Genderless,
instrusive, was the withering effect,
questioning the ***.

Filling the space
between body and soul, you
sail into emptiness.

The mistakes―
happen in night, sleep.
Death will drop the stars.

Ergo, the embedded
****** will not descend; you
can **** the sperms of mosquitoes.

Blueberries, haul you
up from the darkness.
You will find your sun now.

A manic moon
in ethereal night-
supplicating for a single
cord.Not becoming unfaithful
to me.

An empty desire-
in your absence, remaining
a secret even to myself.

Becoming pseudo, full
of titles, that was not my
world.I am engulfing my
achievements away
from you.

As the life moves on
leaving the ****** footprints
on my chest.I will
always fight my demons
with my broken pen.

Not a blessing I need,
I want to remain a human being.

Like inky jet,
ejected on white paper,
the cuttlefish
of a poet―

was warding off the
unseen enemy.
The dry flattened
chest, would remind you
of a chalky desert.
Only cacti grow there.

You go into a trance,
then convulsive seizures, with
a loud scream. You
invoke the toddler god
who would **** king cobra
fifteen feet long.

There were involuntary
pauses.
When you stretch at the sheets.

Those were scorching
questions, about my identity.
I tell, I don't have any name.

The body was partitioned.
My head belongs
to psalms, which I don't understand.

My torso to the lost
ship which went down
without a torpedo.

My legs were my own
taking me, to places, where
I did not want to go.

Vast emptiness preceded him,
when he stood inside a glass on road.
Sun did not contradict him,
light had entered back in stars.
Failed fingers knocked out the magnet. There
was no reason.

Pain in neck neglected for long
now becomes time,
impatient to meet beginning of end.
Blood was spurting in vain.
A black pearl of pure love
uncenters the lazy death.

He knew the secret of pathophobia,
had known the morbidity of troubled mind.
There was no return now to new words of mourning.
Grave masks were hiding
the smiling faces of unnames.

It was past endurance.
Flattened rage went into shaking palsy.
He moved into sculptured dark
like false reason,
to defend the ankle-bone,
for sequential pain.

Every one seemed a fallible saint
wet eyed, sitting on extinct volcano,
between tickling bombs of flesh.
He imagined –
that he was evaporating,
from the eyebaths, steadily
for a spiral journey.

By way of fear,
he wanted to break monotony –
sitting upright in a lotus position
to reverse the clock, of hunger, of extreme failures -
choking on words, mixing
continents of hate.

I always differed
for the sake of semblance.
Feathers did not agree.
You flew away for your sky.

Impatience had killed the defeat
my elixir, the baby sea in my eyes.
Genocide of the figs, unlearning
the sweetness of life.

Yet a white python was hungry.
A heart rendering feat to dig-out
a home after the earthquake.
Alligators were dying in midstream.

I was running after the desert.
Why bustards were disappearing?
Trees were hung upside down.
There was no suicidal note.

Not superficial,
real inside,
something was ruined.
Tonight I will walk out in dark
beyond me.

Creased,
under tyranny of love,
wanted to unwrite the script
in the stampede of sins.

Impeachment
throws up the shock syndrome.
No wish to swim back.
Drowning, clutching my truth.

A mystic paradox?
Million faces of yes or no.
Wrinkles are getting larger.

Let me go first in the cave
to see the hollow-eyed, bird-face,
my ancestor, relic of reclusive
committment, eaten by hierarchical
grass, inch by inch.

Calories burn to free the bones
from the green pond, beached, skinned
and fished alive for a weird ritual
offering rice, flowers, tamarind and wheat.
Bald, hungry eyes were looking at approvingly.

I was searching unself papyrus,
to print the tale of agonising
travel of a small colossus, from
night to night to track a dragging sun
in mud and water.

O, groaning seed, you are the paradox.
Neither tree, nor root, only a promise
to destroy the fear. I will wait till the next
sun-eclipse, when you turn
outside into inside!

Watching from pin hole
lamps of baked clay.
Every thorn was in my flesh.

I was losing my voice
in crowd of maniacs.
Dragonflies climbing on worn leather.

Through cracked sunroof –
skull splinters into million heirlooms.
Fever climbs the feudals.

Why were you impatient with me?
I was narrating a shocking tale.
Frogs had acquired the land.

Plot was thickening every day.
Take me if you can, in the heavy shower
of meteorites in dark moonlight.

It should not have happened
this way, or that way,
rendering breathing difficult
in the intense smoke of misunderstanding.
The granite wall between the doors!

You ***** through a thicket of words
crossing the centuries of hate.
Sun, no sun settles for the hope
of a slain blankness, to properly
heave, a sigh after the childbirth of truth.

All the dead white bones, jutting out
from the ancestral incompleteness of
forgetfulness of man to accept gracefully
the suffering of neighbourhood. The very
feel of sharing a god.

You are what you are not
I am not, what I am.

My lips are black,
I am drunk
on the hemlock, proferred by you –
my life. I am still in love with pain.

What not, the trial
tried to break my resistance.
I will walk on my hands
paraplegic legs lifting my eyes.

Why did you want me to fake a death.
She was my lover, my shadow
always walking along with me.

So, you did not authored the article
on my demise in ravines
watching the son eclipse?

Extinct, headless, corpse of a
thin warrior, obliquely refers
to the pygmy moonrise.

Grey plaques in white mind
like snakeroots, glittering
in dark gulleys of time!

Unresponsive, an
alien ego: I was moving
deep into the soul-search.
The compactness was
snapping. Played against
the hype, the hawks were descending.
Like milkweed I drip,
waiting to be kissed. Copycat
the moon makes a scar. I am hurt.
I wanted to touch you
behind the lens. Closed in,
the lips won't meet. Cobra will
not spread the skin.
The lamb has lost the
innocence. Knife was
a blessing.

The cannibalism was back.
You were eating yourself
alive.

The guts spilt,
would meet the dust,
in abode of earthworms.

They creep and burrow
and bury the organic themes.
Unpolluted, untouched.

The bowels undulate,
to the thumping rhythm,
of greedy feet. White eagles?

How far this digging
of gold mines will go?
Someone had swallowed the glitter.

Black birds are joining
the procession of
empty hearses.

You collapsed―
on the stairs in frenzy
falling into a debt trap.
The moon was asking back his pain.

This was a naked aggression.
Kitchen was not ready for roots
and flowers and footprints
of staggering price of being alive.

Riding in a Humvee, the
rhetoric fails. The lies become
spiteful. Your arms holding
a wavering testament.

Religion of sending
a young legate of death, to veiled
untouchables, to spread
the glitter of bones and red meat.

A gift of asking to become
blind, nothing less.

You never forget
the fat preemie.
A perfect revenge of the curse―
at ungiving.


Streaking in
snow, when it
was frighteningly dark.

The moon-bathed
body of the thumb king
running without feet.

How would you―
climb, the black hills
of desire in tragic land
of skulls?

The living god was to
become a marbled statue.

Again I have come back
in the crowd of fakes,
to understand the nature
of dark.

The questions have become
my beacons, I am prodding deep
to stumble on the temper,
ethos of white lies.

You will not take your own
life now. We will stop grieving for
the sunken ferry. Who allowed
the novice, third mate to steer the ship?

Do you know, where the country
was going? The swords had
become a junk shop. Tongues stale,
the language foul.

So we will go for a collective hara-kiri?

Not a single word
wept, when sky was overcast.
Who wins ultimately?
The cell in the death,
or death in the cell?
I tried,
I tried not to do any wrong.
The centuries suffered.
The pollen in the wind
will not land. Each grain
was a harbinger of a relic.
The purple tears―
for bread and water. Who was
not hungry?
A peacock dance
goes waste―
without rains.

Impacted in lunar surface,
the centuries of dust and
dust of centuries, were willing to surrender
orange love,
hovering over your trajectory.

The second death will not
come, flesh consumed.
I will draw your profile
in white desert of psalms.
Life was a big funeral.

Footprints in snow were vanishing.
I have come afar from the
home. I don't want to leave
the traces of my missteps.
Time was very venomous.

The roses will not die, never.

In western sky
hundreds of small birds were
flying in an arc,
synchronized in orange.

The grass, holding
the skirts, wants to cascade
in death of the
paramour.

Let the copper―
speak of hurt, in the
thighs of moon.
It will not climb tonight.

I open the book
too ******
to read my name.

Like a feather,
you roll in
sleep, painless.

The milky moon
was still. Shadows
were trembling.

Mushrooms in
mist, wake up
to stand in circle.

You were not choosing
the right words, being reticent
for a seasoned yes.

The hurts of intimate
symphonies― don't bleed.
Only scars were left in triangles.

The chilled morality
of summer stream, was eating
away the banks of amnesties.

It was a sublime touch
of unseen fingers moving into
the trees and sky of dark spaces.

Days were slipping
away. I cannot put my
memories on flame.

There were explosions
on the crossroads.

Peace at stake,
it worked.
Withdrawal of rubber dolls
playing with fire.

Empty bowls in lunar month.
Concords were flying very high
noiselessly crossing the peaks
of great grudges.

Pure golden hair –
of grief.
It really was miracle.
Bald eagle was waiting.
Enough time to steer a ******.

The irresistable desire
to rub with a paranoid.
Extracting a genius from mediocre genera.
Life had become too genteel.

Did not make anything
out of himself. He was afraid
from depth to depth.

Muzzled lock had hidden the keys.
Shadow of door loomed large
on silence, now touching
nothingness.

Lips move without sound.
Eyes become dumb. Hands were misguided,
cannot hold the pen.

Mobs with fire bombs
waiting to ambush at night
ignite the cart. Nowhere to go now.


Golden leaves tout the era.
I am emptied of peace,
my vessel devoid of feverfew.

Would you bear the cost
of peace, if there was
no war, no country, no
personal gods?

We are not talking about―
a retropain of recent past.
It was there when we―
started walking, and
discovered a superhuman being.

The crowd swells every day, and
a new religion crops up
every now and then.

There was no fatal crash.
It makes you rich overnight.
The money grows―
from the barrel of the gun.

I refuse to celebrate the victory.

Your algorithm
has failed.
There were colossal mistakes.

It brings back
the memories of
counting on the fingers.

A moon, a river
and a night, had
fallen in love for ever.

Why not a langur
should now be
declared a person?

You shut to it―
the window, on watching
a row of walking stones
without feet.

Pouting,
scowling―
in a mile of tears.

(A pink lotus spills
the colors on water)

Let me talk
to my wilderness. The
script was incomplete
in shadows of greyhounds.

You crawl on the grass to find a four-leaf clover.

My logic
was not a part of belief.

The answer you proffered is
not, what it was
supposed to be.

The question sits like a
butterfly on my chest.

It was a sham exercise
to wipe out the dirt from the eyes.

Life, death and the
unknowing are the failures
of man.

I am ready to repatriate
my end from the noose, for
not accepting the award.

Reigniting blood moon,
I have come to
seek my abdication.

After a long haul of
dark clouds, I come face to
face with my failures.

My experiments with faith
and disbeliefs did not help
to understand the mysterious self.

Now the significant hurts have
become my strength, accepting
the challenge of changed winds.

I meet you O god―
midway, one day to
settle the scores.

Sperms and legacy.
You scream for the justice
for the space between words
and sentences.

I don't want to be separated
from my half-eaten moon.

Without a dance
your anklets have broken into songs.

Someone commands me―
to sacrifice my pen.

Hallucinatory- be seduced for the sake of fashion.

In anguish I watch
the terror was becoming a religion.

Do you hear the voices
coming from the crypts?

You always said, violence
was in you. Everything was dying
around.

There was a tacit understanding―
enacted,
interceding with―
a lasso. The baked silence
always stares at you.

I have no praise,
no condemnation for anyone.

Inevitably you **** the moon,
your thumb,
your blood.

A poem falls on the ground
to breathe again.

Without shadow
an agony, slits me open.
As when I bleed.
I write a poem.

It hurts,
when you touch the words,
the lines, the paragraph―
the page.

From teaching
to be a learner―
a long odyssey from―
innocence to scream.

My namesake, my akin
dies daily. I dig a mass grave
to find my twins,
where the god lived.

The city was going to
fall. An earthquake?
A flood? No it is war.

Money making and
crime. Two things are
left in my coffer.

Man made had
become better thing than
god made.

Mars sends another
image, of this side―
of the man's earth.

Like a lingering doubt,
the moon stood on the maple tree―
for a relationship.

For my sake don't take a
downside, my liberalism
will suffer.

Killed in your own house
by lightning, have you
ever heard of self-immolation?

Let's make it simple.
Take it from the giver,
what he never had― and
don't ask the price.

Your eyes again befell
a giant. How would you live
without the fireflies?

Autumn moon―
in full grace. I have
come out to say hello.

*

Everything was in
order. A stunned silence.
The cuckoo gives a long call.

*

Long ago, such
was the night. I
wrote my first poem.

*

My innocence,
intact― I still feel
my stupidity.

Like half-brother
moon was following me.
Tonight the dethroning commences
on the murderous hills
of faith.

You grab a snowcloud
to refuse what you would be.
The animal that lives
in you has become silvery haired.
There was a terror of being isolated.

Earth was dying in me.
A bloodied machete―
travels across the lands,
riding on the tears, screams
and disembodied peans.

Lifting a sacred book
the hand trembles involuntarily.
Is it the homicide of bright sun?
Et tu, O man?

You were not listening,
when I said―
" After offering my head,
I will go into deep sleep "

Coyotes were gathering. The
prairie was on fire. Under
the feet, the smoke was bursting.
You had started eating your toes.

Carrying the burden of unsavory―
reputation, the books were not
telling that time has stopped
and no lyrics were left in religion.

Sometimes in night, I will
hear the soft notes of a flute,
when, moon was rising and
muse will come and I would ask

" What was the need of inventing the hell? "

It was very edifying.

When you shut the mouth of
the oppressed―
the mass grave speaks.

The widow was still mourning,
after the causality of my belief,
my psyche, my rights.

You don't make me, then
how can you break? What
was the height of fall,
will you let me know?

The volatile words are now
losing their import. No
real, only cosmetic display.

Let the celebration of
bold death begin.

Brutal. Another lover
too. Four-letter words ****.
A self deception begins.
You shut up in yourself.

From meaningless trivia you
want to extract peace.

The leather was becoming feminist.

You can eat your partner
if conflict increases.

Will you like to read Camus
again? Especially- The Myth of Sisyphus?

The humming birds are
disappearing. No trumpet shaped flowers.

Half-naked in beachdress―
a truth was swept away.

I don't want any applause.
Think. think on
what I have to say.

The morgue is full. Still
the bodies were arriving, of
all the dead innocents.

The son, daughter, mother and
father and grands.
What rituals you want to do―

to honour the departed, or
praise the killers?
The rigged notes on paper speak of mendacity.

Between the primates, man
was becoming the beast.
The stone, sculptor and ghost are one.

This was not physical.
Which part of your psyche,
I would touch?

Sometimes you swing
without a rope. A chasm
appears, then vanishes.

Blindfolded you open
a death door to see the fall.
The deep pain bifurcates.

The distance was increasing
between clouds. A crack
of light burns the dark. Animals
awake.

You remember a yawn
of cosmos. Someone becomes a fever,
high as sun, in earthen heart.

The dusk panics.
Molten ash stings, bearing
you down. Your enemy had penetrated
very deep.

Your pride shrinks.
Infinite pains from moonlit streets
climb up the palm trees
to count the dead.

You can not arbitrate in disputes
of wind and flags.

The night rolls down on the
battered past. Your face becomes
a broken clock.

Color-blind, you will never―
know the green recital
of the spokesman.

A wreath of skulls
you want to hang on the wall.

I don't want to
lose the skin.
The land was bleeding.

Mars mission. A very
lonely flight, pulls me down.

Do you have a
pearl knife?
Small talisman, you used to wear
when you were a child
to ward off the evil spirits.

A buttonless chest. The map
you drew on the torso was tense.
The woods were nowhere. Only
the dry sands.

I wanted to make a slit in the stone,
to release the holy water,
but it was only tears―

You hide behind the words.
It was my priviledge
to start the fire.

Looking at the bare moon
in black sky,
you open the blue veins―

to explore the anatomy of
pain. Sometimes you want
to suffer in the hands of impossible.

Life wants its share of death,
when you were playing autumn,
frightening the lantern.

A nameless breeze offers
the whiff of a musk deer,
that lost the tree for scent-marking.

I should not have been
there, where I am now.
The destiny was unscrupulously quiet.

Time goes in suspension
when I don't see you in me.

Flaunting the assets
of dwarf generation, you
**** the galaxy of stars brazenly.

Paraplegia. You break
the eggs in air to touch the placentae.

Twirled. I ask
the question, when your lips
will drown in ****** Buddha?

Out of reach, the honeybees
fly towards the ****** trees.

Catching a glimpse
of moon―
in velvety October.

*

You collect a beetle
fossil. Then
man was learning to walk.

*

Same faces
in newspaper daily,
wearing me out.

*

Self-adoration
rocks the earth.
Journey to sleep begins.

Half acting you take
the broom for the journey
of doom.

In human odor, you find
a secret sin. In stampede
you may walk on the fallen bodies.

Between me and my, you
stand squeezing the lines
in holy script. There was no dogma.

Your image overwhelms
the prayers, insulting the
future of man.

Like amber encased,
parasitism, comes alive
with mass execution.

You open me up
like an envelope without
a knife. No blood spills.

Like arriving from Auschwitz,
you embrace all my skins,
my incompleteness.

I would know, you
are coming down from the
attic to meet the unknown stranger.

Goosefoots. You are
crawling, hugging the remorse―
a clear submission anonymously.

Wrapped up, I give
you my heart, still throbbing
without the rib cage. The
night brings the red moon.

On the canvas,
I was drawing only the feet―
in run.
No heads, no torsi.

Was it a dark vision,
when you found the inert bodies,
crowding the summit?

Primates had already devised
the sponge, to gather up
the answers.

Geraniums become blind―
after their involvement,
in sorcery.

Making an inventory of
fugitives, no body was left at
home, when fire broke out.

Ah, it was not a diamond
ring. In your palm was sitting
a god, watching you disintegrate.

Your hands, tell the
agony of lifting darkness, when
the full moon was rising.

The author speaks.
Not the ink, about the nomadic words
which have come to bleed on paper.

Tortured leaves of―
autumn are gathering to celebrate,
this side of the fall.

Like attaining the liberation
of sea urchins, reaching
the table to sip water.

There was no saliva.