He had tied the brown thread on the pole
relieving the spirits from trees for the start
of belly dance of death on sand dunes,
whispering, gyrating to the tune of an
invisible snake charmer. Salaam
ambrosia, you had pledged to unhole
the milk bath, black waves will crash on the
windows, that I dream was true, god will
have the nativity for mankind and planet
earth will redeem peace.

Let us first accept the defeat of eternity,
and wounds will leap on, pouring upwardly,
aimlessly to defy the diktat of gravity,
contents you will know one day, watching
the birds fly away to warm lakes, that needs
a precision, geometry and courage
to glide over the tallest peaks.

O pathfinder,
you wanted to leave unsung.
One day I will track down your footmarks.

Last night I understood
the unholy drowning of the truth,
before the priests of innocent surrender.

Jealousy was the secret of
downfall.You can use the parenthesis now
to defend the corporate
blunders.

Politics has become a
grammar to cheat the morphology
of gospels.

Do not go like naked truth
in the crowd.I wanted back
my eyebaths to see clearly.

The gap between the lips
was widening..

To own you,
was my fault. I wanted you flawlessly,
to choose, who lives
and who walks away.

Trying to discover
pure truth, the whole truth―
nothing but complete.

You start groping
for eternal globes, like Mars,
burning hot, but far away.

An aesthetic oneself, searching a duplicate.

The suffering of useless
phrases hurts. Your eyes squint,
wanting to tell, but don't betray.

Who will succeed
awakening the sovereignty of a wayward bard?
Who will pull down the moon
from the black sky?

I will listen to me one day
and stop uncoming.
A waxing moon was watching.

With a kiss at dawn
all the gods were stolen.
Like you were changing
the depth of water.

There was no ceremony,
after landing on the
burning temple. Priest was
mauled and goddess
will never come back.

Wheels are sunk.
Chariot was impounded.
Sun was hesitant to move.

You can come on
tiptoes. I will wait
till eternity in blue fog.

Earth was not behaving
like godmother.

Let me paint a still life.Like
your eyes- unmoving.The irises
with shut pupils.

Why I should be green-
I ask my old mentor?

The terror of a smile
wipes away the tail of dust, with comets.

And the pachyderm remains
buried in the sands of time.

Touching the margins was gone.
You cannot leap over the grass of antiquity.

In fog twin hills will move away
without any acrimony.

A denial becomes a stake
a part of the golden ring- the boundary mark.

You wait for me
to learn the corridor going
to marbled stone god. This was my faith.

Only the pain of ravens
was true. It was not black as their
feathers were dark. Look, someone is watching.

I cannot bid goodbye
to myself. I am alive in all my poems,
singing as white as the moon.

It was not a rope.
O venomous reptile, I am not your man.
After a colossal fall, the poem bursts in a flame.

The border sun was very

shy. Something is missing in your eyes.
Animalism prevails. No human love.

A nameless pain speaks.
You want to carry all the pains of
humanity to the laughing Buddha?

Chant near the blue-
wind breakers. I will pick
you up on a cloud.

The saint was coming
back his abode to see
delphiniums bloom.

A dolphin whistles,
rises in water to kiss
her liberator.

A streak of sin,
just as culpable,
gives back my pains.
A half-finished poem
jolts me out of my vision.
Someone drops the moon―
and becomes evident in mist.
A profile floats. I
imagine the spreading smile.
I want to understand myself.
The colors blend. Have
you read Rilke? You will not
rise from the surface of―
life and death.
Authenticity has become
rarer. Copyright to **** is
religion. An aquiline nose
smells the prey.

I was hungry
and you fed the tiger
back and forth.

And then a fierce
battle commenced between
lie and truth.

In temple of eyes
deities were disappearing.

There was no signs
of large fig tree, under which
you can sit to become wise.

It was punctuated night.
You sleep into wakefulness.

The space between the shut-eyes
trembles, when you start sweating.

The infant-death of the dream,
incites the borderland. The―

flames rise in a partisan way,
to erase the memories of guilt.

You are in deep grief for the
coiled sperms, from end to end,

they were longer than the body.
Would you like to wake up a jinn?

A digital forgetfulness, you seek
to solve the enigma of life.

Let it remain
ovarian pure. After strangulating
the truth,
for hypoxic euphoria.

Flies in your face
the dirt,
the denial, the terracota
of superposition of speech
hiding self-interest.

Blackened crozier
for wrinkeled crotch
drops the ashes of love
on unopened buds.

Weeping willow sways
in warm winds of prayers.
Strawberry in holes
nothing like bruise.

You had left me reeling
under the bluebells,
like a trembling leaf, like wheels
in human conflict.

Trying to learn the democracy
of honeybees, like the
cohesiveness of fireants,

Handcuffed, staying in
solitary confinement, hitting at
the walls. Chipping away
the ungrateful.

The triage will leave me
unattended. The road...
do you think, it will be visible?

The stars will listen,
night will not.

When you want to see
through a mirrored fake, lie becomes
truth in broad daylight.

There will be a collective
death after suicidal harakiri Can we
rewrite history? I will ask for milestones.

In the Lilac season. I want
you to walk with me in the dark
to share the stigma of the moon.

Behind the iron mask, with
unsteady hands, I
separate the conjoined thoughts
and start greening.

I will ask, the god
after a chilling spectacle
of undying freeze, that
don't give me the bliss,
but only truth.

No mercy, no sympathy.
I will walk on the spiked
road to reach you in your own
sepulcher, to become you
and suffer.

Who needs eternity
to grieve for dying lights?
Darkness has its holiness.At least
you won't see the beasts in action.

O god, let the blue sky
open like an abyss to embrace
the fallen baby.

You will find one day,
water footprints, when
seismic events stop in eyes.

Don't you think a system
of mutual respect should―
be followed, before the
conception of a new rage.

Moons come and go.
You upturn the clock racing
the time to―
reach infinity.

Where the hundred stars
die daily, do you still
want to become a blue light
in the misty house―
of headstones?

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!

I am not going to touch
the meaning―
of nativity for unknown
guests.

A cameo appearance of some
god, does not take away the
most recent fears
of death.

The ghosts have their own
defences against scars,
bruises and unstitched
bones.

Give me a piece of unleashed
poem, my odyssey
has begun in
earnest.

He faked a letter to god
and slept whole night.
(Fallen in a creek from a moving train.)
Indeed, he saddled himself with luxury
of oblivion.
The success around him was most obstinate.

Pretending to condone the arthritis
of social limbs, he walked straight
to become what he would be,
a fakir among riches without fanfare. The
absolute renunciation, slapping the door –
shut, for blackness.

It was visible, the nakedness of brazen lies
falling like cottonwool around him. He touched
coral eyes of truth and wept, never to speak
again. Cosmos would split
for his journey to home.

This was meant for you, he said to himself.
Your own choosing without any regrets.
His fingers traced the figure of a mother
of the thin moon, who was assaulting
the crib of sun.

You make me lighten.
I am going back to the woods.
Life has beaten me in absence.

My eyes belonged to you.
Night descends slowly to check
my life in my poems.

An accident of the lips.
I salute the crystals of no love.
At last I breathe poison.

It was perseverance.
My flesh was Pi. You have discovered.
me in reverence for abrasion.

You run short of love.
Plus makes the truth. Pain creeps out
from the brown eyes of your face.

The smoke covers the
melted heart, when you walk. Moon climbs
down to meet the rival on earth.

Dying inside, every
day, inch by inch, to save
the silent lips.

Only the moon will see
the weird verbalism of
a narrative.

We are the gypsies,
restless, homeless- traveling
in the shadows of stars.

The act was
suicidal. You were always
talking to wind that
would never listen.

Trick of game
was frivolous. You would
sleep in moonlight alone.

The gossips morphed.
You were an angel without
wings, wandering on hills
crying.

Consensual chemistry―
you were entwined with
a dervish.

Banana grove. A breather
for upside downs. Moons falling
from the sky.

A body sails.

You start wooing, clean
and genteel autumn―
for undisputed courtesy.

The fear of bliss. You
have a death wish. Empty chair.
You will not come back.

I think this is poetry.

Sitting alone, in the pain
I am eating a fallen fruit, like an old
memory. The tree helps the blindness.

Agony becomes the words in
war of attrition. Dopamine does not change
the religion, morphs into a lone star.

A dream throws you from
the immigrant moon. No land was
accepting him to stay in foreign place.

Eclectically, do not say anything;
put a bullet in your head
and go to sleep.

I know what was coming
after the ballot. A heap of
abuses, for not maintaining the war.

The presence you can feel,
I am the native of this land― when
hurricane comes, you untie the shoes.

May be, wearing a dark suit,
the bartender comes and pours the
honey in your broken glasses.

The music must not stop. The
black spiders, with paired legs have
synchronized with myriapods.

One by one
leaves had gone,
several and many times.
Lone tree, standing naked in dry wind
was ready to walk.

In inward aloneness
to know the roots.
You look straight into the eyes of primeval
suffering. Under a cramped disguise of happiness,
behind the glassed life.

For the clawed, weeping silences
who had turned away from the shrill voices.
Night of burns,
and promised beach of immortality
shoulder to shoulder.

You recite my old poems-
to understand the psyche
of human conflicts.
The long shadows won't leave
the fingerprints.

Between mind and soul
breathes a language
understood only by emotions.

I shiver when you
mime the real money. I go into
coma, to cross the
river of blues.

Future is pain.
Past was crime. In some god-
night I will write my swan song.

The life's many scripts
will remain unread
buried in the folds of sands.

There was obsession, to wash your
hands again and again.
They swing wildly.

The moods.
Betel leaves, and bad grammar.
Charity untainted.

Divided walls.
A street breaks the steps.
Nails scratching the rosary.

The stranded words,
will not sit on the wide screen.
The damp soil becomes dark.


No gift was needed―
unmaking the wasp's nest.
I bend down to light the lamp.

I am crying again.
My Simba is gone. Before closing eyes,
unstopped he was looking at me.

Is it better to hang?
I will ask Sylvia Plath, what was the need,
to close all the windows and set gas free.

I slapped me. What was
the attachment with an alien? I was
looking at the face of Venus.

Wisdom of an ant
reminds of Socrates and his
sieves. Are you taking a call of god?

You will opt for silence
in a mausoleum to hear the lost
human voices, stuck on the wall.

It was an epic poem of
a hand in a hand to read the
music of eternal love.

You did not tell me―
what did you want?

Departure was sad,
unceremonious, escaping
an epitaph.
My legs become heavy.

Unthinkingly, you
write on the wall with foggy hands.
The silhouettes tremble.

Who will break this
infernal cycle of reincarnation?
That means, we should redefine
the death.

Nonetheless
a creed is born.

You walk on the burning coals
to pick up the poppies,
a gift of torn love.

A biological split
divides the water of a well to
become weaponize.

A riverbed bed comes
up to see the result. It has
brought the lotus from the mud.

The ocean has a very
deepstay. Earth was not sliding.
The man returns to collect the pearls.

The flame springs to
burn my hand. Blood drips drop
by drop from a hole.

I am signing red.
Inertia sits in the veins.
Do not know any god.

End and beginning
have become one. I will
calculate sins.

Where was the empirical
evidence, that you don't exist?
The vibes were becoming
stronger.

The comb has fallen, and
honeybee feels lése-majeste'.
Where the dots end, a
new line starts.

Adrift. The resistance is gone.
Reflecting on the added
infidelity. You cannot pay homage
to ungraceful exit.

Will you be able to draw
the wages of your life? For the
bread and liberation?
Who was responsible for your falls?

Under the pear tree
a **** survivor
wavers.

Elsewhere a moon
was sailing in
ghostwalk.

Unsteady in human
chain, you wanted
to know, what―

was the logic
behind the savage
metaphysics?

A curse becomes
a daily bread of the
tongueless victim.

How far do I go
to unearth the myths
of nodding religion?

Your face had only the
eyes, when you flew backwards,
hovering like a humming bird.

There was no absolute,
hoisting the beheaded god.
In transience I will meet you
in air and shed the body.

In mouth-hole you put
all your wisdom, to bisect the
****** house. Violence creeps into
the roses. They droop and bleed.

I will talk to burgundy-black
moon, not to leave footprints on
my face. My lips are going to
catch the stolen kisses.

In chills- your
face swims, In dark
fireflies soar to fly
into your eyes.

Missing them- the clouds,
when moon hurts.
A racoon jumps under
my window, when I brood.

The requiem revives
the culture of tears in an epic.
My book will never end.

Take this trail
of blood thoughts. What
was the kinship of words?

Can you read from
the stains of an empty
cup of tea? My life had been
like that.

Like moth-eaten I
hold my pen. When do I
stop writing?

Time to make a sin.
The blood will not go back. Any
voice will become very dark.

The earth was an earth.
When my heart cries and the stones
make a beautiful temple.

My hands do not move
to catch the truth. The moon will
say, once the sun was my son.

Rusted maple leaves
fallen on ice, from the
disgraced trees.
Spread like tiny palms of
sweet children-
ready for school.

I have come to teach
myself, the lessons
of nonviolence in moonlight-
washed promises.

Where lies the peanut
wisdom of man, crashed on
the cruel earth?

The refugee cult
grows out of the torn psyche.
So you believe in-
incarnation?

The real you comes on the
tip toe. It blows the mind. What was that?
A thought? Things are happening.

The fog is rising. You
didn't warn me. I was standing
a candle in the wind.

It would happen. I will
ask you to do makeup. We are
talking of the integrity of dying.

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.

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.

The snow:
Pounding the earth, trees
the man.
Centuries of hunger repeat the
raven's walk on icefield.

The drum beats again.
The cold war tapping
at your doors. Missiles made
ready to fly.

The rhyme comes back to
weave the funeral song.
Blood curdles, as you step up
the agony.

The stings, the venoms,
the blue veins. The murderers
were ready to―
receive the gifts.

Can you contain it;
the call,
one animal?

*

A baby hurt,
sometimes―
you enjoy.

*

The full moon was―
as poor as,
a church mouse.


*

Sitting in court
watching a
finch play with water.

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.

Xanax in the blood
screams.
Empty chairs.
Small birds, hopping from here
to there. Waiting for the guests.

Evening sits on the
dirt road.
We look together at the
cracked moon.

The grace of becoming
gray, sweeping the floor
of life. You will wear a different
smile everyday.

The house follows you
wherever you go.Saturn or Mars
will not cast a spell of malfeasance.

The mood-lifters
you will need, when
night falls and the poems
start howling.

The crisp massacre
of golden dreams, and you
start disposing off the defunct philosophy.

The myths of heaven
and hell, causing the colossal
anxiety.A dog walks past
a dead body, near the burned temple.

This is the world apart, where
you opened the book for
an eye hole.Then you **** the images.

The pebble in the pond
starts moving.No water was left
to wash the ***** idols.

Unfazed I send my
poem to you. This is my work
of blood to convey the agony of departure.

Between love and resistance
there was a happy pain. I was a rebel
always to lead my art of dying.

It was my destiny to
refuse to surrender. This was
my dream, my night, my fireworks.

A patch on my shirt
was growing.
I could not, because I did not
want to remove it.
I took everything, without choosing,
a flag of my territory fluttered
without wind.

Like a marooned kiss on fainted lips
cryless eyes.
The body fails, climacteric defeat evident.
A satellite crashes in midsky.
A star in waste was rising.

Multiple setbacks start,
like the botched transplant.
Thieves were active in dark alleys.

Kicked at slump bodies, like
sleeping on road.
I was always afraid of unknown.

Zinnias were stalking.
The fading moon hangs upside down
from the massive Ficus tree.

Ultimately the grace withdraws.
Now you sit under the bo-tree
becoming a wet Buddha.

Unthinking, unblinking
falling out of thoughts,
and start supervising the barren landscape.

The dawn sets free, the white
pegions to become prey of ravens.
Would you talk about peace?

The evil touches every next door.
I will write a long letter
to me, to unwrite the sermons.