won't be tough

say last words, your last prayer
then let my bullet speak, end of nightmare
never thought taking life would be such fun
my freedom from you would flow from the gun

then he held before her a mirror

see yer eyes see there the horror
the pathetic pleading the cowering appeal

sorry woman it's my time for the ****

the trigger clicked the man closed his eyes

no killer he was a good man in disguise

game up, he said, we made a perfect score

I'm happy it's over, will play this game no more

The knife cutter calls in the summer noon
on his bicycle he pedals his wheel
sharpens all that rust too soon
knives past prime too blunt to ****!

Glues his hair the sweat of roam
his cheeks bear long uncut beard
pray he finds a wanting home
that needs to sharpen not just word!

If comes his way a timeworn knife
he sits to roll the clunky wheel
works to feebly sustain life
bowing to the smallest deal!

He is no poet no skilled scribe
an old hand from a vanishing age
belonging to a losing tribe
that still gives knife cutting edge!

I welcome the known happiness
Felt in the past somewhere in time
When again they show up their face
I know them from their trodden roads’ grime!

I welcome the known happiness
That once visited my address
When they are back on my door
After years’ recess!

Welcome old happiness I tell them
Hug them and dust off their travels’ grime
It’s not dead yet is burning the flame
Of my hope you would be back one more time!

They stay with me like good old mates
Tell me they regret they were off for so long
Hail me for having not closed mind’s gates
Then leave me leaving the trail of their song!

What she’s doing there the whole day
Sitting in the same posture on a chair
By the window that brings in no wind
Nor any floral perfume
Though the window opens into a garden
That’s there without a reason
For endless time without a season
And keep you guessing if out there
It’s eternal summer or spring
And if it’s so the lady eternal
Why she isn’t in the garden
Instead of sitting the day out
In the same posture on the same chair
Static and timeless
In her expressionless face
That holds neither joy nor sadness.

At the last hut of the village
Lives the girl of tender age
Her eyes though love filled
Meet only the long paddy field!

Forlorn on a lonely summer noon
She hugs her image on the stream
Wishes on her way would come soon
The boy she had found in her dream!

The last hut is ever too far
But for the winds blown away
None knows if ever a traveler
Would stray to her door one day!

She hugs her image on the stream
Washes her cute rice bran face
If ever comes the boy of her dream
Finds out her last hut address!

Her heart weaves a wish upon a star
On moonlit nights in silvers’ gleam
Next morn if the boy comes to her
She would ever cage him in her dream!

There she would come every night
at the last post before the sea
her shadow stealing the starlight
she crooned her lover a lullaby!

the waves breaking the craggy shore
they would be coming nightlong
keen to know what's in store
if he would be drawn by her song!

atop the post he waited alone
if ever a ship came that way
faithfully flashing his earthly beacon
streaking the sea's pathway!

she sang in the hope her notes would rise
with the winds up there to reach him
though he wouldn't see her he would surmise
all her heart's yearning all her dream!

but his eyes only caught the waves' roll
fathomed the distant horizon
a ship must pass to soothe his soul
to fulfill his waiting long alone!

he never knew the ******* the shore
she sang him a loving lullaby
up there alone behind closed door
his love he lent out to the sea!

When the last train chugs out of the station
the doppler sound mingles
with his unseen tears’ flow

I got nowhere to go.

The lone small window will close
chrome sun won’t come soon
night would echo in silent flow

I got nowhere to go.

They all went their home

a place on earth
where a heart
where a hearth
sews a peace
brews a love

only his eyes burn
in fireflies’ glow

I got nowhere to go.

In the crickets’ hum
sleep doesn’t come
and it’s long since the last train rolled
from this barren cold.

He can’t make sense
can’t follow

*Why he got nowhere to go!

When you're cloaked in a pall of gloom
Life seems bland with colours gone
The little flower in her humble bloom
Will say she's there you aren't alone.

A dark cavern
Yawns wide
Cobwebbed
With corpses of storage
Of prehistoric age,
Went in long time
Put stay
Without again
Seeing light of day,
Untouched by squall
on the wall
In hibernation
An archive
Beyond retrieval,
A black square hole
Without a role
In my living room,
I’ll never take a ladder
to hold me aloft
and peep inside the loft
but let continue
its slumberous mystery
date prehistory

I'm as lonely as a station at night.

The december mist and the moon
peaking high over the iron fence
dulled the low volt into weird halo.

But like bats I reap the rewards of night.

The buzz of the crickets rose in crescendo
from the undergrowths around the track
sounding as unreal as the silent platform
abruptly cropping up on nowhere land
doubtful if ever a train would notice it.

Days are dull actings dancing to strings
yielding nothing to let you know you.
I'm in full vision before the lightless mirror
opening up alone but with the many faces
the dreary day ruthlessly hid from me.

The mist was engulfing the iron railings
and when a distant engine whistled
there was no track or platform
but only the lone flyer hung on the moon
like a bat glued to the scent of night.

She must now be fifty four.
Her first love letter fifteen years younger!

The lover had long moved away
She too went her way
And the cramped years gave them little chance
Except rare remembrances of their first romance!

The letter with the broken edges and clumsy write
Must long be languishing far from daylight.

The girl it cannot be said if is content with her man
The man has settled after surfing many a woman.

They remained just first lovers so willed the fate
They would be a rosy memory each other’s first date.

They gained not nor lost except their age and look
The real loser is the love letter lying in unknown nook.

Still lives in the blind hope it would see her once more
In the belief she is still fifteen and not fifty four!

When the night for the passing fairies stood breathless still
The full moon in molten sorrow broke down the hill
His eyes would fill with tears, his lips in anguish twitched
In drunken murmurs of a lost soul in moon’s spell bewitched.
He would be up there on Top Hill silhouetted in moonlight
Sinking in her spilling milk in ecstatic delight
Watching the moon scale upon the meridian’s peak
In the inexplicable awe of a frenzied lunatic.
There wasn’t no full moon without him on Top Hill
Perched on its crest dreaming to have his fill
Sailing in the silvery waves not knowing to anchor
Pledging his eyes to the moon till they couldn’t take anymore.

One night as he climbed up to bathe in the blinding white
The glowing disc was too much to behold, his heart stopped in fright
They found him atop Top Hill, his eyes in wide gaze
In them lay captured, his last moon’s passage.

The coroner opined that his heart failed him
To the taxing trek uphill he fell a victim
But the real cause, they would never get it right
That night having his fill, he died of moonlight.