like the stream that jumps into the farm-land
like the corn-field that is laden with passion
like the dawn that swings like a golden dream
the sparrow
used to be a chirp on my window shade

the drooping plait of corn-stems in the balcony
the syllables of love letter as an abstract design on floor
the warm incarnation of nature in the eaves
the sparrow
used to be a mystic interjection of past and future

o my companion !
as you apply kohl to your eyes
to control the over-flow of my dreams
as you decorate your grace
to disturb my meditating desire
as you keep my emotion on your fore-head
to arrest my peace like a smile on your lips
the sparrow
used to perch in front of the mirror
to decipher the beautiful secret of co-existence .

o my companion! where the key of love is lost?

now, the window shutter is only the wooden cry-
now, the balcony is only the spoiled canvas
now, the mirror is only the sheet of glass
life is only an extinct dream, now!
o my companion !
cannot we preserve the endangered human values?
cannot we find the little sparrow in front of our mirror?

THOUSANDS OF RIPPLES
CARRY THE AFFLICTION
TRY TO BIND TO THE BANKS, BUT,
THE STREAM FLOWS ON AND ON--

THOUSANDS OF BEAMS
CARRY THE LONGING
WISH TO NAIL THE DREAMS, BUT,
THE NIGHT CREEPS TO THE DAWN--

YOU
THE AWAKENING BLACK-HOLE
I
THE INFINITE WAIT,
ON THE WINGS OF SENSES
OF THOUSAND FLUTTERING MOTHS

YOU
THE FRAGRANT FLAME OF COSMOS
EVER TANTALIZING-----

AS THE TUNE OF TWO FEELINGS IN A DUET
WE DREAMT ALIKE
THE DREAM WAS
THE PAPER THAT CARRIED THE HANDWRITING OF THE FIRST RHYME
THE RHYME THAT BECAME THE COLOURFUL KITE
THE KITE THAT TAUGHT DANCE TO THE BREEZE
THE TWO OF US DREAMT ALIKE.....
THE COHESIVE LINK BETWEEN
THE WORD AND THE LINE
THE THREAD AND THE BOND
THE PATH AND THE JOURNEY
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
TWO OF US ARE DREAMING
DREAM IS A DUEL WITH NO RULES IN BETWEEN MIND AND HEART
TWO ARE DREAMING
ONE IS DREAMING AS THE SKY-LARK FLYING ON PUFFY CLOUDS
THE ANOTHER IS AS THE CAGED MEMORY
DREAM IS THE DUEL
NO ONE WINS AND NO ONE LOOSES
* * * * * * * * * *
WHAT FOR IS THIS ARENA OF NIGHT?
IF THE PUNCH OF DREAM IS NOT TASTED?

Night, one of the babbling of "aakaasganga*
sleep, the spine of sands awaits ever
dream, the wish of the ancient river
the voyage pulls, like the freaky star-dust
the dream knows everything, and,
so much is known to the flow

only after the ship-wreck
the self-critic awakes
"why this much ardent desires stuffed?"

for sailing, surely, the load is not "the need"

get drowned once
get wounded once
it is realized how to be valor
how to defeat the humility

a little soft drop, the seed in the fruit of soul,
a tiny sweet brook spreads
like the flow of human emotions in veins
gifting you the feel of the first navigator

that eternal smile of "aakaasganga"
that is poetry
that only is the art !

*aakaasganga=== the river of heavens , milky-wave.