Constrained.
The starlings will
not fly today.

There was a hole
in the sky.
The god particles will fall.

Drawing out
the blood of fallen―
angles, on the street.

Can you count
the sins of man?
We still celebrate the hate.

One scripts one's
own doom, standing at the
bank of a dried river.

Bone china reflects
the destiny of ‘being' in war
of grounded ships.

Limbs take you back
to the ruins of young night
outside of moon.

One scripts one's
own doom, standing at the
bank of a dried river.

Bone china reflects
the destiny of ‘being' in war
of grounded ships.

Limbs take you back
to the ruins of young night
outside of moon.

Time eats the winter, to―
rebuild the fallen ally
of solar storms.

You refused to accept
the incense of disdain, while
carrying the lover in your muse.

Like dandelion's seeds
with downy tufts, your eyes laugh.
Lips pursed, you do not want to go insane.

The need to break was
very strong. I lose myself in a pause.
should shift for another niche.

There was a conspiracy.
Moon was going for a walk―
with another suitor.

Mauled, with no
known crime. Autumn wanted
to take revenge.

God's will, not the brown
eye's dilemma, to **** the
venom of moon.

How long the struggle
will continue to understand
the color of blood?

Mauled, with no
known crime. Autumn wanted
to take revenge.

God's will, not the brown
eye's dilemma, to **** the
venom of moon.

How long the struggle
will continue to understand
the color of blood?

This was an elegy for a
fallen tree. Salt of my body collects on
the skin. An aphrodite walks on the ****** trail.

The daughter of the moon
cries gently. Under the snow storm,
what was the legacy of hiding the sun?

You rise like a volcano
to engage me. Put the thoughts in
mind-space to communicate with your soul.

Unclench your fist.
Release the fireflies.
It is getting dark.

The moonflowers
are in full bloom, opening
at dusk till noon.

In the morning
I will unlock the moon
to go back its home.

Let me go into long pause.
I want to dig my consciousness.

How many intimates
you need to share the hyphenated
half-bloods of air born myths?

Surrounded by lacerations
I go dim, and then I invoke
you to come and sit beside me
to look straight into my eyes.

Days are ripening and months blending.
We listen to the unheard calls.
Can you see through me
to find the depth of my blues?

Wind hides the replies. You
go unhinged, suspended in
sun, waiting for the sunflowers to
bloom after the dark.

I often forget myself and become you.

You need a permanent
truth. I don't want to learn anything.
My world is not sober.

I am meeting Buddha
daily. How to take out the blood
from the dead god? The bones melt.

At random, one chooses
hemlockbetter than you putting your
hand in a vessel full of venomous snakes.

It was not mental,
when you said, ―
in solstice, the body
and the physics of ashes become
one, the duality is lost
and indentation removed.

This fall it was a freak
weather. The tangerines are
covered with accusing ice. The
insomnia has set in the trees.
No body was sleeping
in gray.

Do not forget the prayer.
Retroactivily you can be pardoned.

Two kisses for a golden
lie. Don't manipulate the shelter.
The Moon will take rest in my poems.

Song of sparrow has
died. I am bewildered. From where
I start writing glory of sunrise?

My every nerve trembles
when I gather the dried jasmines,
you dropped saying goodbye.

Two kisses for a golden
lie. Don't manipulate the shelter.
Moon will take rest in my poems.

Song of sparrow has
died. I am bewildered. From where
I start writing glory of sunrise.

My each nerve trembles
when I gather the dried jasmines,
you dropped telling goodbye.

Sorcery comes handy
when you start
beheading the sunflowers.

The mountain goes bald,
qualifies for the
******. I set a bronze―

lover on the pedestal to
arrest the muffled
voices, coming from silent cries.

The grace was missing
from the artifacts, you pluck
from the freezing lips.

Stones are falling.

Millions of words.

No meaning.

Weep every don.
All the translations were fake.

The yellow peaks do not burn the
sky, now at sunrise.

I am forgetting myself―
in the gathering of my foes.

The pilgrim's path is now *****.
You cannot transcend the―

dead remains of ancestry. In
the hutment, that was the end of view.

Nightblindness. I cannot fathom
out the saint descending a great depth.

From beastkinds I swim back
to save an unborn epic.

What would you like
to wear, when oracle's
prophecy comes true.

Temple of pure love
was coming up, but there
was no deity.

You wouldn't think,
what I was thinking often.
Last night I slapped myself.

The black moon
rattles, after its message
goes into flames.

Can you talk
in piecemeals, surrounded
by smokescreen of words?

A baby nightingale
sings awkwardly. There
were clouds, no rains.

Standing alone
in darkness of stairwell
searching light.

You were not immortal
I had lost my speech
in my pain's birth.

Why it had to
happen, altering the genes
of unborn progeny?

I miss my divine
peace. You say nothing.
Space between nights shrinks.

We were scared.
Sun was hiding. I re-send
my prayer. Never pick
the meaning.

Landed into a pi I―
am still struggling to
sort out, what did I lose
in vocabulary.

It was a functional deficit
of a low profile. I
have come to speak for
the fallen year.

The new dawn brings the
red poppies. You can squeeze
the milky sap from the
crown.Each moonrise―

will give you heavy dreams
laden with anxiety and despair.
Somewhere you fight the
inequality of inheritance.

The words always betray
when you stand tall.

Alter ego,
you were my broken
mirror.
From where do we start
watching crescent moon?

Where the poet
will go in search of ink,
to reshape the words of solace,
living out of truth?

O, incredible! Your
maiden steps had faulted
to reach the vanity
of glittering heights.

How will you fill in
the blanks, blindfolded?
Sun had already gone down.

The art of wooing
the moon. Will you
actualize for me, this floating
in sky?

This obsession
will not go― ever, never.
Like the everblooming Van Gogh, haunts
me.Moon in the wheat fields?

Great, I will find
some brown sugar to make
life sweet.

A poem has the
prowess of a tiger in rage.
It takes hold of you like
a carnivore.

I always walk
a thinking moon. One day
I will ask him how to release
the destiny encased
in amber of your eyes.

One day you should
paint me blue, when the
sun sets on the lake for
a final dip.

My grey skin
melts in your hands to
interpret the viscosity of
trembling heart.

Don't give any
testimony against the unseen
****** of a golden deer
drinking water from
your cupped hands.

As if you had kidnapped
my profile to live
just beautifully,
and then be mourned.

To swim, first you
have to dive in a dry pool
of pain. Weird thoughts
like aphids would make young'uns
without mating.

The violence was inborn.
It spurts when your animal
comes out beastly. No
god would come to your rescue.

Thinking must be unstained
when moon drops anchor.

In this lonely sky,
no songbirds are flying.
Only stars are killing each other.

I am burning my fingers again.

Deep and black were
pains, making an arch to give you
presence of roses.

Portraying the slavery of
love. No need of heart's moon.
A thorn whisks away the wish.

I warn you to bury
the knife along with the burial of
my poems. I have never seen the blood.

I would dream every night.
Are you there among the crushing
artifacts? The ruins―

had entered into my
bones. The erosion demands
the price of tomorrow.

Make it easy the severance
of my right arm. Blood does not
frighten me. It was donated.

I have frozen fears. I cannot
touch you. Not in day light.
Darkness will carry my
poems to you.

Blank papers will weep
for unwritten end of the naked
truths. Plasma will dry up.

There is no bone marrow
to be investigated for graft.

The thirst will know,
the river was there.
To lie on the grass was ultimate.

It was not the green,
it was not the blue,
but desire had the keyhole to look
at the fine sands,
where you stand to find the
elixir of life.

A crackling of joint, awakens
you. You will not wait
for the rains to come and overwhelm
the permeable umbrella.

A fluttering butterfly
knows, how to become floppy
and dangle like a dead leaf.

The stream was
drinking its own water.

The dangling moon
behind the ornate gate
waits for beheading.

*

Indeed I had
called you in dark to change
the name of slaughter.

*

Blood tastes salty,
when words were sweet, slicing
the white lilies.

Snow and Sparks. Methane
burns. I will scramble for the
moon in dark woods.

The desires leave
the scars in dreams. I walk in
sleep to touch you.

Where the world was
going? You dismember the
frog's limbs. No rapes.

Snow and Sparks. Methane
burns. I will scramble for the
moon in dark woods.

The desires leave
the scars in dreams. I walk in
sleep to touch you.

Where the world was
going? You dismember the
frog's limbs. No rapes.

Being cheated by
a moon in dark night
of winter.

A corruption of
my name makes you
everlasting.

Would you ever know
the spirit of surrender,
without giving yourself away?

In the start, there
were no signs. Only eye contact
with adrenaline rising.

Because I will not
know you, sparingly
silent footfalls
of rain will overwhelm.

There are shadows
growing under your eyes.

Privy to my crypt
O paragon!
I turn around in my ashes.

And take a rebirth.
Inextinguishable
was my desire―

of gravid pain. Life
opens a new book of
unmeanings.

Will not call you by
any other name.
I will set you free today.

Through discreet,
stenosis. I will move
in your veins till eternity.

A pure ****―
I vibrate to
catch the last glimpse of the ocean.

No more partisanship
with hatchet.
Better if you come like
a scorpion to give a taste.

You can hang the darkness
of space―
daring the sun.

Gone blank. This was
a self-inflicted wound to
attain liberation.

No use to remain deeply
flawed in the jaws
of a croc.

Once, high you sail, for
resurrection, faith
tumbles down very fast.

Telling the truth
was becoming difficult. You want to
become a cult.

A sinister design takes
hold of a satanic urge. You
start throwing the limbs.

Was it an emotional upheaval?

The train whistles by.
You are ready to board. Unsleeping
you will rhyme with the wheels.
Home was left behind. A hollow
tree waits for you to become another Buddha.
Fantasy moves beyond the fiction.

Irises move to close
the pupils. They want to become nuns.

The coffin was empty.
A cadaver morphs into an angel.

Deep gaping. For that
you go to eat fire like cassowary.
The dragonflies float to hunt the stars.

My voice will not die
after the call of the sky. Where is requiem?
Has the hate been buried in water?

I will survive with
kingfishers, though hurt in catching
the stones, while making a wall of flowers.

In a frame of a―
window, I watch
daily, a saddest,

star, and a palm
holding the clouds
like an Atlas.

No winds. The
bougainvillea still
drops the colored bracts―

in wait of moon―
unheeding the advice
of bright sun.

Ah, the statecraft of
present times, was becoming
agender.
The strength of institution
would lie in old oil paintings.

You become stupid
and start living in dark rooms
to understand the sun.

Half-beliefs were―
cooked straight from the
sermons of striped coats.

The delusion was
simple. There was camphora
to revive the fainting glory.

My human conscience
will not allow me to go for eye for an
eye. Not proper to make a shrine.

Have you learnt to
live? Life is always struggleful. Go
greek. I will not give my pain to you.

You become possessive,
when you are empty handed and you
want now to hang from a mango tree.

In time-lapse, I will
watch you again at sunset,
when tiny drops of evening rain
fall on molten lava of angry earth.

The desert will suffer
in cool moonlight, without shade.

You set free the tiger, into
wild. He will not come
back to smell the cage.

The affairs, bloom or die
between man and beast. But
new born anxiety lives.

You are coming of age, in
between cacti with their exotic blooms
and piercing thorns.

The cobweb is spreading,
complicated, three dimensional.
The large, hairy tarantula waits.

A sacred lotus emerges
from the navel, while you rest
on trembling waves. I am shedding
my leaves.

The knotty hole. Center
of the earth. A shell
breaks inaudibly in the churning ***.

The pledged promise was
deep. Pole's red aurorae stream
in new birth.

Was it necessary to take
an oath under the bo tree―
to become a sacred Buddha?

It *****. Fake or genuine?
I am searching the faces of whites,
browns and blacks. Who
wants to be buried in a nameless
grave of a soldier?

How we had started
hiding from each other, your
green lies and my dark truths.

*

Moon had crossed my
path when sea was boiling and
you- searching a boat.

*

Who saves the tears,
when there was cloudburst, in
last leg of journey.

Again a forest
walks, wounded and broke.
I sculpt a poem.

To get some relief
of truth, give me a vedic
hymn, Beethoven script.

The spring waits in
the buds of chest. When love
sprouts, look at the moon.

A ****** kiss
of Karma, turns the page.
Acid-burned, my hand
hold the pen.

And I think of
the beautiful orchids trying to
find a home.

Night was pregnant
with the moon.
The execution will follow.

An arrow finds
a path, which leads you
in fog of baby steps.

Adoration lived in
the narrow eyes of firefly.
The dark bush sways in
flightless arms.

Embrace of an
angel goes amorously
tense. Negation leaves a
deep wound.

There would be no exit-
of the trembling pain,
live on the flames.

Night was pregnant
with the moon.
The execution will follow.

An arrow finds
a path, which leads you
in fog of baby steps.

Adoration lived in
the narrow eyes of firefly.
The dark bush sways in
flightless arms.

Embrace of an
angel goes amorously
tense. Negation leaves a
deep wound.

There would be no exit-
of the trembling pain,
live on the flames.

You were not normal.
Relentlessly you were trying
to kiss the flame.

Agni, goddess of fire
still invites. When nightingale
comes, you undo earthly pain.

To recover the lost
poem, black rose still haunts.
A jewel twirls in your brown eyes.

Erotica? No beyond
that. A desire sits on the lips of
bee-sting, the words wait.

Sylvia Plath, where
are you. I have still not
understood you. The Venus cries.

A scream comes from
the shooting comet. Your poem has
become a prayer.

The tonsured moon
rubs with sooty heart of a satan.
Life will never be the same.

Mirrors become *****.
I don't want to see the reflected
faces of stars landing on earth

A conspiracy of the sort.

This is what I wanted
from you.
Abandoned in space―
between the eyes, you were
supposed to lead the humble light
for an elusive peace.

I was lost in the
lexicon of intrigues, the
nest of prudence of the
proverbial lap dance.

Standing at the gate
of morgue, waiting to receive
another caravan of
pseudo remains.

Like a Spartan, you will
not retreat, not bend, your feet
near the grave― still standing *****.

Like wasps the green words would zoom.

When you plant the
crimes, the song of stone reaches
ripeness. The blood seeds come.

Why is aging destroying
everything? Mushrooms are saddened.
The fumes are rising again.

A cancerous lesion was
yours in burning days. The skin
is changing color. You have to explain.

Perfect domes―
beehived.

An alien sitting in
Mona Lisa? Do you believe in the
pshyche of a beekeeper?

A vision. The future tense
retrieves the past glory of tenseless era.
The mimicry will do its own job.

A freak incident. Earth was
moving. Corned bodies riding on lead.
You must fill up the blanks to―
prepare for lethal descent.

Idolatry. Every cult becomes
a new idol. Hate-filled sermons.
Yestersins will pay
for the mortgage.

I am trying not to
think loud, analyse, undress scars.
Tremors will answer.

Not understood well.
Will write charity of giving
blood to unborn poems.

Sounds and dust have
no names. I bounce back
to claim my right to unspeak.

In shadow of moon―
amidst banal, repeated answers,
you take a shot.

Moment of truth―
dissembles, the religion
of fear and ****. I hear

a sea of daffodils
going wild.
After the aching, The vision is lost.

You revert to bind
alleys. Between faith and hope
flickering light waits.

You stir and churn,
breach the obscene party
and go for a god.

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.