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.

From the fog to fog,
grim reminder eludes me.
Where had you been?
•
The gray dark circles
confine the blue lilies.
Unkissed by tears.
•
The shifting dunes
hide the silver moon.
Don't cry. O brute!

Would not move the things.
They had moved me.
I will never be the same.

Probably a time to learn,
listening to yourself. The
sensors didn't go wrong.

More often I will unroll
my candles and burn
them with my life.

Ripening old, in dry
fountains― waiting for
rains in songs of sorrow.

History does not repeat.
I am preparing myself
to start again writing my book.

Will not commit anything.
Standing in morgue
searching for my unclaimed face.

Night blinks.
Light sits under the door.
I am ready to confront the moon.

Too much brilliance
was there. Would you redesign
the blue sky and paint the new stars?

Poverty was my great strength.
Nothing to lose, when
you were dancing with the shadows.

I do not want to become
plaintiff or defendant.
Untethered, I will punish myself
for metaphysical nuances.

Sometimes a silence talks to grieving sky
about a fake truth.
The tears will never stop now.

Give me my freedom to cry,
to exhume the body of justice
and bury my future in memories

I do not sell the dreams.
Eyes tell it all.
History repeats itself
when message dies on legs!

Stares down, the grey
moon, fixedly,
in naked aggression…
Fire and brimstone.
I move one step, towards you. In semidarkness
I have lost the address
of peace.

The transgender, stumps
the ghost. There was no noun,
no pronoun, only an abstract
feel. Do you see the
wooly trail beating the dust?

When did you hit the dirt road
not to come back…
What was undone? After
the death of the cuckoo, there was
no wedlock in words.

The eternal pain exploited.
I don't belong to me. A hiatus breaks
the emaciated trust. I want to quote Socrates.

At night you come to
unroll the red carpet to dwell in my
tears, accosted by blind light.

Will you burn the past?
There was no dearth of bleeding.
hearts. Weeping willows start laughing.

Perched on a tree high
wave,
a moon was talking long
to me.

A live-in partenership
was in vogue. We always
loved each other ******* apart.

The weather was changing.
A plane load of tears would
disappear without a trace.

From somewhere a benign
lump explodes, making night,
a brilliant dream of
sleeping sky.

The hare jumps on the moon,
to ****** away the ambulatory
age, browsing around the death.

Want to entertain
like a zany in the space when
it is bright moonlight.

The craze was to win
your smile in the drifting snow of
earth for dying flames.

And you cry for small
things which make the weary life
simple and beautiful.

Like a wound-bleed,
the glacier falls in lonely
sea. A river ages inside you,
collapsing in despairing loss.

It was not true, that
you live an impossible life.
On water you may not
leave the footprints.

Beyond human tragedy,
a knife falls on the gospels.
Stunned at the edge
of tears, I tremble.

Adieu to Arcadia.
Dust demands the price for
red clover. A dark cloud envelops
the kind hills holding
the sun.

It casts a spell.
A rock licks the moon.

Life had tossed you in
flames.
Like hearthstone, I sit
deleting my colors.

Time on black feet
runs, on the sacred
river bank.

Molten lava will ask
when, and from where
the funeral procession will start.

A ******* wants
the evidence of ****. Two
leaves will not cover
the naked aggression.

The spooky game had
become, ultimately― the biopic. Once
angles used to roam
on the burning coals.

Ready to barter my
last wish with your tulips
glowing in eyes.

I didn't ask for
any help to decipher my
blue dream of edge.

Two little words may
be sufficient to
resuscitate charm.

The spat between the hydra
and sea,
was the end of perfect relationship.

Now an unqualified, unknowing―
will take on the depression.

Were you feeling liberated? I would ask the moment.

Let us delete
the faces and go to war
without limbs.

This was a summer afternoon.
The books are in cauldron―

and you are praying alone.

Moon injured―
after reaching ******.
At the death of a poem
nobody was ready to climb the pyre.

A collapsed river was
sleeping in your eyes. I will
come and wake up the sun.
Now I am melting.

Some troubling signs were there.
You were becoming vulnerable,
if the rock cried. And you
wanted to die in my arms.

O brute, cold-blooded
murderer, the shadow of the comet
was lengthening. I don't
want any roses for funeral.

A self-image had the last laugh.

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.

The weight of the ideology
flattens your upheaved chest.
You speak, what you did not want to say.

A fake hunger and pseudo-demands,
put you on the pathless clouds.
How would you now fly towards the sun?

The polarization was deliberate,
to usurp the authority. Blue jays
have refused to join gangs.

A faded document tells about
your missteps. A bunch
of eunuchs have come to guard the palace.

Black versus black will
not brighten the screen. One third of
generation had the criminal record.

Walking in shadows
with bated breath to find
the sun. Your forehead was telling
my destiny.

Gradually I was moving
away from the shores,
towards deep sea-
to discover myself.

In blue space-
you will meet an
unborn suitor in forgotten
pain.

When you think solemnly
you look innocently-
beautiful like a larkspur
in naked moon.

In hushed silence I
propose the diamond ****.

Do not let me say
goodbye. I will pick threads of
tears from slanted eyes.

Not for your sake-
I did make the blue temple.
It chairs my goddess.

Sitting under grape
vine I drink from your orbs.
Don't drop the heavy lids.

When you take a false
lead, life will undo the seeds
and the cataracts freeze.

This is the story of
a butterfly, in disturbing amber
buried in snowfall.

Can your body take the imprints of flogging?
When you start sketching the polar ice
in the story of death, compounding
the mystry of
unleashing sea
of the fawn eyes, whose message
was sent in water?

Do not give me a shrine.
Not for me.

A no-name.

Between hollyhock and
rose, I like the
laltern.

I am not a savage,
mangling, the bush.

Happy hormones,
I am coming at peace with me
but no opioid sleep.

Thumbs-up for my failure
to become a joke.

In less moon days,
I will remove your love. Cracks
are appearing on the floor.

We are going to
become ash one day. The life
has become treacherous. You are not yourself.

Digging a gold coin
in a buried lake. You will see your
face when god refuses to come.

Your thin white skin spreads
on the front. The blue
veins have become the strings,
annexing my peninsula.

You had said, it was a
bit of stretch, to cover the
lies of a fading sun,
for a delayed penitence.

Living water will bring clouds
to fill in the lakes of grief.
One day the lilies will grow―
meet in the air, for sombody's sake.

The black moon was still
raw. All the weeds had
become snakes. I start
hating this season of mating.

It was a cloudburst-
from your saddened eyes.
I want you to hurt me.

Like blood fingers writing
a name in sky-of
a towering fault.The sin
0f unabandoning a hymn.

The breach will swallow
the lamb.I would not know
of the Aquila, how
big were its wings.

Burn me in your eyes.
O goddess, why you always

look like a fireball?

O liberty, what was the color
of your torn gown? The aconites and anemones
have beautiful buttercups.
How would you drink the lethal dose?

Buried in a shiny grave,
a redefined religion
becomes the first god
of scams.

Attaining Moksha,
breaking the law of rebirthing,
in barking dogs.

This was a stunning
betrayal of―
human race.

A lone gunner
pulls out the gun and
starts shooting everyone
resembling him.

I become worried
about the mental health
of unfolding mortals.

Grief was not my asset.
The planet was falling apart.

I will say no more
ritualisation. Digging out moon to
win back the honor from sky.

Was it apocalyptic?
Or a trend of self-immolation syndrome?
I am going to sit for atonement.

Do not wait. Lop off
the sun of the destroyer. I will
live in the dark to realize the truth.

Trying to quantify the vices
in you, I am becoming
brute.

Going my own way.
I join the migration
of invisibles.

A plucked tiger lily
roars. Amphibians were ready
to invade the mountain.

The curled fingers
had become question marks.
Blindness had become a bliss.

Inlaid in the redwood
lies my blood. I lived under
the branches, naked, carefree.

Intercepting the random
poems, pick not
the holy water, in your palm.
I cannot lift the words.

Dark bellies, in moon's
autumn, will play with flutes.
You will swoon on the
sight of blood at the hands.

It was not the first time, a
lamb in the midair―
falls on the golden spear of
new theme, to bluff the naiveness.

Somebody takes a turn, to
find the bell, which will not send
any sound, on the death of
the poppies.

I know, what I want.
Like peeling off the left thumb-
not to leave any whorls
and lines on your heart.

Gloved hands, seek
the vocal cards, to discern
the scream. A tea cup spills
on your spotless table cloth.

Can you read the tea leaves?
I never opted to know
my future; when there was
no present. Why to brood for the golden eggs?

Toric lens. Two curves.
I see two faces. Far and near-
My eyes blur. I cannot read the doric
of your lips- the rustic dialect.

Lets exchange the contours
of yours and mine.

Celebrating spring
punctuated with an
apostrophe.

How much you owned
your conscience,
in deathly silence?

Love was an execution
drug. It works
inside, not outside.

When the hummingbird
stops flying, would you
get the nectar of pain?

The myth of flying
backward was true
of destroying the ascension?

You give me hope
and insanity, making a
bonfire of incomplete truths!

Why did not you
cross the black river
and remained innocent?
Unhealed, failed inside, broken and honest?

You won the race,
the space, the heaven.
Moving away to the farthest blackness.
Your god sits crosslegged, clotting.

Brown hands on white shoulders, boneless
move in circle. Deportation
of words opens the green wounds.
Birds carry the snow on the wings.

I was confused, wanted to love
my broken vowels, for absolute you and me.
The baby face pops up again
in my perfection, speechless.

One final leap
from high solitude
into city of dusk,
takes you to presence
of charred remains
of a fallen god.

A housewife moves in the kitchen
to prepare a farewell dinner
for the encounter of fatal descent.

A paranormal parting
to comeback to body of truth,
as you pick up your words.

Space odyssey in eyes,
palms folding,
to receive the punishment.

No complaints, no grieving
conclusion of foregone stopping.
A line will start from a dot.

Farce,
you think―
you will not come back

like Argentine
dinosaur
130,000 pounds

That was
metaphysical

There is no space sacred,
left to die

No time, cause
or substance

You can speak to me, unspeaking
without wires

There is no carrot
for the god

And death shall
not walk in the street,
on the shoulders
of dead dreams.

It was not a
mythical slip, when visuals
had no mirrors, no ink.
When I go into rage
flames will rise from the sea.

You will not count
the burning rings. History
repeats the rule of blood.
Skin alters the frontiers.

The insane love
demands your toes, so
you would not walk away
from the periphery of blue hills.

It was a civil war between
eyes and hands. Illusion of angels
opened the ground of burning pyres.

I have to find the pause
amid the illusion and delusion,
when the factual nouns alter the truths.

Why does fear enter the
door of judgement? The spirit?
You were forgetting the void.

You want more charity
from poor, collecting moon seeds
to brighten black walls.

*

My eyes become
lakes, you would walk in moon, when
monologue ends.

*

Why dip your fingers
in blood of sacred book
and drawing two wings?

After knowing you,
I want to unknow me.

Did you reach the
head of the mount to bring
a piece of god?

Nonetheless,
he went mad asking for
godliness in stones.

When I wake, make
me go to sleep again, among those,
who are slaughtered
by tongue.

Dig me deep. My bronze,
my blood, are going in a free
death, like the fall from
the mission.

The muted thoughts
go for you,
in loud echoes.

I do not speak.

Sometimes, I want to write
a folk poem, without name.

Anonymously, you want to
postpone the commitment
to accept the ******
of yourself,
the griever.

The towering belief―
that there were skeletons
on the grains, as the words
become verses.

A snowy ******
will take a knife, to bring
down the stars
when you sing centuries
of love.

In suddenness, I will
write a poem for you.

You had stopped at the
outset, like a black moon
opening up perfervidly.

Remote from the oneness
of life, a flame leapt up
to ignite the process of birth―
without perceiving.

Come let's meet at the
navel of the destiny.
I had the penchant of
burning myself.

You, who would never be
visible, I will dust all the mirrors
to find out.

Waiting for the festival to begin.

My poem done. The
blood night comes gingerly
I will stay awake-

to die every inch
in your purple dreams. O love
why it was scary?

Not my doing. This
utopia in fake play
chasing my verses.

A city burns.
The child carries the father
on his head.

The museum of skulls.
Nudes had blue veins
and scars on thighs.

The names were inherited.
Gettysburg water
refuses to mend the bones.

Ah, daisies are throwing
up the seeds in despair.
Civilization has come very far.

Progeny of death
were searching the mother
of all sins.

In my domain I am the child again
lost in labyrinth of stairways
unable to find my home.

A swarm of bees descends
gives anaphylactic shock
I am dead in my arms.

You carry a dead gorilla
on the makeshift scaffold,
somewhere a female was beating her chest.

Blood on the face of moon
my sobs will not stop
flowing in muddy streaks in pits of tattoos.

Eggs of blue bird were waiting
for the mother to come,
kids were on doormats.

It was always the salt lake.
No body was going to drown
wolves, sharks and men!

Yes it would remain
incomplete, my story―
my poem.

The henna speaks today
against unadulterated lies,
against the rage of
losing path.

No more the wrens
will sing, till the clouds don't send
apologia for not
sending the rains―

of blueberries. If I
were you I will turn the
bees into butterflies.

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.

You become absent in
repose..I try to rein in the
subterfuge in stranger's eyes.
There was nothingness. A chestnut
tree was refusing to let go
the nuts.

The phantom fight begins between the
daffodils. The sun had given
the borders, step by step, to
different colors. Still the bloom
weeps for its blindness. I will
not unmake me. The faith―

this winter was bad. The
deathmarks were evident. We
wait for something to happen,
ready to unroll the schizophrenia.

In a pair, they were flying:
two monarch butterflies.
Hither, thither―
Fluttering in synchronized wings.

There was a Stark effect
in silhouette. The fever rises
in the bush. Someone streaks
in the street after moon
Let us stop the mouths―
to remain open. A missile flies
above your head aimed
for the burial ground.

A nascent star screams.
There was yellow blood
on your hands. You had
squeezed the young fruits.

Nothing has ever happened
to me. I meet my road
daily in wilderness―

tasting salt.

The lake was frozen.
Surfing was not possible.
I was walking as if on cotton grass.

You think I have become a hope
in dark?

He used to dream
of date palms, covering
the defended wounds.

The scoli crab after
the fall will stay. It will
not change the referendum.

The neuter will not
form the trinity. I will
not hear the signals.

Night was not yet
dark to explore the moon.
My stars remain faded.

O country, the people
O planets, the goddess
of **** is dead.

When you stand still
in unbearable agony, the unquiet
dark starts settling
around me.

Why this crisscrossing of
ill-bred beliefs and credences?
Hacking of the circinate thoughts?
After the rolled up,
tip of pain lies in the center.

The dead leaves,
noises of the past-are gathering up
with ugly exhibits.

As origami, you fold it
and put it back
in ice box.There was no need
to decorate the death's crown.

Eyes half-shut
will not see the moon rise.

The prediction goes awry.
I wipe away an exotic
smudge on the paper.

I was trying to fight
venom of adverbs and
adjectives.

I want to retrieve my
poem, as it was― before
the digital onslaught of beheadings.

Give me my garden room,
baby moon and spotless
needles. My blood was blind.

I would come again in
my burial mode, when
your trenches are ready.

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.