Tethered to the Bo tree,
first I see you, then I don't. Silence was
my strength between you and me

Water in water gives you
a mirror of greying heart in heart. that
never stops the beat even after death.

Can you sing in pain?
The blood blocks the voice of god
birthing in the twilight of my faults.

There was no ending
of questions.
I *****, I miss.

Memory plays
tricks. I have come
afar in shrinking heights.

A face jumps
in mirror.
Cannot recognize me.

Aging eyes.
Moon. Fallen leaves,
wrinkled yellow, harsh winter.

Not a single line
was written today
on your lips.

End is drawing near.
I am trying to remember
where we had begun.

I want you, to know
yourself and start weaning
away from the moons.

No prosthesis will
work, I will run, run after
the fading sun for the
last kiss.

The raw wounds
don't need any bandages.

Like sandpaper
your hurting throat will
give a long call.

Wages
of alienation
were increasing.
We were afraid
of reflections.

Shifting
of landscapes
will hurt the river.
I was blinded
by blues.

Relationship
becomes a speech
impediment,
bonds start
breaking.

I wanted
to call your name –
in solitude.
The echo
reaches the whole sky.

The water drinks you
slowly in exile. Your land is thirsty.
I carry my pain behind my heart.

The memory remembers only
the burials. You cannot forget your
image. Time kills the lips.

I am always conscious. Questions
bite. Why you need self-deception? Ultimately
you get your answer in the dust.

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.

Is raining. Since night.
You have no claim on
dry lips. Wry stance. The
city walks slowly. Wasted
faces. You want to ****
the words, the profanities.
Want to unwrap the knife.

I don't need any flowers.
Always making faces. Too
Many boats in the sea of eyes.
Rowing, arowing. I am
Afraid. The fast currents. And
then my shirt becomes stained.
***** words.

You reach the bottom. The
terrible depth. Digging up
my body. Even my hands
become shovels. Slowly
I erase my name on the sand.
The sea has divided us.

Questioning yourself―
like a Spanish Inquisition.
Ruthlessly digging out,
the anatomy of arrogance.

No flavor. I speak
to myself of atypical
intolerance of a man in revolt.

The slavery of tongue will not go.

On the verge, the other
thought collapses. No longer
the heritage remains faithful.

Love suddenly becomes
stranger. You won't touch
yourself. The narcissism becomes suicidal.

The black song
empties the mind. You want to weave,
but air does not become green.

I stand alone. The cosmos
moves away.

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.

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.

When the various attempts fail.
You become a sage.

Always I will question
the unveiled moon, why anger was
surging in the disturbed night?

Let me complete
my story. Will you wait
for my final confession?

When my pain
morphs into a poem, I
will discover myself-
in your absence.

And when you put on purposely,
the pink- lipglow, I go lonely.

The gift of parting
was the death wish for a fluttering moth,
to fly towards the glittering flame.

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?

There was nothing to
do, except moon gazing, by
us, shades apart.

*

The words drink tears
and dreams had a satanic touch.
Curse within a curse.

*

The sands of time slip.
Past inspires the present,
of unholy future.

The dimension of ******-
phrenia gives birth to a heir. You
cross all phenomenal barriers.

Let me grieve again. You
were not what you appear to be, wearing
stone mask. Juvenile era ends.

The haze thickens. I
cannot see my hand to point out the
sparkling fire in your eyes.

Like half-brother
moon was following me.
Tonight the dethroning commences
on the murderous hills
of faith.

You grab a snowcloud
to refuse what you would be.
The animal that lives
in you has become silvery haired.
There was a terror of being isolated.

Earth was dying in me.
A bloodied machete―
travels across the lands,
riding on the tears, screams
and disembodied peans.

Lifting a sacred book
the hand trembles involuntarily.
Is it the homicide of bright sun?
Et tu, O man?

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!

In the dark night, you
look afar- the stars, to know
the Buddha's full truth.

Walking on tiptoes,
sun opens the door gently
to ****** your tresses.

Can you stop your heart-
beats to listen the footsteps
of a beautiful poem?

Spurned,
staring into a void-
for a door,
burning a sage.

Wearing a veil to ward off
the curse.

You start the baby steps
getting there, near the noose,
weighing the planks.

Now you are breathing fast,
getting a hit, counting
the hymns.

The corrupt booms
rise and fall.
An overt withdrawal
from the bet, to sacrifice the bliss.

White lilies washed,
in tears, let down the shawls.
You can see the holy vice.

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.

Listen to wind in
dark. I was hurting myself
not to kiss black rose.

*

There was blood under
the eyes for writing unknown
truths about a fall.

*

Time was not for myths.
The traveler resumes journey
to meet failed god!

Skin-hot, I will bake
my words to impress your unique
martyrdom- sans blood drops.

*

The apple on tree laughs.
It is not going to fall down-
in this Omniverse.

*

You conceive a
baby god in your mind to know
the eternal truths.

The summer moon with
poetry and musk.
I waited full evening
to become a coherent whole.

I wanted to quit, like
a Buddha, not to come back
in the baked mud house
where the sun would not break.

The earthen lamp with
a flickering flame, under the
holy basil, wants to die
before the moonrise.

Paralysed lower limbs
will make you sit like a god
on the altar, deaf and dumb.

You don't want to learn
about the red lips of the goddess.
Moon was bleeding heavily.

Sit in a lotus position.
Sky is going to fall.

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.

Today I will shed my body
and meet you halfway at watery address.
My eyes were not blinking to hold the clouds.

To live or not to live was a great pain.
Two small hands and two bubbling eyes
glued to a broken wall was my hope.
And glitter of the road,
fallen trees,
dead panther,
had sacrificed my sun.

I think I live to die daily,
and die daily to live again
over the enormous property of shame.

Melting in my own blood
I was becoming dark.
The night was dancing on my sadness.
Now it was me, shaking in remoteness
of a distant voice!

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.

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?

I see you in my arms
when you bloom like the hawthorn,
mayflower after making it to the peak.

You exist because the moon
exists. The tyrant of time will not die
easily. Solitude prints a saga.

A mystic romance flourishes.
The moonlight comes on tiptoes
to kiss the sleeping deity out of the temple.

Sometimes I do not
want to be talked about.
Like the setting sun.

The earthworm was busy
in turning the soil,
printing the seed's path.

I had removed, from
the house, all the clocks.
I wanted the time, to stand still.

My moment has not come.
In aloneness I will
find you in my shut eyes.

The dark night swims
once again, on the sea
to reach the boat.

You lay down your head on
the oars and go to long sleep.

I was rearranging
the things, in order
as if I will come back.

Ah! Life has
lynched my poems. I
feel- I cannot write
something beautiful.

A frenzied mob
calculates your height
and starts stoning at
an ***** totem.

The hardened rocks were
melting without fire
to submerge you and your
castle made of clay.

At sunset-point you
reach to stand in twilight
to morph into an alien!

I should not have been
there, where I am now.
The destiny was unscrupulously quiet.

Time goes in suspension
when I don't see you in me.

Flaunting the assets
of dwarf generation, you
**** the galaxy of stars brazenly.

Paraplegia. You break
the eggs in air to touch the placentae.

Twirled. I ask
the question, when your lips
will drown in ****** Buddha?

Out of reach, the honeybees
fly towards the ****** trees.

Like a ****** birth,
a poem floats
without any pain.

Superimposes, as if
on a face, like Mona Lisa,
with her mysterious smile,
longing a release from
the cycle of rebirth.

Are you going to reperform
for me, your silent
surrender, bewildering
a lost pilgrim?

Will you become a
sitter like a moon-faced, veiled
by crying clouds? I had been
trying to touch your lips, eyes.

This vicious assault
was for me. Stony eyes, and
the striking hood―
impel kleptomania.

To erase your subtle pangs.
You become ingrained in verses.

I will not speak―
a single word to come to terms
with the unknown.

But life extracts a price.
You must become a buddha―
and leave your princess.

You will not see―
the Apocalyse giving rise
to an opus. And my child
you cannot read my book.

The voiceless dumb
bell goes on ringing to send a
call for the faithful to come
and jump into the cauldron of moon.

I boil in the guilty sun.

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.

It was not,
just a kiss of a zodiac sign.
You had become a stranger
between fight and flight.

The trick was capricious.
Albeit, a calligraphy
on a bare tree, engrafting
your name which keeps
on growing with broadening trunk.

You watch the sky
at night and start a monologue.
The stars were expanding,
filled with grief. The
despair of going back home
in dark.

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.

It haunts.
You still want to see the―
beheading, piecemeal
in borderless pain.
The war had defrauded my life.

An unsoiled moon
was taking depressed steps tonight.
Faith healing had stopped.

Floaters swim again in view.

A forbidden place.
You do not want to visit the
Blood-soaked turf.

Darkness enters
the poem.

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?

Clapping with one hand,
when a suicide note was found
in the fist of a dead man.

I set the fire in my chest,
remaining again
unanswerable to you.

Inadequate was the
street sense, where the walls
go empty and meaning
was lost.

Take away my name,
my face, my legacy.I will
come back when nightingale sings.

Where was the law,
when you spoke truth
and lightning struck the temple?

It might happen- that
I become you, in your spring,
you remain winter.

It will never come,
my birthday, till your bright-
red lilies bloom.

The lips won't move
for a kiss of the black rose
under the blue moon.

Moon sleepwalks,
crashes head on the palms.
Hurls silver coins.


*

To respect you, I
will meet you here and there.
Will that do in dark?

*

Looking out at the
twilight, I would think of you,
in time, space and void.

Open the news paper
and find out that war has a set sequence
of going daily,
and has a negativity.

The physical shock, when
the earth trembles. Your body
becomes stone, hairs stand.
Light breaks through the twisted limbs.

I don't love the ritualism.
Time will not stay for you. My life
becomes your life. Sod
will receive the ashes of rage.

And you will delete the
presence, the touch, the dust
of departed fragrance. Once upon
a time, death used to be a song.

Stoma
opens, ejects the scream.

Oh, my god.
The ink spilled
on the sheet, hiding the code.

The scared veins
of pure honey, wets the lips―
of gills. There is no salt.

The water explodes
bursting the dam. No spine was
worth of robbery.

Golden nuggets
are displayed now. Would you
bargain the uphill?

The nightmares begin again.

Your freckles should not
go like innocence. Sun
was overlapping the galaxies.

I become whole for a while,
when you cry for the blueberry
moon in vain.

Why the night dips into your blue eyes?

No irony. I will wait
for you on the burning deck.

The schism was widening.
An animal living inside me
wants to raise his head.

The loser gets the inky jet
to cover his body. How about
getting a glimpse of lightning
walking down the road?

My pick,
I will keep on giving you my best,
after the fear bath.

The cosmotic pain
caves in. Hirsute limbs climb
the steep cut of fog.
I will not punish me anymore.

A nagging doubt lingers on.
How long the dark night will last?

It causes a nip
in your voice. You speak very faintly
to understand me.

The earthly smell of your bare lips.
wafts in. Was it a surrender?

You become misty.
You tremble, like a poppy in
scented wind.

Like a walking fern. I may touch you.

Roses had gone wilting
after surgery.
Biovision
of acrylic lenses
was projecting a corrupt green mount.
The rubber king had a papery laugh.

How you deal with a maverick –
matter – of – factly?
Pall bearers of a tall legend
were carrying nitroglycerine sticks
unfazed.

Saboteurs of moon night were scheming.
I was sick of pretentions.
Brown and black scars
become a honeycomb
hiding the agenda.

Stigmatized devotion gets back at you
after still birth of truth.
I will wait sine die for the verdict
of hope.

How will you be defining
a war, when you
meet without machetes?

Between real and fiction
lies a deficient bridge.
We will go for a walk to find―
the weak spots.

A dead city moves in its
entirety. You prepare yourself
to read the tea leaves.

The dregs were in power.
Why you were becoming schizophrenic?
Do not blow at the dead sparks.

How long the shadow now
you want to throw?

I knit the dreams in
your eyes. You draw a line on water.
Art opens the door for love.

What we lose if we catch the
flames between the unspoken words.
Before we part, poems will cry.

What is religion? A
commitment to carry the legacy
of blanks and halves?

In final journey, there
was a collective guilt.
To find an opus, I reach out
for a carbon pit.

It was not your grief
not my miracle. Collecting the
cadavers to sleep with―
for warmth.

Ashes, you poke at the
art. Except self-elevation
and grandiosity, what to discover
in the heap of refuse?

You start nibbling at your
clothes. The scream melts at
the stitchs. Style wavers,
you become naked.

The cat was finally
dead.
After a professional cut.

An infant injury
of the cadaver, will not speak

of the dead river, of elegy.

No life―
after the rite of passage.
You are confined in a coffin
buried in ice―
in north and south.

The space shrinks
between the screams.
A syncope overshadows the moon.
The howling starts.

Sometimes I will interplay
the secrets:
faded rose in a book,
a distant star spelling out
your name.

When I go, will you come
to my home?
Hold my eyes wide open
and become my iris?
I wanted to see the innocence of a sin.

Black stone on a white belly
petrifies the womb.
Maniacs were dancing on the petals
of marigolds.
A mauve revenge

Petit mal holds the sanity
of defeat.
Pheromones will decide the gender
of a flat chested angel.
Each thorn was crying.