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.

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?

You nurse the tender pains
to feed your soul. In sunshine
of nothingness, that was falling apart.

And which was not―
the abrupt exit of inconceivable.
Me, still struggling to remain alive in―
thoughts of you.

The vast blankness of mind staggers.
Where the loud music, like tinnitus,
runs slow like crickets
and peacocks, giving a pause.

Then suddenly the crescendo
ups, symphony of loud, beseeching
rumpus, drowns the protest
of songbirds which were giving mating calls.

Listen my love, we are islands
in an ocean. There were no walls.
Only strong waves leave us speechless.

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.

The family pride
goes for the jugular. The rotational
push, dooms the vessel. I
come out in black waters. Night
is pitch-dark.

Riding the tiger, now you
want to come down. There was
no anonymous call to
remember the wits. A buried
myth is ready to romance.

My country bleeds in war
of titans. The secret of the road
was out. It does not go anywhere.
The bottomless pit is moving up
its depth. Nobody will drown in democracy.

Will not put any claim.
Neonate my poem
has gone gray.

Black days and white
nights.I will recall my
ghost and ask, O god-
do you exist anywhere?

A thread of pain, makes
a family of feet, climbing
in smoke.

Vulnerable to theft, my
thoughts divert me towards
cemetery, where I will
bury my sins.

You remained a question
for me on calender date.I
will hold on the time,
which has thrown me back.

A tardy spirit, when
you cannot change yourself.
The blue birds laugh.

Most needed was
the economy of words for
the brutal future.

Take my footpath
and walk towards the galaxy
to read human cost.

The question is, why
does one die? I catch the flying words.
Mortality takes care of the curtain. Drama ends.

The heart speaks, after
the clouds. Rainbow comes. The
edge sharpens for kindness.

The renegade wants to
come back after the war. Religion may
not agree. Where was the god?

I have lived my poems.
The truth walks between knowledge
and existence. In split -second comes moon.

It filters the metaphysics
What pain I have, not asked for it.
The mud stream moves on to ****.

What my love was, to
do any sin. Make a red comet to
burn away my wax palace.

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.

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.

Let there be dark
in your life.
One day, you will
be able to see the light.

Wind would sleep in the
earthen lamp during day.
Come evening―
tears will light the wick.

Hordes of moth have
resumed their sorties. Any
cruise of moon was
impossible.

Not acceptable was hiring the womb
for manipulating the race. An
eagle dance, brings out the
savagery of man.

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.

When you wear the skin,
a new renaissance begins. Almost
earth smiles and I thank the sky.

Miles and miles the sun
runs to sweep the dust and burns
the dry trees standing straight.

An infinite row of kisses
waiting for the lake to scream,
since the moon refuses to walk on her chest.

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.

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.

You lived in me.
Pure words. Passion changes the
climate, when death is in the care of flowers.

You are playing a
pivotal role to mix hate and love.
Meanwhile I search for the light in darkness.

Ah, grace was not enough
What is mercy? We forget our religion.
Can you recite the sacred mantras?

An unborn poem wants
a name to make a poet of me
to discover the black truths.

To lacerate, the moon was
running shirtless. Why was there
devastation of culture. religion and morality?

What was the merit of
karma? You were digging the farm land
to bring out all the grave sins.

Dogs are dead.
Wolves are coming. God's anniversary.
You don't meet with me with dignity.

There was a face -off
between lightning and the Buddha tree.
Waiting for the Gautam to come again.

When will the vipers come?
I am indebted to the moon. Tonight
I will drink the hemlock to save you.

Annihilating your
own minarets to meet
the god once.

Little time left to make the score.

The climbdown has started
absolute and final.

The methane was
spilling out.You need a matchstick.

Awful.You cannot see
the kitchen fire.Where was
the sanctity?

A noble cause.Dousing
the flames, to leave a naked
body of truth.

Don't split the hearts.Only
give the shrouds.Faces
must not be seen

Blessed dying
like a fading moon―
with no watermark.

A candle's flame
makes a hole in your shaking hand.

Skids off― on the
unpaved dirt road, a sleep catcher.

Climbing on moon shaped
rocks for the final jump.

Comes like a throwback
dialogue, what you did not say.

I will go in the wings now.
It is your turn to come
on the stage.

A nameless baby was born
on paper. It has
become an epic.

In reality― you were
in a ring of fire. I had been
left with no claim on you.
Your failure had become mine.

This was not the game―
changer. Moon had latched
on the watery eyes. Synapsis
had started to break away.

The god wears different
apparels― as per the need of the
occasion. Nobody is going to say,
rest in peace.

Gradually I will stop
speaking about myself. When
my time comes, I will lose everything
and set you free.

The blind eagle will find its abode.

Teaching self the,
art of dying
after a serial failure.

Stone pelting has started.
You cannot hear your own voice.

Praying for the inaccuracy of time's arrow.

A physical dimension,
you will give to your impermanence.

And silent flows the glacier out of banks.

Clear fall, seems inevitable.
The sun rises from the debris of moon,
from drop on drop of watery eyes.

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.

The shades of dawn
under the waning moon
reflect on your face.

The lace trembles―
when you watch the Venus
disrobing in dark.

Confession made.
You wash your feet in
Milky Way.

I will call you
in a moon night-through
a fragile letter,
for extracting the end of beginning
to do a Houdini
to escape from the straitjacket
of your own commitment.

Decades on-
the house still carries the smudges
on the walls, where you
wrote dreams in vermilion
and later on singed yourself out-
to become disfigured.

For whom you laid seige,
your silence, becoming a song? A sculpted mutiny to
collect the thin bones asking
the moon to send more light.
Timeless a death waits in the shadows
for a fat answer.
I will spread the salt.

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.

Performing to a script
you divide me like a fish.
From dirt a face rises.

One flew over the sea
to count the red islands
where the rocks hanged the dry skulls.

Why did you **** the panthers
by feeding them the toxic menu?
Sugar was never my cup.

It was not the question
of bread and butter:
we were talking of clean air.

The ashes will rule now.

Hunting calm, without
a ****, without a
mirage.

A momentary lapse
and you suffer
for centuries.

The pangs of separation
were rising.No birth.
You become a white mausoleum.

And the ancient
bloodshed will take care
of the pearls in your eyes.

Ask the moon
to lift the veil.Bonfires
of sharp pains have begun.

The halo around
your face quivers.I was
not a god.You were not mortal.

It was revenge on you
by unknown.
You were sentenced to live before
the ashes arrive from thumb to thumb.

The onset of grief
was caliberated. I would
not live with a mad weaver
who will not heal the moral bleeds.

A line delimits the dots.
The dance will not begin tonight,
of democracy. The sparrows
were frightened. There was blood on the road.

You want to go into a long sleep.
The moon had an excuse to rise late.
The seeds will observe the silence,
before they come out of the asphalt.

Only two words you
need to die or live. Do not love you
O god. When Ganges will meet you?

Ethics, science and
religion are searching for peace. I had
asked for the distance not absence.

I understand, I am
killing myself for the sake of the
moon falling on the burning lake.

This was a pain night.
All the candles have refused to burn
on the weeping path.

Differences with love
of a blind river not meeting the ocean,
and enters into a desert of cacti.

Is it the way to
invite God to make other humans with
not the knowledge of killing?

Centrality suffers.
A poem
cries.

The kingfisher
dives
to find the depth of water.

Ready to strike
beyond― the
horizon, black hole.

With September
blues on―
my hands, I pray.

No, I don't think,
when I write. My poem
finds its own words.

The thought
moves stealthily. You put
your hand on my hand.

Your eyes now
search the lost kingdom
of trembling nostalgia.

Will I remain
human? Living amidst
the burials? Do the dead
laugh?

Was there a casualty
at beach? You will not swim
nor drown, for becoming
a nightingale.

My eminent revere
was to live, waiting for
you!

Nothing to think for,
at this moment. Faceless fears―
like pine needles,
***** the toes in walk.

You cannot―
collect the white roses
in blue rains.

You remember precisely, a toothless―
poised tiger. The prey
tied to a pole gives a
long whimper, before being mauled.

The game continues. You
cannot do anything. Violence was
real, the pen becomes the
weapon.

You start drawing vultures.

A fear stalks me on the road.
Sun was very aloof and cold.
Cannot stop the decline,
give me prayers of your lips.
You talk of dark children dying
when I was losing consciousness.

Will not question the ink of death
or silence of night.
The random greed of man walks
in golden ruins without listening.
I am counting my years wasted
in pursuit of crazy dreams of climbing a watchtower.

Hunger had become a great teacher.
Pain becomes a face. Limbs and shadows
seek justice after **** and ******.
Something seeps in me. Wounds bleeding
on my hands, I dig the floor of the moon
where God was sleeping.

Half-right, half-wrong-
faltering on altar,
I have come to-
pay back my debt.

The listening now stops.
Only unheard monologue-
will continue in void
wringing out the tongue.

The burning man will
not scream, even in ashes.
I did, what you did not.
I have cut off my thumb.

Looking at you nonchalantly
I pick up my thoughts in mess,
to stitch my death cap-
stepping out in dark.

All night it rained. I
will not leave any footprints.

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.

I will keep on
looking back, when you would
not be there.

Trying to put it behind me, the
Moon-blind dysphoria.

The riddled moments. You
are badly hurt, but
would not say.

Bare-*****, in
the oasis of flesh.

The mankind―
why were you feeling let down
by animalcules?

Into the grave milieu,
you― sleeptalking, without
voice.

Trying to rekindle the
flames from the wet eyes.

I am, because
you are not there.

In cold blood
you slice the moon
and drink the tears.

The forest path
opens for the shot
tigress. She will
survive.

A mysterious hand
picks up my name to
write a wounded
poem.

There was no war
between the gatherers
of blood-soaked shirts.

Will you come back
bone, flesh, heart?

My truth was very brief,
sitting at a long distance.
You were plucking words
at my lips.

The toxic path, I knew
the destiny. Not afraid to
catch the saboteurs.

Paper tigers bring
the spurious hemlock. You
drink from the eyes of bystanders.

Like the dropped
hot coal, you look the
perfect model. I was weary of
bald arguments.

Blood and beheading
will not separate. The babies
are locked in ice boxes.

A harem starts taking the
shape. The sociopath was in charge.

Yes it is descriptive only,
the unbearable pain of denudation,
like blue heartache.

Touching the extremes, you
become desperate to―
reach the first letter.

The word will form later.
The virtue of knowing―
the unknown was a punishment,
you cannot untie the knots.

You must know the trick of―
the trade. How to come back
alive after touching the skin
of a viper?

No celebration to mark―
the anniversary of the assassin.
Life itself takes the award.

He did not want to climb the spiral helix,
a son will be born without him.
He said I want to become my father
and see the decline.

How for shall we go to investigate?
An infant wrapped up in plastic explosive
was going to be presented on dais.
An unclothed carcass was lying between you and me,
body donated for the study
of failing restraints. How death would behave
in broad daylight?
The vasectomy did not work. Testosterone was
still flowing.

Reading Kafka, peanuts!
We have come near emptiness
of a tree, hollowed by white ants.

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?

After finding the pulse,
you become a man-eater.
Decide to play a volcano―
to solve the mystery
of god.

Shirtless violence,
sells the skin, the vagus
and the cranium.

There was no difference
between black and white. I
had fallen for the crooked―
smile of death.

You appear like a
nymph in my stasis―
of thoughts. I kiss
my hands.

You penetrate in my bones.
O God, you were exactly my image.

Moon stained a poem beseeches
me, to lift my pen.

This was an illegal ****
between you and me.
I will abdicate―
my headstone.

The black eyes keep on staring
at the orange wings.
Butterflies presage
the quake's qualms.

Very unsettled, I was,
against the odds. I was trying
to figure out my―
new passage.

Slaughtered with a sickle,
a faith lies―
bleeding, I bring out the
cannabis for peace.

When I make a heap
of all my killer pains,
rains come.
A half-moon casts
a spell. Hope used to
have many colors.
A black magic
ruffles the feathers, casually.
Peacock forgets to dance.
Rocks. Like rare earths.
Difficult to separate you
from me. The call of the mountain
rattles me again. Will
that continue, unending
path, towards non-existence?
In the dark greens, it
was a ******, I cannot find
the blue moon.

Walk with me, till moon rises
on the griefs of the dark,
and the tongue tastes the pain of centuries.

On the erected dome
when the golden leaves start a flame
which throws up an image of a prophet.

My nightingale was giving a call
of a very sad tune, on the death of peacocks -
but for the poisoned feed, they were dancing.

A green pride has no ambition now,
roses were wilting.
Fever was rising in the roots.

Do not give it to me, my award.
Could I have shut up like a fame
when my house was being ransacked?

You were different from
others, away from home and hypocrisy,
unlistening to the fiat
of karma.

There should not be
any put-on face. Hibiscus will tell the truth.

Sanguine. I will again
invoke the bride of moon.
Time to go for a simile.

Eros tips. I educate
the limbs, not to go
for the anima. The bearded face.

You had ruffled the tranquil
poem. I cannot gather
the tender moments.

You break me in four
pieces like a cross. The pause, space
and arrows wait for the red setting sun.

The script was twisted
Death comes before the birth. Power
of mud culture has no vision.

The hypocrisy invokes the
god's hands. I tend to remain
unconscious to dig my foundation.