In paroxysm nothing
appeals. I test the burning home.
Where the pigeons will nest now.

The poetics search
the soothing effect of punishment.
Oh in another case give me Ganges.

Fever comes and goes.
You also survive near the ghats.
I talk only with the absent God.

The salt behaves, enduring
the protagonist. I grab my pains to know
the truth, where the sun is buried.

Love explores the wounds.
Each heart has a saga of giving
away the essence of life.

Two halves want to unite.
Words float in the air, unwritten, unspoken.
Catch them when you are upset.

Adam and Eve.
What was the magic of these words?
Mayflowers have a secret of divining love.

You go for a new journey.
Via commas and full stops. Under the
moon you drink the venom of love.

Who was connecting the
threads of pain? Making life heavy,
O god your name is fading.

When you *****, I
write a poem. I talk to you
even in your absentia.

When I held your hand,
you were not there and you went
on talking about your love for me.

Life has many faces.
Dashes and dots. You run after the moon
and light the candles in line.

You are complex,
I am easy. Some memories speak.
I started reading Gita again.

There was sorrow in
the suffering of a wild king,
he was tortured. The queen dies in sleep.

Will you preserve
the difference between animal and man
but togetherness wins.

The itch persists. I
want to stay at-large to protect
myself in the infant sensuality.

I remember my poverty
daily to become rich. Why did you
remove your wounds?

Disturbingly, femininity comes
to the forefront. The moon undresses
to show the stigmas, doing nothing.

The words are dancing.
Ego changes many faces, but
no shadow follows, where you go.

This happens love
becomes a panic. I cannot touch you.
Why have I lost my pen?

Capricious jasmines of shades
smile. You are me, and I am you.
Where the love lives, static pain moves.