To connect with a reclusive mind,
was an uphill task.
You become―
vunerable again.

Everyday the curtains
come down after the entry of
assassin bugs.

Long-legged, bloodsucking
predators would roam
and abduct the phrases.

The young turks break
the nest, petals strewn, a
rose dies in my hands.

My night journey begins
I let out a poem
to become my lantern.

There was existence,
without space.
I was afraid of my unborn child.

Inheriting the stammer
of history
I could not think of any brand abuse.

On the contrary, fumes
throw you off the road.
Full moon rising on the cleft.

I was, as I am, never being
to any threat of drowning
in contradictions.

A dignity in withdrawl
and coming back after sunset –
to walk in night, alone.

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.

There was the hunger
and suicide.
In favor of my brutal truth
or virtue of my failure,
I do not want any comments on my trauma.
Morality has a dubious equation
with power, provoking my anger.

The days were full of abandoned kilns.
No more shaping of containers
in which one can put the moon,
and honey and roses.
Everything was turning brown
with infinite, sulphur smelling teeth
ready to bite into golden flesh.

Convicts behind the walls were playing
with mirrors to throw the light on slick
towers. Death was laughing, waiting on the trees,
eating black berries.
And I was forced to taste the blood of sky
with sodium –
in sanctum sanctorum.

The ostrich problem
of catalepsy.
You go into a cocooned
opacity.

I will wait, till you
come out, ready to take a flight
for an oath ceremony.

The land suffers,
the sky weeps.

The shotguns would now decide
the boundaries of speech.

I will walk into the
sea of heads, to find the sunken ship,
to retrieve the faded road map.

I have to face a new testament,
how to remove this poverty
of right words.

Pupil was on parole.
You abandon the inexhaustible
patience with increasing distance.
Everything was fading
when you look back.

The things, always return.
Like you did not carry a bundle
of postcards written
by your father, while emptying
the house.
His carved signature is still
printed in my brain.

Now my grand daughter saves
the e mails sent by me. The woes
of a pilgrim. A neutral passage
with no feel. Some day a glitch
will wipe out the treasure.

We have changed the costumes.
The inside has raw palisades.

After descent was
a puerile attempt to save
the ******'s blues.

Blind faith kills one-all.
You bow down to touch feet of
semiclad idols.

Your half-grief to sell
the portrait of insane god
will go waste today.

As I accept the verdict,
the dead-soul beast―
jumps up, draws out the sword
and starts cutting the drift. You shout,
wake up from a nightmare.

The words had betrayed. Vowel
harmony was gone. Voice hoarse, you
stammer, accusing the city, the country
the century.

It was consensual. The suicide pact.
Cloth and body, print and color.
Paper and pen, bed and grave. The
moon had kicked out the feline.

The insomnia, now rules. You
start counting the sins. No stress,
no indecency, sleeping with
dead poems. A big explosion changes the fonts.

You go into long sleep.

Trembling…
the burning coal has gone to sleep,
before igniting the dry grass.

Eye to eye colliding
turning you into ophelian mess.
Light had gone back to black matter.

It was a frisk season―
in sick society. The hidden plaques
have come out in the blood stream.

You are now backtracking
on the uphill, ready to fall
from the green heights to connect with ground.

For keepsake I will
again unwrite the book
not mentioning the stillbirth of freedom.

It was not ending, not beginning
this fracas,
to search the exit.
Where to go where to.

The window
has jumped out
from the moon. what was
your ultimate? What was?

The cold-blooded
creepy object
discharging the virulent
flames virulent.

Migratory ink
always lands on the
paper, would not
move the words would not.

Talking of myths,
in dichotomy of grace―
when somebody said that
the facts were loose truths.

Your faith slumbers―
when you are awake. And
you, my door of night, will
wear the tears of dawn.

Not sharing the loneliness,
when I was dispensing the
laughs amidst the grief
of hills. The trees, the slopes
and seeds― that will never bear
the fruits.

And there, I did't want
to celebrate my unwritten epitaph
after completing the life
of falls.

And the neighborhood still
sleeps when I decide to walk away
towards the dark.

A thirst for seeing-
you again in sleep, dreaming
of sacred altar.

*

Making sacrifice
of all your proceeds of pen
and burn black roses.

*

Dazzled, the life was
jealous of you, walking among
jewels of fallen.

Aquilla. Would you
carry the burden
of ungiving?

Transmuted, I
will find you in portrait
of sublime?

And I will see in your eyes
a cosmos, floating in void.

But a primal question
remained unanswered, who were you.

Through the blue sky
and legends of dark, the
constellations squirm.

And I start believing
in God dust.

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!

Fear returns to
glass jars. The generic gap
flutters in narrow
basin.

The caged image. Regency
starts burning. The
divide widens. Your fidgety
fingers roll the stiletto.

Premonition. You condone
the crucifixion, beheadings. I
heal the broken limbs,
punctured hearts.

The striped, elegant walk
on the ramp. I dream of
empty bowls. The rubber
mannequin smiles.

How far you can go
to remain dumb and dare
to become legless?

Show me the spirit
once. The streak,
the clouds.

I will leave my
footprints in rose-garden
for you to follow my scent.

Neighborhood of
stilts. I wanted to stand
***** in marshes.

The time shrinks,
when you grow old. Years
come and go with generosity.

Take off the frame
of your mind. I wanted
to read your last wish.

Rethinking. Can
we reverse our love? I will
write my poems in blood.

To convey the intensity
of truth. The contents of the template
gives a strong picture.

What is the life of one's
undying spirit? Something
is the homecoming of pain.

Mauve detachment;
I wanted a short placenta.

The dust wants
to eat me. My legs give-
away, when sun goes
blind.

I will offer you
my dreams to nestle
in paws of destiny.

Don't walk on the
hot sands. They are going
to roast my poems.

I smell your pines
I drink your cones
Lake was inviting
the boat.

Mauve detachment;
I wanted a short placenta.

The dust wants
to eat me. My legs give-
away, when sun goes
blind.

I will offer you
my dreams to nestle
in paws of destiny.

Don't walk on the
hot sands. They are going
to roast my poems.

I smell your pines
I drink your cones
Lake was inviting
the boat.

I am defeated
by myself. My weaponless
democracy has failed.

By your own dignity
you carry a burning coal
in your hand to teach posterity.

A voiceless assault
of neoreligion spikes the truth
of armless lies.

Mountains want to
move. We have lost our
script of wordless commentry.

I say take away
my dead gods. Robots will
sit in temples of no gods.

When you shed face
I will wait for your rebirth
like Luna Moth.

Would have been
an achievement had you
remained human!

Why should we live
in different time circles
of awakening?

I am rolling down,
down, in dream, thinking of
you pulling a thorn.

A butterfly flirts.
You find shelter in pain. The
power wants to celebrate the dark.

The hands tell your
anxiety. They tremble while
holding a pen writing a name.

Coming to flawless, you
become blind like Iris searching the
sunflower at night. Was it the end of the moon?

After the light, in
moments of separation, death
salutes the dust to honour the embrace.

O king of the tears, I touch
your rain of red drops. The philosophy
of give and take was dead.

This life has become a shrine.
I will knit the words for requiem,
to paint the unblemished body
for vultures.

Empty punctuations.
Born without mating, like aphids.
You swim like a shark.
Predators wait for hidden lovers.

Live show
of a war
without army. I wanted to know
how much truth was there
in your lies.

Where you sit today,
there was a temple erected
on the- bones of ancestors.

Like stonehenges
in circle. Do you know, how
much I love you?

Picky and neat,
why did I raise you
above my head?

When words crack, tears
fall. There was an emotional void. You
were breaking yourself.

Renaissance. Did it start
at your door? You step out from yourself,
start throwing your parts to dogs.

Unsung our gods wait
for your arrival near black wall.
You have to write your name.

Your gifts, I do not want to keep.
Shapeless doves on the grass,
were ready to take a nascent flight.
My small hands prepare a daisy meal.

Dahlias will bloom when the sun climbs.
I pass the door, that moves like a
stranger, between the people,
looking out for black roses.

One by one the tribes are changing
the colors of flags.
Conversion into sleepless towers
watching the whistles blowing.

Do not throw dust on the graves
in the valley of golden stairs.
The voices are growing louder
after trampeling on the bones.

My poems do not reach
you. Night still burns my heart,
and undresses my wounds.

Half-human in the
pages of epics. I find faces of leopards
digging the tombs with gloved hands.

Do I frighten you my
love? My clairvoyance shows my hands
tearing away all the pages of history.

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.

Black names―
were on list. Bring the
French chalk to wipe out
the white board.

The list was still breathing
though you had faked your death,
and the birds had left their nests
for new perches.

Does it hurt you, when
you go hungry? Even the grass
was green. The prince
was watching the apple fall.

Who will climb the
brown hills of moon, to
witness the earth drop in
withering trails?

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.

It comes nearer
and nearer every night,
the face, like fog.

A cult of moon
spills the milk on the pink lips.
Salt and the honey.

Before fated
kiss of death, you pluck,
roses from eyes.

Take heart I say
to myself, leaning against
the wall to end sorrow.

Solar year, O red
and green pain, don't invite the
wounds. Don't cry moon, don't.

Standing in the pulpit
I invoked peace to stop the hands
of clock. Time was moving very fast.

Take heart I say
to myself, leaning against
the wall to end sorrow.

Solar year, O red
and green pain, don't invite the
wounds. Don't cry moon, don't.

Standing in pulpit
I invoke peace, to stop the hand
of clock. Time was moving fast.

Not sensual.
Searching you in daffodils,
like four-leaf clover.

This dysfunctional life,
ought to have given me once,
a piece of moon.

Crammed skull, sometime
gives an abrupt
pause. I become a stone.

Walls separated us.
I would not cross the
river of inferno.

Can we laugh
together, before we peel
the oranges to make
our eyes blink?

Far away was your
home. Do I give you to
moon from love to pyre.

I myself make me
cry in loneliness of strange
words. Nightshade stabs.

**** picture of
nasty stings were ready to
slice you half and half.

The nebulae would
blind you to tract the alien's
footprint on your chest.

My thumbmark was
sufficient to give
order of beheading of black roses.

Dying inch by inch
to catch you between the poems
before night ends.

Life changes words
without sounds and vowels.
You will not find truth.

Create a wound
for me to print image
of fall from honeycomb.

Dying inch by inch
to catch you between the poems
before night ends.

Life changes words
without sounds and vowels.
You will not find truth.

Create a wound
for me to print image
of fall from honeycomb.

You have taken back
what you had given to me.
I offer my sleep to your eyes.

Shared pain was tangled.
Love takes the defeat. The temple
is demolished under moon.

A chandelier crashes
with piercing noise. Pink glow
vanishes from cheeks of sun.

You have taken back
what you had given to me.
I offer my sleep to your eyes.

Shared pain was tangled.
Love takes the defeat.The temple
is demolished under moon.

A chandelier crashes
with piercing noise.Pink glow
vanishes from the cheeks of sun.

Searching hegemony
by a lazy eye was not
an easy job for you.

Like an impromptu
attack by a bald eagle
for a small bite.

Let's talk to burning
moon of the dark sky for a
thought of becoming.

The name between the
dots, was it you,
my lost Firebird?

Listen, I cast off
my knighthood and wear
the tattered cloak to meet
my other self.

Stoke the flames. I
will burn my hands. Do not
weep for my books.

Who will write the
epitaph, when the grave
was desecrated for unknown sin?

The roaring fall
of empire― resonates
with the weeping clouds above
and bleeding earth below.

In your nirvana
border pains continue to
find inner peace.

Hope has no flesh
and bones. Difficult to
tame my blue body.

A butterfly lands
on your lips to cover
eternal smile.

Somebody had put the feet
against the flame,
the street had become a wall.

Commitment had failed,
the doors were locked.
Collective guilt was seeking favour.

Repeating the same story
blurs the sky.
Sun will not come out.

You are speaking.
He was speaking.
Truth was speaking.

Solitude and silence
come before the summary.
I was responsible for myself.

Earth refuses to conceive –
fire in veins.
Doves had stopped flying.

Your lips were me.
I wanted a kiss
which never came.

Insertion of a word, was committed
my wings took a flight
for anonymity.

To keep suffering alive
truth was accepting the hurts.
I was not speaking for myself.

Who was me to want a praise
for the custodian of morality?
Something for my name?

I must salute the fallen fingers,
who did not write death –
for my hugging blankness.

Like pine needles,
you *****, draw blood-
doing the beauty.

Between an angel
and angelina, there stood a wall.
Ah! A religion also.

You are asked
to smear the bone ash on
forehead, and drink moonlight.

Cannibals. All the gods
were cannibals, devouring
their progeny.

You turn back and
give a last glance before
going for a faux pas.

Not a heartache-
for a faun, you were too
proud to accept the gift.

Like pine needles,
you *****, draw blood―
doing the beauty.

Between an angel
and angelina, there stood a wall.
Ah! A religion also.

You are asked
to smear the bone ash on
forehead, and drink moonlight.

Cannibals. All the gods
were cannibals, devouring
their progeny.

You turn back and
give a last glance before
going for a faux pas.

Not a heartache―
for a faun, you were too
proud to accept the gift.

Distrusting a
sure rise of moon―
if clouds were there.

From inside
a voice comes to haul
a burning sun.

If you open the
dark room, would you
find the tether?

The beast roams
in night, to escalate the
violence of sleeping truth.

Killing myself
creating a new man, breadth
by breadth without birth.

Ash smeared on your
forehead, you move towards setting
sun. Flames write your message.

On the chest of dead.
There will be no past, no future
in the dust of fallen warriors.

Killing myself
creating a new man, breadth
by breadth without birth.

Ash smeared on your
forehead, you move towards setting
sun. Flames write your message.

On the chest of dead.
There will be no past, no future
in the dust of fallen warriors.

And my love, when do we talk
of wilderness
and daisy blooms?

The snakeskin―
twirls, and I watch the
wriggling night moving away.

I swallow the
empty words. They are not
heavy and no concoction.

The body and desires.
I have let then slip away,
my dreams, my knocks.

Against the dying of
blueberries in your eyes,
I will not wash the stains.

The curve of umbilicus
still remembers the dazzling
fall.