Sun does tickle his dreams on the blazing pave
when pass by him countless feet honking cars
fires don’t burn him nor do elements make him slave
upon him the street dirt is powdered stars.

In the luxurious cushions bed is a veritable thorn
sleep defers or visits not eyes’ awakened nightmare
men burn power to being breathing to the morn
while his eyelids at dreams’ wonder gapingly stare.

There’s a kingdom carved by him where gods don’t reign
a few picked crumbs magically brew metabolic bliss
fairies stir laughter misty angels wipe out pain
the moment his head the concretes kiss.

It isn’t hunger that in his deepest bowel gnaws
but a gratitude not battered by existential flaws
for being gifted a mind broke free sanity’s laws
be just there amid rush an island of pause.

When the moon retires running her length
the river lies a fishbone on the white plate
feebly breathing like the slosh from oars,
the shadow digs a hole in the bush.

The faintest chill rattles don't escape
and the chatters dull as broken notes,
the shadow picks up from the mist
with the intent of an absorbed dreamer.

The gold diggers in that forbidden land
filter their preys keen to fill some more
from the mines lining the grey riverbank
with each reap a little closer to attainment.

The precise compass weighs the measure
tightening the muscles into a symphony
for that climb onto the ****** in one spring
before stealing the stilled, deep into silence.

My friend failed the appointment
and I had this man beside me
with untimely heavy woolen
peering into the condensed haze
of that October evening.

Being alone is scary,
the hoarse voice melted the silence
and being alive sometimes scarier
than not being,

he paused as if
the words had drained him

when you hope it the most
and none turns up
to feel and fill you.

The fog had almost devoured the halogen
leaving me only with the voice.

It's uneasy, I spoke at last,
isn't it weird to be talking
without being seen?

Not in the least,
his laughter rattled the slumberous air
the world long turned away its face
from the face beside you.

around are men moving faceless
a blurred streak in the rush
a nonentity with no address
like the man sitting next in the bus!

who looks up and who sees
the lump of one moving mass
like a line of disparate trees
we're men sitting next in the bus!

boarders on traveling wheel
chained in creed and class
who does bother to feel
the man sitting next in the bus!

the world would have been so nice
had mine weighed lesser than us
but who would pay the small price
for the man sitting next in the bus!

Precariously perched on crossed log
Around his neck tightening noose
Did once repent the most lovable ****
Why only wealth did he choose?

The masked man would come to my window
but never crossed the grill to be inside
he seemed to fly while talking of tomorrow
what he spoke took me on a dark ride!

I see you child progressing to be a man
moving places running races knowing need
reaching farthest far and beyond till the span
feels too long and you’re weary of the speed!

I see you child going on a long trek
falling down getting up roaming wild
find a heart make a home and then break
in that wilderness sob like a child!

I see you child wide awake in the night
burning for pride hollow vain
while flickers out the last candlelight
darkness drowns the gathered gain!

As my fever weighs heavy on eyes sleepless
the dawn seems mercilessly slow
I know what he meant by a child’s progress
the masked man that came to my window!

Last night too came the demon
My sleeping face he held on stare
Pierced eyelids and had me thrown
To the darkest abyss of nightmare!

He enjoys the way I shrink
As he cruelly muddles my dream
Makes a quicksand for me to sink
Claps in glee at my woeful scream!

He turns turbulent the serenest beach
Rides me up the scariest cliff
His stretched hands always out of reach
The master that he is at mischief!

The demon frequents my nights of late
Himself going sleepless for the fun
Innovating new terrors ‘neath blanket
Conjuring fears where there’s none!

For the time gone we pine
To once there be back again
Drink that plane’s nectarous wine
Under the sky of powdered rain!

Still isn’t ripe under blackberry tree
The child’s innocence its dreams starry
Lies there dormant the unserved need
In morning dew buried in ****!

Where has gone that lived in space
Shining bright in summers’ recess
The doleful noons in imagined voyage
On painted seas sans anchorage!

Why it’s so we live in past
With it obsessed in longing lust
The mind of now feels painful numb
Present seems void yawning vacuum!

The monk shows me the scar
where he took the bullet
the 70s fiery rebel
is now a Shiva-ite by faith.

I try to see in his eyes
remnant of youth’s spark
believing the fire never dies
from time now buried in the dark.

The March wind blows the dust
banyan trunks make a cool shade
in the lull he relieves a past
no way could he obliterate.

A time was I held a gun
the police was hot on my trail
day night I was on the run
in the pride of being a rebel.

Cast shadows an eerie silence
now evening could no longer wait
I wave to him from a distance
Shiva waits on him to meditate.

Veiled in the night’s mistiness
Her rivers flow wispy white
The earth shines in her grace
When the moon comes at midnight.
Our years have drifted out of sight
I have gone out of your mind
If we ever meet in the moonlight
If we ever once again find
Each other as strangers on the way
Unfamiliar souls burning with desires
To each other we would say
Let’s rebuild the lost years
Once more in our hearts aspire
A love of youthful spright
Turn back cinders into fire
Burn with the moon at midnight.

The most awaited,
fresh baked
is what he brings
on my table
each morn.
I sip with tea
the crispy fare
that’s soon forgotten
in the mad rush.
He’s the bearer
of my daily habit
slipping thru my door
what’s soon to find way
into trash-bin.
He’s a faceless guy,
the harbinger of good and bad
that when himself dies
makes no news!

Those marble plaques in the cemetery
hold no dead beneath them
yet in the rising mists of winter evenings
when night like loose dark pebbles
fall from the sky
can be heard hooves of trotting horses
from the rows of cold white stones
and on nights favored by moon
is visible cavalry in scarlet serge
with pith helmets and carbine rifles
piercing the terror paused wind
with cries of vengeance
mirthful in washing blood with blood
on the fields of Cawnpore
dissolving into marble white stones
steeped in the peace of moonlight.

Your hair was then
an ocean

Your feet
nimble emotion

Your skin
rice bran gold!

Now you’re as old

as undiminished sunrise

in my eyes.

Strange
What dream
A man tries to catch
In broad day
As the world busily
Passes by him.

A fleeting glimpse I had of him
seated on a small slab napping.

Was the night harsh on him
as he lay on the floor
stinking with his toils
with no roof overhead
looking at an absurd firmament
hazily spangled with stars.

Was he weighing his life in starlight
counting rusted coins of losses
breathing heavily through the void
as darkness weighed him down.

Was he waiting for a sleep
that would ripen his dreams deep
reaching him to the farthest galaxy
where every objects were made
only for him

objects of riches and success
and then deeper beyond..
love, peace and happiness.

Maybe the night returned him no dream
and trying to make up
he sought the refuge of day.

Was I the man in the glimpse
I thought
with nothing but dreams
as I rode away into the day
to embrace what is destined!

The old blanket is so hard to discard

dramas have unfolded in its folds
upheavals of winter's orogeny
trills of two birds in ecstatic thrill
to the rest in the ripened knowledge

we have made a home
we have earned it.

In the still of night
under the old blanket
the tales are relived
without a touch
a word..

The old blanket is so hard to discard.

She’s brewing like rich wine
the older she gets
her each added faceline
my eyes satiates.

She’s huing like violets
purpling is her soul
tho older she gets
she's never too ole.

She’s frothing like nectar
honeying in core
feels endless this affair

I’m loving her more.

Banters here and there
Sweeping pollens off your hair
By now you must know dear
All those pretexts to draw you near!
Long years together couldn’t wipe out
My happiness at just hanging around you
There never was a shade of doubt
The older you got you got to be more new!
Playing clowns and childish pranks
Hiding away your much loved piggy banks
Deliberate acts to bring a blush on your face
You must know dear constitutes my happiness!

It’s said He sees all,
Your acts and even your thoughts,
And scores how you perform
Not for self but for others,
Things you do
To make this place more habitable,
Words you speak
That bring more solace than pain,
Hands you touch
That feel thrilled than shrunk,
Eyes your eyes fall on
Light up with hope.
It’s also said,
He sees all but is unmoved
Because He can’t help it.
The Good and the Bad
Are both his making
And he is part of both,
So he can’t reward or punish,
How can he,
The One who has created
A compartmentalized world?

The news has just come

He’s dead.

In his garden the flowers bloom

Oblivious

He’s no more.

His house breathes sorrow

He would have boarded the train today
and come back tomorrow!

Come back he will now

Whitened in frozen breath

Silently receiving
Untimely wreath!

She and their son
Brutally torn
Will enter not a house but hell
Without him but with his smell
Each object still warm
With his touch of care

And their wails
will rend the night air!

Keep them close hold them tight
with them be as long you can
love them whole day and night
life is too brief a span!

Bonds are fragile time merciless
frail is the bridging link
fleeting are moments of small happiness
go would they all in a wink!

Keep them to you as long you can
give them the all you own
fill as much this short span
love them not leave them alone!

Days wear out past comes fast
forever is a figment of solace
love them hard so long they last
treasure them in warm embrace!

the only one that can let me down
is myself.

My only weakness is a woman
A woman is my strength
Without her I’m a half man
Longing to be full length!

A woman fills the half of me
Without her I just can’t do
Sans her I’m half empty
And know she needs me too!

Her only weakness is a man
A man is her strength
Without him she’s a half woman
Longing to be full length!

A man fills the half of her
Without me she just can’t do
Sans me she’s half empty
And knows I need her too!

When you seek a dark spot
when you prefer night’s shadow
when you pray no eyes can find you
see the other man.
The other man,
he walks in the fire
with an erased past,
a slipping-fast present,
and a stale-bread future!
The other man,
who knows he has to smile
on his horrendous walk
through grueling moments,
drag himself on
along the summer asphalt
and not burn out his zeal for life.
When you seek a place to hide,
seek an asylum to escape,
find out the other man
inside you.

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

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

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

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

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

For her
he was always the man
on the other side of the table.

He was fond of it that way
so he could see her face
read the shades and lights
crack jokes through the grim times
when on the table was little
brimmed plenty in their hearts
and her tears when flowed
were not of unfulfilled needs
but a happiness she couldn’t grasp.

She doesn’t know
what she misses is love
or a mere habit.

She only knows
food doesn’t taste the same
without the man
on the other side of the table.

Truth is evil
when it crushes
our will to live!

She smiled to the proposal.

I marked on paper the site
where screeching gulls
would shut out our voice
and her toes white as rice
curl in the touch of waves
waiting a freakish wind
pushing mine into hers
passing seconds to eternity.

She felt vaguely beautiful
when my shoulder held the earth
shaped like her head.

Do you still love me?
my silence questioned,
but she said nothing.

I thought I heard,
Yes.

He was engrossed in his performance
in the enthralled silence of the audience
catching the subtlest notes from the instrument
as his supple fingers played with the strings
erupting into the finest blend of ragas
freeing the souls of all the stress
converging his heart into his music
eyes closed as in a transcendental state.

But I could not concentrate.

The face behind the beard and the unkempt hair
was familiar.

From a long distant day
I remember those fingers performed in a different way.

The afternoon I came back from school
and mom told me her monies were missing
and he was the only visitor to her room
waiting in the pretext of meeting me
but after a while leaving hurriedly.

He confessed and the money was recovered
but never again the breached trust.

The audience rose in ovation fingers clapping
my own frigid in remembrance
of another performance.

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

A lens crazy guy he clicks at fast pace
At all leisurely moment, available recess,
Faces, landscapes, each fragment of life
Untiringly imaging his children and wife.
At home, when away, his eyes are on the look
For hunting out objects from the darkest nook
He freezes everything nothing escapes his lens
Sunlight and shadows and season’s first rains.
Years roll by his bag of catch brims full
He clicks away in passion with one simple rule
That none of his shots should ever include him
Only preserve in its frame each passing dream.

His last piece of work I touch everyday
and feel not the water but sadness
flowing from the faucet.

From the sound of the sink
I hear him say
didn't I do a good job?
not once broke down
but think of her
she's broken down
the faucet has withstood
she hasn't
there I did a bad job
letting water flow down
the broken valves of her heart.

In the market I'm a popular man.

So very nice they say
he doesn't even ask the price.

I'm the sellers' good mate
they decide the weight
or rather the mass,

So very kind they say
he's the buyer top class.

I'm the sellers' idol
the quote they call
I pay

So very good they say
he's our man every day.

They decide the rate
decide the weight
even the item

while my mind thinks of a poem.

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

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

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

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

they get into your pant
sting the fleshiest part
concerns they've scant
if the bitten is hurt
no sooner than dangers they read
quickly inject formic acid.

easily irritable they're venomous
the pain they inflict can't be quietly nursed
don't they ever bother size of victim
elephantine fat or grasshopper slim
just one bite and the crisis is dire
body is engulfed in eruptive fire.

they grip quite strong before they bite
crawl on from left catch you from right
not a fair deal was it deserved to be earned
thrown in the fire thousand times burned
they spread everywhere trees and clothesline
upon this earth they're livid landmine.

fear them you might curse them abhor
can't stop them they're mighty predator
one small sting is sparks of whiplash
leaving on skin swollen red rash
the more you scratch the more leaps the flame
be wary of these creatures fire ant by name.

There’s a box I bolted my sorrow
But hear it knocking kicking to be out
I keep it telling I’ll free you tomorrow
His prison he will break one day no doubt!

For the box gets old and the lock grows rust
And sans my feeding sorrow isn’t any frail
Bides time in prison knowing one day must
It’s going to be free have me in its spell!

I write happy poems breed smiles as mate
Use all my ink to drown sorrow’s voice
But sorrow in silence goes spinning its net
I hear its cries rend sounds of joys!

There’s a box I bolted my sorrow
And would rather not worry when it breaks free
I’m more than happy it’s locked till tomorrow
written on the box to be cheered by daily!

There’s a new visitor in our house
Ghostly noises it’s making in the night
Not a bit bothered by our grumble and grouse
It preys on our nerves keeping out of sight.

At wee hours is heard all the weird sound
But it’s silent when the light’s switched on
This invisible guest is not seen around
Before the bulb’s flicker it’s gone.

Now this creature is giving us nightmare
Making its presence felt at odd hours
Wreaking our sleep and vanishing in thin air
Holding us helpless victims in its powers!

A queer thing has happened since it began
By no stretch of logic could we explain that
Not one of them in the vicinity remain
Gone from our house is all the cat.

There's nothing that we really need.

when my computer crashed
I thought it took my everything

places, faces and moments photographed
heart's words crystallized
the years of making and preserving them

when they vanished without a trace
consumed me an emptiness
that remained no relic to remind me of the past
to relive the times frozen on the frame
and it seemed life was only half lived!

When lifted the clouds of sigh
I gave my mind a peaceful heed
I heard spoken within

there's nothing that we really need
except a little space

*to love and be loved!

Somehow he pulls along
He breathes
In his little width of life,
He gasps
In making that width
When moves flesh
That far outweighs
What he gets at the ride’s end,
Sweats it out in the sun
Splashes in the rain
A pedaling run
Joyless but gritty
That if can be made
Would fetch him his bread
From the rider in comfort
To the puller who transports
Mountains of loads
Knowing not to pause
Till drawn by fate
For a rest in sunset!

When in moonlight her tide swells
the river dances to the temple bells
mounts the ghat kissing in lust
moans aloud in the wind’s gust
it’s then the moon lifts her veil
entwines her makes love at will.

I sat in the silence of the riverbank
Watching the river going to the sea
Riding on her waves
To her oceanic lover
Who must embrace her
And become one in union!
I imagined myself on the bride’s side
Sending her off
To her majestic groom!
The sun lit the river’s path,
Dressed her in orange-red
Before its own flame
Sank in her water!
As the last heron left the river
Carrying on her wings
The fading daylight,
It was my time to go home,
Sadly knowing though,
Tomorrow,
When the river would be on her way
To yield once more to her lover,
I would not be on her bank.

I'm coming from afar
I tell the woman
the last time I came
I could walk straight to the river
now monsoon mud has made a mess
can only glimpse the river's face
is there still a way on dry feet?

She raises her eyes
no way she says
it's all shrub and slush
but you can have a look at my garden
pomelo and papaya,
gourd and green banana,

I haggle over price
wouldn't settle for less than a bargain

she smiles all the way
succumbs with ease
for the take a bag too she gives.

As I leave her on the falling day
I feel no loss
not finding the river's way.

The beggar quenches his thirst
The clerk fill his bottle must
From its spout pouring water’s gush

Don’t ask one belongs to which class!

In the conglomerate of disparity
It stands a symbol of equity
At everyone’s beck and call

Flowing for one and all!

It’s like for all one stop
Pause here a thief and a cop
Throats parched in summer heat

Get cooled in its reviving treat!

An oasis on any sun-burnt day
Its sparkling drops seem to jovially say
Come friend get cooled in my gush

*I’ll never ask you your class!

When the night's moon is a quarter
She stands in breast deep water
The skylight beams on her wish
If comes her way a catch of fish.

She's the robust woman of night
And it's no fancy's flight
She gritfully spreads her net
Even when the river is in spate.

She knows well when the tides swell
The games are not easy to catch
Where the river meanders to a curve
She waits low tide holding her nerve.

When the silvery streaks struggle for breath
She looks not real but a myth
A mud princess with a golden heart
An apparition seen but can't be touched.

On a river with eons of length
She struggles with all her strength
I won't ever get even a chance
She's too focussed to give me a glance.

When the day is done
the sunburned moon
breaks down on the lonely river.

Glistening in her tears
the river carries her away to the sea.

The day was a mishap.
Dry and arid
No wind blew
And in the oppressive heat
Nothing seemed to click.
The doors I knocked
Didn’t yield,
The men I tried to reach,
Replied staunch refusals,
The deals so badly needed
Questioned my survival.
Bruised and battered for no gain,
I took refuge in the night.
My sleep returned them all,
The daytime monsters I chased,
Goblins, dybbuks, ghouls,
Specters of my torments –
Taking turns to chase me!
When the soft balm of sun
Opened my eyes,
I was back on the road
With dreams of
Open doors
Smiling faces
And deals with friendly monsters!

From behind smoke
scribes the words' kitbag
his mind reveals.