Amygdala gives you
space. Rage implodes.
Hottest day gives a blast.

Burn, burn, O leaky
night. You **** the moon
with dust. Language
slips.

How will you invite
rains, without nightingale,
who had left for a
quantum revenge?

Visuals haunt. Ash
will fly. An old touch comes
back. Everything looks blue.

I start collecting old coins.

The pain waits for ever.
Nothing to ask, nothing to give.
You make a house of glass to be transparent.

The sculptor sexualizes
the stones by carving a beauty of
ancient human walking undressed on land.

A truth be unwrapped?
The stigma will not allow the flies
to sit. The fruits will never come.

My mouth burns.
I speak, because I don't want to
speak. It was the red rose, responsible.

I must start conversation
with death. It was enough to visit me
again and again. A kiss will silence the voice.

Untold, the domain enlarges.
You would fight sexism. It was rising
like crimson flames. Do you know the real?

Nothing helps.
The colossus has failed.
A naked fakir-
walks in dark moaning.

You ride a torpedo
to **** the gossips.It
misfires.All around
us is deep water.

An avalanche buries
the camp.You will not
climb the peak now.

The goddess is stripped
and alighted from
the rock.Let us pray
for the wildfire.

The sparks become the tears.

I want to sell my
thoughts, to feed my heart. Do not
come near the volcano.Lava is still hot.

The king was slaughtered
amids hawthorns. No one loves him after
death. I quote Kafka. Love comes back.

The fallibility is the truth.
Bones break, but the body
still runs like a jaguar.

When terror strikes,
fear inside you
makes a hissing sound,
breaks the vessel.
Pain spurts out.

Your limbs swell like sapphires
in a naked suffering.
You were searching the face
of your dead brother on burning ghat.

And then on, it pours.
Babies were burning in incubators.
Blasts devouring the eyes,
ears and noses.

But the dredging will continue.
Irrespective of ocean of death
leaping to fragile shores
till the waves send back the relics.

Whom shall I call for condolence
in the thick of fog?
I was closing the weeping chapter.

Tonight I will not sleep
I will call you in my eyes.

My hands were trembling
when I opened the book.
Words you uttered long back
tumbled out ashen-faced.
I started burning inside.

Where did we take a wrong turn?
The oven had baked a burnt-out
face. They are altering genes.
Suddenly it is going to start
a riot among the gods,
a pure ****.

Frightened I move in circles around
the little black hole in the center.
Martians would throw the boys
to appease the hungry angels.

The witch-hunt starts
for an unexploded bomb.

A racist slur becomes mute
for posterity.

The words start migrating―
coming out of their skin and colors.

A dead man walks into
a coal pit for exoneration.

Breathless, I become privy
to mass suicides of the flying moths.

You become a child, hiding
behind a tree, watching
a tiger maul a striped ariel.

This was paradise.
I will meet death in life and you
will find life in death.

No one was legal.
I am writing a poem on fire. My
earth explodes when truth cries.

The kiss of the moon was
short lived. I stood on the burning
boat to slap the sea.

What I feel, was
incredible to shake off.
And the moon cries.

Why do I tie the
knot with nature? Your
eyes and cascading voice?

My wait will never
be over after the brief
encounter with the rising
mounds.

There it goes, my self-
made tryst with burning ghats,
to search a lost face.

The twilight pain
climbs again in my verses.
I cannot weave
a beautiful sunset.

For whom the
echoes travel very long
in dark woods?

Facing first-ever realization.
It is not play-thing. Moons
come and go. I have become a rock

You were far away from
a happy valley of conscious blooms.
Nobody will climb the sun.

Do what you love to do.
There will be no afterwords,
once you receive an exit award.

Autumn sets
deeper, after equinox. The
homesick moon comes close.

*

Was there any hope
beyond the darkness?
My hands are very *****.

*
What was the maniac
pain of the sea?
No boat wants to sink.

*

Soundless was your
enemy in bush.
Why were you lamenting?

For death of conflicts,
and conflicts of death,
the coming of cessation, I was waiting.
Tomorrow must come
before eternity,
that inness, I will come to terms with one day.

The absoluteness of certainties
creates a danger of half-truths.
An intelligent mind suffers _
in ther era of hoaxes and contradictions.
The happenings of existence
continue without dignity.

Hand-picked rainbow is dumped
face down in shallow creek,
drugged, ***** and abandoned
to lose colours in water.
When the sky hangs on the shore
the blue sea sends the condolence.

The sharp cleavage of silicon *******
weeps for a failed performance.

I wanted to be ready.
Take my consent for the assault,
before you reveal
your fangs.

Trigger-happy,
the fiesty moon, shoots
at the tangerines of orange―
red skins.

The waves will not grieve.
There was ample time
to drown the black buttons
of windshields.

Bleeding mouths of
baby poems eject the barbs.
Forget the believers. There
was no magic in my art.

It was a pure symphony.

Between the hills,
were you ready for a
snakebite ritual?

What was the choice
between a triangle and
a silver dewdrop?

The birthmark swells
after taste of venom.
Silent prayer fails.

Becoming impersonal,
the observed will speak today,
not the observer.
There were no complaints.

It drills the hole in heart.
But you don't die.
No blood spills.

On the rocks―
stands a temple of unbeing
I am ready to become a monk.

This was not a ******,
not a suicide, if you
want to become a martyr.

The heaven trembles.
Let the veil rise, unmasking
the blind truth.

The mercury was rising
without fever.
There was no alarm.

Priest or thinker,
you wanted a moral engagement.

Moon shined,
You were waiting for a
prophet or saint.

It was pointless,
boat will not arrive. Standing
on beach, your journey ends here.

The sun was too hot. The
umbrella conceals the face
of a motivator. Nobody wants
to touch the fast of dead god.

Irisis shrink. Hole becomes
larger. Now I cannot hate myself.
The blue jewels have become lumps
of wasted stones.

You start diverting
the green death of infallible,
and become real.

As if opiated,
something impossible, I was
asking from you.

I was very angry
with me, carrying the unborn-
baby-dreams, in my arms,
and leaving you behind- flawless.

Learning against the past,
I would commit the old fixation
in my sight, to clasp
your sweaty hand for a while.

And under the April moon
you were walking,
scattering the rose petals-
on the way to a shrine.

Do prayers heal a man
who preemptively
went for the assault?

I was, what I am not.

Phobia. As it occurred.
Earth was being spread
on the tryst of man.

You won't learn the
life, wearing the veil of death.
That will ditch the destiny.

It was a big question. How to meet you?

One's own beginning was
transient. You will always
imagine the end.

How wrong world was,
when you were stigmatized
for saving the poems?

Give me your fist not the hand.
At least I am not going to be perished.

Long live the ****.

The divination.
A broom―
becomes a wager.

The penury
begets the rags.
How much you need?

Sweep the
courtyard. Tonight,
moon sleeps here.

I have come,
a long way to
meet my lost friend.

Make me wild―
weirdly ethereal. An abstract
pain will unite us―
after the scarring.

It was difficult the body
count, lamenting
for the limbless faith. What
would you do with the
tinned sardines now?

The wasting must stop.
We are not able to catch the―
spring. Cold war was settling
in space. Where were new worlds beyond the stars?

I am still trying to―
write only three words verse.
Man was shrinking
and so was tall god. The
mooned eyes were closing.

Climbing up the sun,
you had no expectancy.
Pressed between the lips
there was pure blankness.

Something dies in me
daily. It was time to commit,
your shirt to a magician
asking the miracles not to happen.

Beneath moonlight
dark tears of stones flow.
Someday the mountains will cry
and the snow burns.

The world does not end
here. It thrives on hate, ******
and abuse. Will you stand up
between love and blues?

Feeding the mouth
of fire with tribal love.
My contextual wait-
for the pledge begins.

You come as an
accused, wearing the
veil of moon to explain-
the vanishing act.

The purple nails
scratch the scented skin
to bring out the red,
flowing love.

If you become
beautiful in praise of
moment, I will bring
the burning moth.

The vicious bell rings again.

To begin again,
the travesty of understanding
life.

A mole, a warton
the face of fractured psyche,
I will never know you.

Generations bleed,
to feed the corpse flower-
of fraternity. I go
insane.

Going beyond the
touch of your life, I begin
to shred my forbidden
sin.

You know what
was classic love, to burn
like a moth on flame.

Pain of the day comes
again to light the lamp.The moths
are ready to become fumes.

What a hidden beauty
of love! No one wants to see the silo
burn.Who kills the god?

One day seeds will explode.
They had given a promise to build a
huge tree of bo for Buddha.

You wouldn't know,
what you didn't want to,
after a sweet osculation
of a cleaver.

There was blood
on grass, after witnessing
the afterlife of a future god.
The goddess still weeps.

A black moon hovers
in blue sky. Was there a
polite embrace after
a violent actuality?

Delicately you hold
back your tears. The most
important exit was to
remain reticent.

Unsaid ache was the
greatest bliss.

When a gravedigger
mourns―
the impasse ends.
A robot turns on the rains.

With horror, you release
the doves to reach for
olive branches for peace.

Paraplegic, the horse
will not run― on hawthorns.
King was decapitated.

You talk to your seers
sleeping six feet down in earth
to explain the genocide―

of unborn fathers, when
they were praying
headdown for downpour.

Dissecting the moon
to know the incredible,
in half light, I will
pursue my endless pain.

Rebirthing of illusion,
becomes a curse.
Unreality was supreme
I want to touch you in fog.

The condemned darkness
has a hidden secret. One day
the prophet will marry the
stupid truth.

You betray the wrapped
emotions, shying away
froma second life. Silence
steals the words from
your lips.

I will ask the sky
to lull the hot moonlight.

Walking in mental
fog, you become
a swaying tree.

In mistiness
one becomes lonely
like a blackbird.

Hollyhocks
would wait, till
the sun comes out.

December rain
brings the gift―
of sleet on lips.

Standing on a rock
near a temple's dome, the
bells chime voicelessly.

For a dark secret, passing
through your big eyes, the colors
want to believe in cryonics.

Freezing the dead body, of past―
face intact, making a heap
of wins, the bundle of desires.

Only skeletons of empty
words hang from the windows
where chattering sparrows used to sit on sills.

Give me your skin. I will
were that till end, creaseless,
hanging from the bony arms.

I am still alive daring the
tomorrow to walk through me.

You walk into a trap.
The self-search must start
after the accident in hearth.
The fire has failed―
to ignite the thruth.

No more questions would
come. The shrine will receive
all the answers.

The system wants to know
what went wrong to
identify the protégé of crisis?

You know mimosa. It behaves
like a sensitive person. Touch it and
its leaflets fold together like
greetings and bend down asking
to exit.

The violence erupts. A god has no say.

Any need to stitch an acid,
bare designed, in endoplasm,
when moon was walking like a full-breasted bride?
The synthetic feat was neat and clinical,
yet I want to turn back and talk about
something which heals the spirit of winged sorrow.

Marrow implant blooms like pink dough.
Can you walk straight,
think clean?
Organs for sale; mannequins are real flesh, bones, heart.
Roasted incense of sick birds floats –
you become a possessed iris.

Can you do something?
My limbs are aching, terrific pain.
Want to run like a stricken buck,
go for fasting like a schizophrenic,
become a letter undelivered
and message written off!

What is the truth then?
I cannot afford to accept the defeat!

It was raining blood.
I am frozen. No paternal gene.
Silence was weird. A cake.

Don't stand in the line
of ****. What a name can do? It becomes
dangerous. Needed self- restraint.

What was claimed? I
want the milk of you. I am impacted. No
war. Every pain deceives, like stray moon.

Intimacy in dark
carries the emptiness,
pauses in the way―
under the faint moon.

A homeless bird heads towards
the lake.

Passiflora.
The flowers remind you
of crucifixion.

The human loss was intense.
The fire within, extinguished.
No stone was ready to move.
Do you want the sound to be on?

The firmness now starts
melting. A holy river caresses
the bridge. Shores tremble.

I would not understand
your fabric, when you come
wearing only smile.

The politics of life was beyond
my poetry. I only have the words
as my wealth. No other assets.

I wanted more space
between the black holes. My earth
needs a rebirth. I am very lonely.

Poison poems. You always
sparred with a family of weighting
heights, which could not touch the sky.

A series of serial killers,
were ready to begin the assault
on the tossing daffodils, deaf, dumb and blind.

This command was
unpunishable.
I will not accept the defeat
from life.

You were mending the shoes,
of god. My vase had
broken. This is my burden,
I carry the body of a poem.

Waterfalls. I stand in
midstream. Throw my walking stick
in flowing stream. Will heal
the dead legs of a thought.

The belly is full of crickets.
No light. The unending muffled
trill. The pebbles fall in nightmares.
I seek the ending of blue marks.

The air fills the lungs with your prayers for me.

O narcissist, would you go
above the moon, if I want to sleep
in the flames of invisible stars?

Who gives light without
pregnancy to new gods and installs
aerial temples of broken hearts?

The killing has a moon
face. I will bring corn fever to
gnaw the legs of falling truths.

Understanding―
the sexuality
of clock.

Time moves
the hands, of past,
the present.

The future
belongs to no one.
This poem, cosmos.

The yellow jasmines
are dead. My ache returns.

My language does't
speak. My agony will describe
the authentic death.

It is a long prose.
One eye sticks out from
the socket to read clearly.

The see-through veil
leaks the story, which can't
be taken to the beautiful
end.

First you grill the
moon, then ask for the
slanted answer. Love takes
off the makeup.

How long the poems
will cry?

I walk towards you―
till it hurts.

In moment of nemesis
I set you free,
and deceive me.

You look beyond me
and become blind for the road.
Life starts drifting away from
each other to discover the meaning
of truth.

We may not meet again,
behind the faulted moon,
groping for light.

You always knew―
I was not you. A miniature
vice― religion apart,
had become a river between us.

I won't swim again.
Buddha smiles with alacrity.

ShareShare In Quiteude

Almost touched
the birthmark of lips
on my poems.

Will not want
for it to happen, when
the sun breaks into stars
in your amaranthus eyes.

Syllable by
syllable, you weave
the inferno to burn
the sins of voodoo.

No one was
traitor when grass
dries up under the feet of
glaring moon.

Ah! this was
a Vedic punishment. I
want to learn the
early form of revenge.

You cannot carry it
to the end.
I will not put up any claim.

Walk through my heart
in snow.
I will paint a yellow moon.

Come October, I
will weave the wreaths of
smoke, to invite the piper.

Where would you
lead me under the autumn
fall? My name holds nothing.

I will not be last
word in the novelette of a legend.
Stories come and fade.

I feel the presence.
When you had bartered
my pulse for a pain.

Something impossible
was going to happen.

I was buried in a wall.
The words you did't utter,
had reached me.

We would talk of the
marriage of sun with
a moon.

A ****** soul in
yoga, takes a flight to meet
her angel for the
first kiss.

Sometimes life
betrays the death and
renews the pact with
immortal embraces.

Decoding the love
which will not do us
apart, like death transcending
the history of man and beast.

The perspective
of history was changing. I
didn't want to be happy, with shifting
epicenter of pain of severence.
Let the river flow between the banks.

I was there, where
you did't reach. Becoming stupid
was the choice. My pen will
dig up your mind, when you were
hiding behind the unspoken vows.

Taking revenge was
no career. You will fall from
the heights of rosewindow.

The sculptor was ready,
to anoint a fallen angel.

The bird of prey
had the dignity. With
hooked bill ant sharp talons
he sings the victim―
a death.

Salt was invented
by faithfulls. Petunias would not betray in summer.
A bleeding heart cries
before the adversary.

The stones regret after the
lithographer left. There was
a fault in design. Shards in the ink;
You cannot kiss the script.

The perforations
leak in pain. Something obstructs the void
I have come afar from
the lies. There was no truth in peace.

Drop a dime, after
you have loved. I am returning
back to my school unflinched.

Euthanasia, you have
been targeted. What is realism
of murdering unasked?

Do not repeat the
same truth. It becomes a lie.
The Moon has been stabbed tonight.

In transition, of
a starry namesake, holding hand―
in priceless moment,
of anthropic lineage.

Give me the heritage
shock, contents of unknown.
In ghostly silence, I will
talk to an empty chair.

Remember Van Gogh. Why
did he cut off his own ear?
Not to hear a big No?
Million fragments speak the truth.

I will write on my skin
my dark name in blues.
Do I make me understand?
Soon the moon will rise
to take a side.

A face drowns in my arms.

In blood and grass
lies the snowman.

I must not look at it twice
after the spring melt.

The black magic has failed.
A mooned night will―
not reflect the real intent
of song's proxy in dark.

A lethal mix of twilight
and solstice, squats in gloom
to listen the surrender
of shine.

The glorious name, ultimately
drops the hint,
of profanity, written on wall.

Why ending your life,
on death bar,
close to terror―

of life? This is how
your dreams come true―
to play with inevitable ?

You had nothing to bleed.
One million times you
kiss on the lips of wounds.

We're all insane, chasing
the muse in dark. Earth
weeps in turn.

The walls are coming
up. What does the time tell
about the age of many tombs?

He has been spoken off.

Sometimes I feel,
it is time to go.

Sun is preparing to depart.
After sometime moon will arrive.

You want to stop writing
and shut the book. Enough.
All things said, world will go on its way.

You change the clothes,
alter the ***,
exchange the god,
and refuse to die.

Nothing, but the ***** game survives.