Empirical formula
was a mad arithmetic. The art of
love fails the calculations.

Let me contribute to the academic
race beyond the mountains of knowledge.
Do you find any god?

The Egyptian fear comes
back to make mummies of dead
bodies of success in love.

I refuse to underrate
the fog, its arithmetic,
bleaching the dark
words in twilight.

Indelible memory.
You don't behave yourself
writing furiously the names
of god in air.

Song was tongueless.
You could hear the nuances
of cords in rhythm.
Without listening you go
into bliss.

The blue rocks. Black birds
come in groups to commit
shared suicide on the
burning earth.

Hitting from the
arch of eyebrows,
my pain were you.

One brief death
in illusion, settles on
all the descents.

Not taking any
road to reach the moon
on hill, when you were gone.

For all the half-
spoken words, this was
the moment of liberation.

Solemn signs without a
phrase don't turn the
key and door remains shut.

Between coming and
going, time remains still
like a frozen lake.

To be honest, there
was no poem today.
A refusal to celebrate
the loss of truth in me.

The weather is climbing.
They have assembled to-
disgorge the peace efforts.
War was in our blood.

The great divide of
guillotines and blessed swords,
to behead or not to behead
the god.

There was very little good
in the evil designs.We have
logic and logistic problems.
You do not want a friend, only enemies.

The rebellion, the treason,
the betrayals, all were meant
to upgrade your divinity.
let us revert back to animal status.

The bread, land and water are one.

Sitting in a wake
you don't feel peace. The vigil
has a buzzing sound.

No benefit comes.
Your fingers speak for the broken
faith. Where gods sleep?

The candles in the wind
were blowing up at the bank
of the river, which had dried up.

Equality in suiciding.
Who wants to live in your world like
Dante. Enemies don't care to die.

The mob will not go to
god to seek justice. When the surgeon
dies, the patient stands up.

It pierces the heart.
What about the hand which does not
follow the mind. Blood will not touch the needle.

Amphibious. My pain
wants to go into exile. My home
was becoming a museum.

A devil lives in every
one, brandishing a knife. The
rose flowers are hurled on the dead

Unassuming you dig
in heels; Why does the moon stare
at you, when you shut your eyes.

This was a circle
which broke.

Like a ****** death,
like an eternal sleep,
like living on the dark floor of the lake.

There was no ovulation.
Earth has stopped brooding.

Submerged in quicksand
you cannot breathe,
after hurting yourself.

Do not go in the mirrors.
The fog was your friend.

Pick up the leaves, the
leaves fallen from the lone tree.
You become the seed.

You decline to speak―
to listen―
to see
like a meditating Buddha.

Like a sunflower
with moon seeds,
ready to explode at sunset.

Strangulated―
neck, hanged from a tree
to tell the tale―
that you were violated.

This was the principle of
cosmic order. Poor god
waits for the world
to show the rage.

I wake up the tree.
Leaves fall like unspoken words
from the decaying oak.

Cruelest thing would be-
you are being watched all life
as from the sky in dark.

Trembling, you open
the knots of entangled life,
to watch the baby sun.

When you try to find
yourself in the lies of society
where will truth will go?

The waves
had brought me to you.
Do not be gentle to time.

Lower the songs
into a mass grave,
as the violence spreads.

This time-travel
will take you to panic attacks.
Blackness moves very fast.

Hypoxia.
Photons will take you
to fading sun.

Glitterati,
now hurts. You cannot
haul the gift of reeds.

Night was descending
on the tonsured heads,
terracotta robes,
clasping the palms, hiding the seeds
of earth.

Against a ban on lips
for belonging truly.
Blissful. The squids settle in the weeds
of overbrimming sea of arms.

Blood was red, brown and pale.
oozing from the slit eyes,
soaking the green voices, herbs and sad kisses.
In the death, your name will be engraved on your shoes.

The steps were small
but shadows were very long on the ice.
The stings unflawed, did their job.
Suddenly you go
in anaphylactic shock.

Dressed to assassinate,
not having much hope.
Were you really―
serious for me?

Like en face
a star giggles, between
quivering small moons.

The night is drunk. You
hear a long hoot, from
enfant terrible, to scare away
the kiss of inevitable.

What a bliss to live
in the black heart of the moment,
when the sun unwraps
the flame.

Complete annihilation
of million desires. You
become the walking death
of unknown.

Escaped soul
was pronounced dead, after
becoming rich. You start
peeling of the skin of neo-poverty.

Hunger equates you with god.
It hurts your tarnished honesty. The
image of half-man, half-tiger.
The veneer coming off very soon.

The pepper spray was well
planned for steady hands to
make you spring-blind. Your pockets are
full of fireflies.

The poetry effect was negligible,
when you start praying for snowstorm.

He made me move on the rough edges
to the abyss of ‘ I ’, persuasive, but strong
for a thrilled journey, on the snow-clad
relationship between disquietening
follicles of wants.

Completely alert, still drowning in fear
of abstract river, of fire, of nodal pain
of self-destruction. Suicide was below dignity.
This was annihilation of the present, past and future
in realm of faith versus asexual love of sin.

Only one moment was sufficient to disturb me,
between me and my flips, between captive
and captor. The quiet honing of silence
for breeding vowels and petals of narcissus.
Black moon, I always loved you.

Do not expose the
suffering. Your fingers will quiver.
But this was not your failure.

The path makes itself
when truth walks with you. But the
wind will not be decisive.

The unknown questions
have answers. A supermacy of heart
is on mind when you stop thinking.

Escaping the unknown
becomes easier
when you listen
to the echos of dark.


My god says, the peeled
oranges will feed the
starved moon, when you
invite the rains.

Invisible hills will send
the bronze poems to you,
once the black night starts
drinking the green water.

The nightmare looms large―
climbs up my chest to
lick the isles, throwing me in
parenthesis, failing the commas.

Now we will talk of daintiness
in dark, while the white
snow blushes with-
the glow of a kiss.

The scented moon will
touch the invisible, so
the imprisoned voices
would release.

Do you hear the unheard
song of a wounded bird?
A feeling of going no where
stops.

I am sending you
a sea of zinnias,
asking the guardian angel
to protect you.

I am also picking sunflowers
for you. Living in the shadow, you
were always running
after small suns.

And round leaved nasturtiums
will drop bright orange
flowers, one by one
like tiny dreams.

And jasmines will spread
the fragrant flowers in your path
to make you reach in my arms.

And lily of the valley in bare
naked heart, will present the bell-shaped
white flowers, to knit your braid.

Nothing else.

Adopt mannequins,
like aliens in frozen state-
for whispered crime.

*

Howling encircles
a saint in meditation. Where
did you hide your muse?

*

I will ask Rilke to
come back and to write new note
messaging to god.

You climb to catch the sun.
A blue bird―
breaks from a sleeping
bough, to find
its food.

The bounty of
surrender, after the first
snow of season.
A golden dawn.

Footmarks of
a hungry deer
near my door.

Sexist barbs against
wooden *******, street-smart.
I am something not, I am. A wall
of tears. Liquid nicotine, I will not declare
myself, creating a poem in different ways.

Waywarding, protégé digs the gullies―
becoming unfaithful to himself. The
hope, will it be extinguished? The
tall mud slide, a devastating statement
burying you, me, everyone.

A black beetle, collecting carcasses,
to feed the young. It is on the rise,
green sea. I cannot see myself bleed,
by the grasshoppers. It is like
committing suicide solo.

Let the dialogue begin
between the apostate and
the threatened god.

Heretic demands
an apology from the religion
of assassin.

The bleeding ancestors
release the mathematics
of grey crimes.

So your temple was
destroyed because of the lion
sitting at gate.

A moon falls on the
raw hides of innocents and
the planet stops breathing.

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.

Do not
give me a dream.

I will return my name.

There was no arrival
for me. Like wintergreen.

No ending,
no point, no tip.

A continuum
of space, time
and pain.

A stream on blackstone
flowing after the hail,
pellets of frozen tears.

A moment's pause
before the death dive,
I look back at stars.

You came as it was
to happen in a dark night,
to embed a pain.

A nowhere slips,
carrying a monolith
of your lineage.

A spotless white moon
was hiding the―
ink spilled on the apron.

*

The pretty nouns
scramble for hope―
if there was any.

*

You could not undo―
what a rose―
did, in broad daylight.

*

A town lives
under a tree, in shade.
The ants come and go.

Why did you want
to become mine,
when god was not there?

This sun, this moon,
these stars. My Miranda,
my nightingale.

An Atman floats
without a body. Can you
touch it with lips only?

Like potter's wheel
starting, you want to create
a body with words,
not hands.

Then why did you follow
me, watching me to take
the ash-bath, becoming
sinless?

Tears runs faster
than blood.

Moving among the glittering―
crowns, as in glaciated valley.
once again, in capital of grief.
I am folding the twilight.

The viciousness of the hisses, zooms,
once you sleep on the bed of silence.
A blue light cuts you half.
I survive on the black tongues.

The assault was imminent now.
Flat foots will invade the afterthoughts.
The incline was treacherous―
You cannot climb up, nor down.

Give me a haiku after the sun.
There was no night work left and―
I am plotting not to **** myself.
I will burn an empty bark.

The moment of truth has―
arrived. The earth
has moved the man. It was
accidental verdict. You know,
which cell you will be incarceated now?

My flame-singed eyes, search
the inception of integrity above board.
I am afraid of myself to
admit that societal violence
has come to stay!

Celebrating the birthday of
a self-propelled god, I go
into irreversible retreat. God
bless the wax house, fire was
raging on hills.

The blood cherries, blood on
your shirt, blood rings on your
fingers, and blood in my eyes.

Not reaching somewhere,
I was not today,
what I was.

You seek a hand
for a handshake, and I watch
the dirt gathering
on the nails.

Sky does not give you
an award.The soot
collects on the windows.

The blue skulls dance
to defy the earth.No forehead
was formed.How would you
read the destiny?

I swear, I did not fathered
the deity in a-
monotheist gathering.
A black hijab covers
the moon.

There was a strange carnality
in flowing robes,
a waiver penetrates
in incorporeal ellipse.
I must speak of him in his absence
combating for the actuality.

Knowing lust manifolds,
yields a prayer,
primrose opens the eyes.
The knowledge liberating -
you cross the inlets.

Anxiety peels off your mind.
An obnoxious presence of unbeings,
the weeds, the vocal generation
of priests, are anything but art.

The body blooms, in suicidal note.
Birds shriek, before the moon climbs
on the dark trees. I let go the orange,
only the white spreads.

Once you are labeled,
The human input is out and
you start falling apart.

My home, and I am trying
to set the walls free after―
the explosion.

A sinkhole eats you alive.
I am walking in air
contending with the old god
who would not listen.

Suddenly it is time to
back drive. The wrong road
taken has given in glimpse
of people starting the war.

The land becomes black
and paper lanterns adorn the doors.

Sometimes the unholy fears
come obliquely―
from the scorpions.

Tongue tastes the salt of spilled
hate. You execute the hooded anxieties,
creating a cadaver pyramid.

Stich-open-stitch. Cobra
in the bush. Awesome colors of eyes
Brown-blue-green.

I am not going to kiss
the chillies. Burning hot lips.
The contours were enticing.
I shut my eyes for a weird encounter.

The floors pulverized. I still
stand in mud, on my own.

Going within to feel
the war moves.The pagan
gods have come out
on parole.

Was it an esoteric event
to propitiate a violative
divinity? From crude to soft
affirmative nod, I am going to-
see the game of chairs.

Between sin and virtue,
wrong and right, nonage
always jumps into.Too proud to accept
the defeat.First the annihilation
and then the fathering.

This genesis had no design
no vision.A miraculous journey
downhill.The dawn is still
faraway.Nightlong agony
will continue.

Unclenched I hold the pen
to say nothing.

Stone gods
envision the interface
between man and beast.

*

He sits with his
head sunk in knees.
Wants to become a painting.

*

A black piano
looks around for the
blind maestro.

*

He was fighting
with the shadows of ghosts
on walls.

Do not measure zany,
yourself. When did you become
your pedagogue?

Around the city I am
planting the roses―
against the wishes of land mines.

Haunted by a survivalism,
somewhere the smoke
was rising. But I wanted―

to leave the fragrance
for you― and you will not
wait for the ghosts to tell,

who was the visitor. You
will not know my future and
I will not know your past.

On the mount
a broad-leaved tree was preparing
for self destruction.
It was too cold
under the sun.

A small Christmas tree
with its needle leaves
waits for the snow,
to draw a self-potrait
in bitter winter.

Snow fall makes it
gold, when rain comes
and my hand knives the moon.

Giving yourself,
a gift of trash, you were
waiting for the pain to return.

A shadow overtakes you
as if you were
walking on the dry lake bed.

An abandoned thought
becomes a philosopher.
How not to live again.

The birder meets a rainstorm,
on journey to unknown.
The poet and water become one.

Not easy to finish the
line. Something has remained
unsaid. The vultures descend.

Deadpan. Far off an
explosion. First a lull, then
rises cicadas shrill.

You release paper―
lamps into the river. One for
black rose in the book.

Blue birds, will they come
again in my lonely patch
of abandoned home?

Missed beats will not
appear to pick up the pause,
between absent words.

A near cult glows/ on faces―
for harvesting peace,
saluting each other, without flame.

I have come so far
though you did not want the winds to move.

A new theme was
developing. The first wicket has fallen.
The collective suicide
will follow.

Invoking the sun, you stay in shadows,
without qualms to hear
the swish of swords.

The phenomenalist,
strides confidingly to read your mind.
Heart cries―
Uncontrollably.

In fluid state
my words will catch you
one day.

Almost mortal,
a goddess visits the dream
and wears your face.

Not trying to
reach anywhere to get a
new name in writing
you a poem.

Would you ever
mean to die for a cause
when the trigger finger
didn't pull?

When you don't mean
something, I had become
a thing.

Beyond the time
there was an endless bliss.
Will you care for me?

Moon crazed fonts
starting a genocide of words
in narcolepsy.

Don't ask me about the amphetamines!

The letters have gone crazy.
No discipline,
no shoes.
They run wildly barefoot,
make you feel a victim of curved lips.

There were no afterthoughts―
about the massacre of essence,
of message, gist and substance.

You stand alone in jungle
of books, unprinted, unspoken
of, finding the
sequence of life.

Let it be,
you don't engage in dispute
with me, to make us complete
and whole.

Sharp stings leave
my skin singed. Barehanded
I will fight with a
hollowed tiger.

A dark fear still hangs
on the milked mind. The tunnel
was unlit. You wanted
to become a white god.

The dead wine spills
from the ceramics. With feet
of clay you run very fast
to catch your shadow.

One day you will
walk in, to take revenge
on kismet and blend with me.

The king
made a fun of our poverty.
Marble faced girls always thought,
wearing black scarves –
sweeping the floor of white mausoleum.

You made a death
a loving eternity.
We die daily
in the face of old shine.

Who shoots a peacock
on the tree?
I mourn for the blue peace,
let the clouds come.

Who remains unhurt
unpained, when the night calls?
I seize a moon
to enter the crack of dawn.

I want to shake them off,
the weird thoughts,
like a swarm of bees,
buzzing, whining, aimed at nothing.
Want to write me off?

Loneliness.I
observe the hands of a watch,
looks like they are not moving.
Time stands still.
Waits for me to move.

An atavistic ache.Again I view the world.
Everybody is making a sound without bending.
With dreams dead, I step into emptiness,
barefoot, to feel the earth.

Not going to quit,
free to **** my ghost,
I move into sunlight.

Your breath
a prayer in water, when
vision fails.

Life will treat you
in beauty, when you were
ready to meet future.

Like touching god's
feet, to smear the lunar's
dust on fore heat.

The journey never
ends. Bright stars beckon to
you, but you will not
find Miranda.

The fever was mystical.
In delirium you will recite
a poem.

The words are splitting
in your lukewarm eyes.
I turn purple,
and ask you not to-
wait for me.

If you walk tenderly
on the edges of white lilies,
try not to look back into
religion of stingrays, which
never forget to strike.

Was it a poetry game
of musical chairs, when you
stood alone, thinking not-
to sit on a barbed seat
for testing unalloyed integrity?

The direction is lost.
I see through the masks
of masqueraders, pretending
to be angel's, they
were not.

You do not want to reach-
where the journey ends.

Can you keep this secret
how do I harm myself in ecstasy?
Your shadow walks-
on the lake solemnly.

I want to talk of-
the broken musicality of black
veils. Do we need to touch
the tulips under the moon?

Big toes digging in wet
grass. Grieved, not getting there
where the sink hole appeared
let the hands tremble.

You freeze in the space
between the eyes. The groove
widens to **** the guilt
which never was.

A little finger points towards the sky.

To sell the half-truths―
of lies, you quit
the post to live with Stonehenges.

Assembling another
dream. I rearrange the thoughts
to save the trembling planet.

Sleepover very discreetly
with me. Find out, how
my flesh has turned into gold dust.

Some wee moments,
chase after you, to become immortal
with each poem.

O life, read me.
I want to go quietly,
climbing down in waters of blue lake.

That was not worth it.
To wait under the moon
for a Cleopatra, who would
not carry asp vipers.