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You left me a piece of note
Many seasons ago
I moved away I forgot
It is stuck in my heart though!
When I open the window
It comes with the light
With the winds the words blow
Comes back in the dream of midnight
I have forgotten the words though!
It remains with me a musical note
The tunes of which still flow
I moved away I forgot
It is stuck in my heart though!
You bring me garlands everyday,
Strung with the most delicate flowers
From your ****** garden!
Each one of them is a gem
One as beautiful as the other
Laden with your myriad emotions
Exuding your innermost thoughts
Spreading the most heavenly aromas!
I thank you, poets of the heart,
Architects of hopes and dreams,
For making me aspire for life!
Don’t need a reason why it happens so
Around me sparkle thousand stars
I beam in the happiness’ radiant glow
For having another day of loving her!

Dispel dark clouds the mind is set free
Dreadful stains on its wall disappear
It feels just enough to have her with me
Having another day of loving her!

Heals all the pain the one mystic light
Agonies turn back to recede far
It shows me the way to tide over the night
For having another day of loving her!

I feel so blessed when breaks a new dawn
Though it hides the east’s morning star
Reminds the bird chirps I’m not alone
With me is another day of loving her!
The agonized grimace makes me think
death is deliverance.

No more suffering
the torment of hunger
sores and scabs
kicking, beating, stoning
burning in blazing fire
freezing in numbing chill.

I offer the selfish prayer
more for own comfort
it's all passing into
the kinder kingdom of God.

Life goes on
the living barks as usual
and the warm sip redeems me.

Only, the surround is a sound less.
I lay on bed waiting for that moment,
The night guard passed on his last round
Mournfully whistling another night was spent,
Though the night was still lulled by weary crickets’ sound.
My windowpane like a ***** lover clung darkness tight
If that would let him hold onto the night
Unwilling to let go the stars out of sight
Fearful his secret would be cracked by daylight.
I waited in bated breath that inevitable moment
Eyeing the glass to catch the transition
A bulbul called to say another night was spent
Other hopeful voices broke out in unison.
Never mind if you feel unloved
Never mind
God meant you to be loved
You, love will find.
There's a wind that whispers
A mountain that kisses the stars
They know your yearning heart
Is just waiting for love to start!
Surely you are seen, you are heard
You touch minds, you lovebird
There's a misty dawn, a pearly night
They will find you out, love glows bright.
You are never unloved, love finds you out
Crossing all barriers, reaching beyond doubt
God meant you to be loved, it's waiting to start
Pouring out in streams from another yearning heart!
someone somewhere needs your love too
You needn’t so elaborately state
You don’t want to complicate.
10w paradox
In the undergrowth beside the railway track
ants live in a world their own
the whistling trains run past to be back
leave trails of dust wind borne.

They have a dream when nights come
past day's frenzied task
strings of hope the fireflies strum
breaking out of the cocooned husk!

In those nights when full moon bloom
the limbs of ants shun rest
shed all pains rise up from gloom
they dig in mind's harvest.

Lines of them come out of hole
forget all diurnal scar
dance tango each midnight soul
watched by the heaven's star.

In those nights if you pass by them
tread the grass where silence reigns
can feel the stir of passion's flame
in the wind joy's lilting strain.
From the first floor window
Sadly noticed her age showing

The moon striations martian canals
Cutting her face
Scarring her youth
That day and night
Being around her like a satellite

I missed.

I was too close
As rose the marks
Expanding imprinting devouring
Shaping her
In time

To be the perfectly aged woman!

Perfectly aged

I saw myself in the mirror

And knew

I too now could lay my claim

To be her perfect mate!
There's no freedom
anywhere

except what's envisioned
in the mind.
The museum was deserted at mid-noon
The summer sun more than his taste for history
Drove him in for a stroll among the dead faces and objects.

His eyes caught the two warnings
Photography prohibited and
Don’t touch objects

He furtively cell-clicked Dupleix’s Bed
Solid 18th century teakwood
Carrying stains of his passions on white linen
Imprinted with the motions of his emotions

There he saw the ruler on the bedstead
With tender touch of fingers on his head
One svelte hand on the dark wooden stand


His hand involuntarily touched the wood

A small chunk fell into his hand
And without a second thought
In a forbidden impulse
He shoved it inside his pocket

He came out from the musty smell into the sun

A chip of Dupleix in his pocket
His passion’s outlet
Escapes from the ravages of war
To find solace
From the tender hands around him
Bought by force of wealth
Far far away from home.

Away from colonial past he breathed deep

The little wooden chip would be a memorable keep!
the incidents narrated in this poem are purely fictitous having no connection with the real events, places and characters.
Joseph Francois Dupleix was an 18th century Governor General of the French establishment in India.
Where once breathed life
You smell rust
Years torn by strife
Turn to dust!
Where once echoed the sound
Of the pride of might
The nestling bats abound
In the dark caverns of night!
Where reigned the royal whims
Hangs the time-worn portrait
Of fallen hopes shattered dreams
Swallowed like all else by fate!
Where once danced in lust
Warm flesh on soft mattress
Lies a ghostly looking bust
With a stony unexpressive face!
The living comes to visit them,
Awes at the displayed story,
Once living is now an item
From a bygone era, a piece of history!
My feelings on a visit to Dupleix (1697-1763) Residence turned Museum. Dupleix was a governor general of the French administration in India and a rival of Robert Clive.
There's intense romance
in walking in the rain
under an umbrella.

It's akin to being with your girlfriend
in the rain.

My umbrella like my girlfriend is old

she has enough leaking holes
to lick my hair and face
rolling like a rivulet
reaching up to the groin
where it creates a puddle of desire
when I grab her harder
and push thru the fluid
thirsting and thrusting
like I do with my girlfriend.

But you know the best part comes
when my umbrella asks me
to throw her away
and reach the ******
as the sky cracks
to pour a blinding rain.
Another love poem? I ask myself.

She's a red streak
where the waves froth her feet white
a girl scouring the sands for shells
in the ageless haze the sea spews
bending and rising like the doubt
if time by some quirk has stopped
and the slanting beach is that warped space
where for long has homed
all the free souls of the world
love being their only name.


I walk up to her richer
by another love poem.
Sagar Island, Nov 19, 2017, 4 pm.
There's a poem on your window
one on the door
another in the wind's blow
welling up more.

There's a poem in your heartbreak
one on your tears
another on a long trek
walking for years.

There's a poem on the girl's eye
one on her skin
another in her silent cry
wearing out thin.

There's a poem in the hope's hue
one in your whim
another on the morning dew
waiting light's gleam.

There's a poem in the mirrored face
one in the season
another in your happiness
without a reason.
A poem walks with me
he knows me

when feeling alone
he gives me company

Like the dog at his walk
precedes his master
pulls the leash
faster…faster

keep pace with me
find peace in poetry


the two
side by side
break in sweats
the dog and his master
the two poets
forget

who runs who

merge into one

making a poem
fully done.
Nothing escapes, nothing stands a chance
He’s the seeker of theme, from life’s each instance
From random babbles to soliloquy
From a breaking glass to a droning bee
Nothing escapes his elephant ears
From joyous guffaw to lonely tears
Doesn’t matter if he’s alone or in crowd
He’s looking for one and surely hounds out
His ideas from the vortex of life
From the most innocuous to the raging strife
Picking each grain like the pecking birds
Make each grain into woven words
Anytime of day wherever he is
From a *******’s burst to sound of kiss
Shaping in glory seeming mediocrity
Making idols somber to the most witty
Through sleepless nights on his dazed bed
From the dark silence picks glimmering shade
A possessed man with the destined fate
His canvas is never blank, he’s a poet.
The only poet I saw from any close
never married his muse

wrote poems for her
offered her rose
but when she asked to tie the knot
found an excuse!

love's road ends in marriage
when he told her this
with on her forehead a gentle kiss
she got a shock

the poet cleverly averted wedlock!

they had a prolonged affair
each day he gave her a new name
each day she inspired a new poem
each time she proposed marriage
umpteenth time he would repeat the adage

love's road ends in marriage.

thus nailed with wisdom and parried
on the tenth year she married

and soon the poet forgot his coined adage.

He wedded a woman half his age!
In a quiet corner of the lawn
His forehead dripping sweat
Who’s that man sitting alone?
Must be the lonely poet!
From a distance what I could surmise
Was this man was drowned in thought,
Not minding the fleas and flies
That around him did freely cavort!
Was it disappointment I saw on his face?
Not having any luck with the words today,
So hiding in this corner for a quiet recess
To reflect and have them in his head replay!
He was swaying a little from one side to the other
I presumed by the tides that swept his inside
But as I approached him close, Oh brother,
He was plain snoring and no poet on a hunting ride!
So the only thing you lay claim to
is you are a poet.

He was referring to my CV
where it was mentioned boldly
the art I dabble in.

But that’s no skill
shrugged the questioner
doesn’t hone your ability
in finance management
or marketing strategy

can’t fetch one good deal
for the company
your poetry

but to be frank with you
I too wrote a few
only to dump before it got me
your poetry

otherwise I fear
I would not have been here.

Outside were faces in nervous wait.

I wondered if among them
was another poet!
g
n               p
i                              o
v                             ­             e
i                                                 ­      m
      l                                                                ­        s      
and writing.
in the pleasure of discovering
words rhymes rhythms
i'm a gluttonous poet.

day and night
bite of my growing appetite
makes me sink low

i don't notice
broken pieces
shattered peaces
around me

i breathe in writing
eat and drink
poetry

crazed obsessed stressed
my poetry
like any other debauchery
is an escape ride
someplace to hide

i'm a poet
subservient
to the pleasures of words rhymes rhythms.
On and on and on
In a repeated motion
It goes on revolution
Seeks the ocean!
The ceiling is firmament
Glass is the wall
The trap is permanent
Its life is surely dull!
The box glows bright
It’s all synthetic light
The world in its sight
Has no day and night!
It hears the feeble sound
Of people moving around
Sees their awe-struck face
Envies their happiness!
It knows not the conundrum
Why is snatched its freedom
Yearns lifelong to be free
To go home to the sea!
at the mirror above the wash basin
i pause at my reflection

in spectacles and muffler
is a face familiar

where have i seen him, where?

i remember it was beamed on tv, newspaper
made headlines for some days
before on an early dawn

he was quietly snuffed out.

from the mirror
i make a hasty retreat

so closely resembles my face

with that terrorist!

back on the writing table

i ponder

if the resemblance
goes beyond the face!
The shirt hangs on the wall.
Stirred by the wind,
It sways loose and empty.
A blue envelop in its pocket
Bears his time barred thoughts
That never reached the mail.
The shirt frames an ominous void
Of a journey of no return,
Leaving behind a relic
To sway loose and empty in the wind!
They smile and push each other
Glistening teeth in life’s rough weather
Got nothing more to give than hearty smiles
From rustic children to the traveler of miles!

Childishly embarrassed is the unclothed kid
So small his world so little his need
He bows his face views the lens with shame
The faraway boy without a name!

In my frame is revealed her beautiful face
Where from she gets such benign happiness
In tattered skirt with unoiled rusty curl
There never was on earth a more beautiful girl!

For a while they bask in the sudden arrived fest
With a stranger in June a waylaid stray guest
Who would move further south to be with the sea
Soon forget those children he photoed under a tree!
If it’s ever so
That home never you miss
Life seems slow
Without office,
Before that happens
Look around and see
How drops of rains
Bathe the backyard tree,
Let it never be
That lost in files
You are never free
For all the loving smiles,
If it’s so
Pause a moment
See the rose glow
Smell the lovely scent!
A mysterious crave entwined the air
in that moment all words were mess
when river breeze frolicked with her hair
sun pinked rose smeared her face!

We stood below a casuarina tree
the dust windblown scattered far
neath slumberous sky that breathed lazy
there was so much I wished to tell her!

But rested my hand upon her nape
dreaming that frame to shimmer long
with a clumsy yearn that took no shape
dropping to earth with casuarina's song!

Of passing time a momentous shot
in the autumn noon’s silent cavern
a ripple’s life was all it got
no rewind could be no return!
He was for long on the river sailing since sunrise
When under afternoon clouds the hamlet caught his eyes
Wearied by the sojourn to that land a faraway call
The green beckoned to rest his oars for a leisurely stroll.

He sat under a banyan to heal his limbs of pain
Darker grew the clouds the winds hinted rain
His heart too was aching the heart of a lonely man
For he had left behind his sweetheart his beloved woman.

It’s not known if clouds swelled in his dreamy eyes
His mind was too obsessed for the Empire’s rise
There he stood on the riverbank an alien on another’s soil
That he must till to build a kingdom paying with sweat of toil.

He remembered his three children their skin’s blended tan
Their rustic eyes reflecting their mother the one his woman
He reminisced under banyan shade how he fell in love with her
Only if he were a little late she would’ve been burned at the pyre.

*The man loved that sleepy hamlet built there a factory
The trade post became a city earned place in history
The river still meanders laden with the tears of pity
That swelled in his eyes for the woman he saved from suttee.
Job Charnock (1630-1692) is said to have founded the City of Joy (Calcutta now Kolkata). He landed at Sutanuti village on Hugli River in 1690 and set up there a trade post. The rest is history.
He saved an Indian woman from Suttee, married her and had three children with her.
dreams long lost
swirl around me

in the shade of Arjuna
winds sing a lullaby.

they never die
bide their time
in the cave of eye
neath layer of rhyme

don't the rustles fall silent
yet canopy of new leaves
grow above

crave the same firmament
and away from old griefs
seek new love?


in the winds' murmur
i would never touch them
the seemingly lost dreams

but quietly in the hopes' harbor
rekindle their flickering flame

and let flow in endless streams.
i'm struggling to come back, falling in love more with the drift.
Arjuna, a tree found in rural Bengal.
As she serves the food
the smell permeates the air
ah, food's aroma is so good
and I've of it a fair share.

I don't know what hunger is
how many on earth go unfed
I get whenever I please
I bother about the quality instead.

I talk of freedom and free will
care about health and hygiene
I have my assured meal
hunger's face I haven't seen.

I'm a man well fed
live in the fullness of good meals
I don't have to take it in my head

in this world hunger still kills.
Just now I got my pay
Just now I got my pay
But soon it’ll fly away
Money will not stay!
How nice it smells honey
Aroma of money
How crisp it kisses the hand
Cool currency!
But it won’t last a day honey
It won’t last a day
Soon’ll be gone the money
With me it won’t stay!
Got to hold it tight honey
Got to stop it part
Before I count all money
Before I can start!
It will soon melt honey
It’ll be soon spent
Now in my hand the money
Will go the next moment!
What shall I buy you honey
What to get for me
Soon’ll be gone the money
A while’s guarantee!
They didn't need the sea
nor words
but a ploy to escape
their own dulled image
familiar faces and spaces
weary conversations
a place away
where the mind rested
and silence filled the cracks
healed the holes
to a whole
contented in being there
in the room for two
counting day's pick
smelling dead shells
feeling sea in their cells
and when the night was high
surrendering to sleep.
Four years and his room is untouched.

I would love it that way

For years!

Stays ***** and span
The memory of my old man.

The southern window side of the bed
Where he laid his head

The eastern window that broke his sleep
With the sun’s first peep

His snapped photos on the wall of west
That ache my chest

On the northern wall the clock
That still of his time talks

His divan forlorn
Resting cold from his last morn

In each bric-a-brac
His touch his track

In ticks and creaks
His memory speaks.
Suppose you are confined to four walls
Don’t get to see the sky
Live in a space just too small
But aren’t to question why.

The room doesn’t have a window
Only a door to shut you out
Can’t know when it’s tomorrow
What’s today is in doubt.

Imagine for it isn’t that hard
There can be such a place
Where from all else debarred
You’re alive in death’s embrace.

You alone with a fire within
Without a thing to defend
Caged for what’s passed as sin
It’s too late to amend.

*Let’s stop here this imagined doom
For you haven’t preferred to choose
The pitiless hell of a windowless room
With only a hanging noose!
Every birthday
I turn a year older
But when you wish
“Happy birthday,
Many happy returns of the day”
I feel younger than my age
And long to be here for
Eternity!
Inside me is a world
Unaffected by time,
Outside the world changes
Faces grow old
Beautiful people become wizened
Every beauty comes to end of term,
My eyes mirror all these.
I look for no shore
I don’t stand before the mirror
The transforming reflections
I abhor!
I love to live on
With the unchanging world inside,
In wait- tranquil and forlorn
For the arrival of the newborn!
on the park bench
two lovers
were perfecting the art of love!

between them shrinking spaces
their lost and drunken faces
betrayed
the process was endless!
Four men I don't see in the market.

We stopped just short of smiles
we were always about to begin a conversation
we told each other we had years ago
met somewhere
and we talked only with eyes.

Then on a day, for days
they weren't there anymore.

I try to imagine their age
if they were old enough to be dead.

Like a ray of hope I love to believe
they moved away elsewhere.

Four men short and it will be five.

Maybe one eye will look for me
a little sad at my missing
just another man not seen anymore..

An ordinary man, a poet at heart
who felt more than could express.

He wouldn't know.
He skims the haze of the day
like a cat seeking its food
prowling lane alleyway
to find you in bitter mood.

On your door the unwelcome guest
you would not call him to stay
with him time is a waste
he would better be shooed away.

You hate when he starts to speak
his sunburned face is a bore
must cut him short pretty quick
behind him close the door.

Like you are nine of ten
but he knows his job is done
is rewarded all his pain
if he can charm just one.

The one that ears lends
a carer who knows well
how it greatly depends
a family on one sale.
For* you I don't write verse.

With you I con-verse.
Not even a crow should know
what now in you I confide
turning his voice too low
he drew him closer to his side.

The listener strained his ears hard
nodded his head in assent
he wouldn't divulge one word
of the secret shared that moment.

Soon his face started showing crease
his belly bulged like balloon
he started feeling ill at ease
the burden was no boon.

He told his wife *what now I say
not be passed to another ear
mustn't see the light of day
keep to yourself only my dear.


The secret did her badly tease
made her silent morose
she couldn't breathe without release
must tell someone her close.

The secret spread like forest fire
were talking too many men
winds breathed it in the air
sun shone on it poured rain!
A whiff of smell
You left in the air
Keeps aloft my sail
In the rough weather.
A hint of smile
You left in my eye
Drives me miles,
Keeps my spirit high.
A hope for warmth
You left in my heart
Still fires my hearth,
Refuses to depart.
A seed of romance
You sowed in me
Gave love a chance
To grow as a tree.
Lusts my naked frame
sun's licking flame
O God give a piece of cloth
to cover my shame.
unclothed on the street in searing heat
Poetry is surely the finest wine
Its words most lavish *****
You get drunk with every line
By the end all sense you lose!

There’s no wine to cast more spell
Whiskey ***** gin or ***
So long in it your thoughts dwell
Soul suffers blessed delirium!

Ecstatic is the poetry’s fizz
The froth at the mouth of nib
Gushing out of passion unleashed
The kick with each falling drip!

Poetry is among the best antidotes
When I crave a drink or two
I inject its overwhelming shots
Pains melt to moistened dew!
A long shot of the stretch
where waves hug the shore
then freeze as a moment’s sketch
to never roar anymore!

Her footprints on the sandy turf
the winds would blow away
her trace of hunt from sparkly surf
for dead shells on the bay!

In her eyes glows red crab lust
her wings are ached for soar
so long the now not turns to dust
just once must love her more!

Fleeting time leaves one long shot
of cloud and dead trunk beach
carved with dream etched in thought
but never close to reach
!
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