What was that in your
eyes, which still haunts me in
evening of life.

You will not say, I
will not know where the story of
wailing song bird ends.

The first dark cloud of
Monsoon, becomes messenger―
of the young drowned moon.

Let's go and collect
the gifts of parting kisses.
Deliverance stops.

A street sense awakens
the purple rage.
Ah. Bougainvilleas,
the winter has set in.

There was no encounter.
No bloodshed.
Only bloodstones were displayed
for sale.

A domestic brawl
between the religious signs.
Each sun-flower should
have a separate name.

The pomelos will not
come this season.
There was war between
the brothers.

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?

Moon, eye of
night, will watch
your mandarins.

Deep orange-red?
No.I would
prefer hard cider.

Daisy has a
flair to wink―
in bright sun.

A netter on
prowl, for wingless
butterflies.

I plant my last kiss
on the wall of mausoleum,
and turn back to face the
inevitable transparency.

Like a birthmark―
you stick to me for an eternity.
Honeyed tongue swaps
a blue. I am not a path,
only a candle in the wind.

Moon-washed your face
swims in my black eyes.
I search my genes
in you, for an answer.

In poetic jargon, with
broken wings, I take a flight
to that horizon, where
my aura ends and your spell begins.

Blameless-you spin,
and break into hundred of shards.
They become stars. I remain
stranded at sunset.

It was like a combat
exercise at sunset.

I won't call any deity
for my prayers,
and expect to survive
the blasphemy.

No, there was no carnality.
How could you take
your own creation?
An affair with your own shadow?

You always loved the
hidden meanings,
unstitching the wounds.

Seeking an endless
peace for a pilgrim, climbing
a river of quivering eyes.

A tongueless marionette
does not need the strings.
The Barbie doll may not crumble one day.

Your chair is unoccupied.
I am waiting for you to come.
But you will not.

Why does it happen?
When I touch you, you are not there.
A silent poem writes your name.

Untouchable was your
pain. An eagle hovers in the blue sky
to pick up the child of death.

Do not unveil the
wound of errors.
Let me in-
in your green eyes, where
the goddess weeps.

The terror changes
the polarity. You were in chains,
fighting the demons of sea.
Unlike moon, a star
plunges in valley of tears.

Who will measure
the depth of fall, from the
edge of life? Time has the
wings of golden eagle. It
flies on the peaks of thoughts.

And the merciless
gray of dementia wipes
out the words.

Do not unveil the
wound of errors.
Let me in-
in your green eyes, where
the goddess weeps.

The terror changes
the polarity. You were in chains,
fighting the demons of sea.
Unlike moon, a star
plunges in valley of tears.

Who will measure
the depth of fall, from the
edge of life? Time has the
wings of golden eagle. It
flies on the peaks of thoughts.

And the merciless
gray of dementia wipes
out the words.

I have to say
nothing to more than my hundred
poems, who will want you.

From a star to the
moon, a river flows to touch the
untouched immortality. But the sun dies.

What is the meaning
of life? Will you smile or cry? Tell me
the external pain has turned white?

I feel the deja vu.
The mysterious cascades
give the amnesty to thorns

Were you ready to ambush the
bete-noire? We don’t know how to
celebrate the colossus Himalaya .

The god doesn't want
to inhale the ether and **** the
bushmaster. Venom turns milk.

Not fragile, I always
move forward. Theologically, I
will prove who looks behind me.

I remember you. The
morning is still dark. The dust still
covers our peers in the storm.

Rilke, how did you
find the power of will? I do not
wish to write the holocaust again.

You don't walk with
the time opening the heart. Somewhere
the earth cracks in the dark age.

Is it the end coming?
I will be taking an aim at the
moon. There was a fear of homicide.

At my ninety I plan an
apology. The myths are still surrounding
me. This is the language of cheetahs.

A poem dies in me.
I search for you again
deep in my breast.

The initial spurt of
the raging thought―
sleeps on the rags.

With scrawny fingers―
you write a verse of―
moon in night.

The half-moons rise
in the vacant looks
like venus flytrap.

Do not pluck the―
blood roses. My fingers
were still bleeding.

A single line,
undefined, hangs
to make your life vulnerable.

The drifting starts.
You fumble for the right―
text,

to convey the urgency
of a moratorium. The
dew on the grass,

was not ready to
accept the rainbow of
false promises.

Flat refusal comes
from the deprived homes.
The poverty has become a sin.

The elegant procession
of the king was throwing
dust in our eyes.

The faint scars were
becoming green. I remember
my bewitchment of me―
not becoming.

Like pine needles. I
will ask my muse, to confuse
me with some shock depriving
me of aura.

Why do you enter my den
to enrich me with golden words?
I go crazy in phrasing―
the stars and mouthing the moon.

It was a charisma. In my
stasis, I tend to forget me,
start wearing your voice.
Will you some day ask, why?

On silver stairs sits
a marathoner.

Tell me exactly, the
real meaning of love!
Don't say it is flower lei.

It is also not a hornet's
breed. Will you take my shelter
one day? Truth was not worth it.

Who fathered satan
I ask? I don't recall you
O my god ! What happened?

Something genderless
lives in me. My body was a screen.
The pain travels in blue veins.

When you are bathed
in tears, I become you. Is that true?
The procession rusticates the dharma.

Why coexistence starts
the fight domino style and
wears a living ghost to change the god.

Dying with minutes
in dark, when the sun
prepares to leave.

You cannot ****
history. It had happened
on the skin of freaks.

At midnight, I will give
a call to unseen, unheard
egoist, to forget anger.

Dying with minutes
in dark, when the sun
prepares to leave.

You cannot ****
history. It had happened
on the skin of freaks.

At midnight, I will give
a call to unseen, unheard
egoist, to forget anger.

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.

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.

Tell me exactly, the
real meaning of love!
Don't say it is a flower lei.

It is also not hornet's
breed. Will you take my shelter
one day. Truth was not worthy of it.

Who fathered the Satan?
I ask. I don't recall you
O my god! What happened?

Water has no feet.

With cupped hands,
I will pick up
the crying baby.

When stars
go to sleep, I hear you
in dark, wandering
like amusk deer.

In a book
I will keep your eyes.
When you cradle in
Selene's arms, my thoughts
will catch a poem.

Once your mind
was not occupied with
my image, a fly of poison
bit me.

I was never the same again.

The glass eye looks
at moon, caves in moonlight,
to hurl the flames.

*

Bright pink will have
collision effect on you
to lose me at dawn.

*

No grass, no palms in
path of self-immolation,
when sun was cooling.

In memoirs,
I send you my poems,
from this insane world.
You can hurt me again.

Like a stone
of an unknown, I will
wait for you, for a potency
climb to understand the resurrection.

Life will extract its price
from you when you
are passing through a burning
heap of skeletons.

Your unending romp was
over. Night was getting ready
to wear a ceremonial gown at
the wedding of the genius loci.

Moon starts licking his wounds.

Something unsaid
will remain between the words.
I pick up the dots.

Drink the rain first.
Dawn will wait behind the moon.
Cobra's hood frightens.

Time was running
out. Boat may run aground.
Sea was my friend.

Poaching on the brooding landscape
you crashed while scaling the flame.
A togetherness became a half-truth.
How troubled
I had been for basics.

Then shifting loyalties for petty things
you were holding up my soul,
and I did not move with the changing times.
For the rivers
to walk with green trees.

If the words had the answers
to rebel against the eternal guilt,
to beat the death with pain.
Fighting
for the faded truths.

My experiments with lies will continue!

Angina, after
the vessel broke,
tumbling out all the gifts.

You will take a long walk
thinking about the moon
in wilderness of lonely trees
of mid December.

There were no blood-
spots on the street, after the
removal of hoofers.

You would not under-
line the red verses. The stray
full stops alter the pain.

When you repeat
the names, I start forgetting
who were the sinners.

Like a lifeless child,
clasped around the breast,
moon was coming up
in the sky with fastened cloud.

A frozen embryo-
has become a supernova.
The democracy makes
everybody poor.

Slithering, your face
becomes a mask, to hide
the bruises of
mangled truths.

The vision takes a
new turn to liberate the
psyche from the trap
between our eyes, where
the sun sets.

Will you give me an
abstract of the ****** of a blind
well? I always jumped into an ocean.

It ejects me on the sand.
The second *** intervenes to start
bargaining of dreams with the moons.

The global pain moves

Spitting the blood, he said,
every winter for few days –
he would feel outcast and there was
pain in the idea of pain, but he wanted to live
without a painkiller.

Sometimes he will singe his hands on a flame
to protect his dignity. The history of his
unrest remaining untold. Then he will go
out in rains of knowledge and soak himself
in mixed joy.

A lump in the throat hurts, when he
tries to decipher a dream to measure
the life. A liar knows the complete death
of a truth to assert his independent existence
in myth.

A deadly poison of the choosing,
your own microclimate, aggrandizement
of royal tradition, makes you popular in masses.
They surge to touch your gown, ripping
the explosion.

Being outsider,
you will not be excused.

Deluded perfectly.
This was a holy crime to be
burned out.

You can walk
round and round around the bed,
in search of sleep.
This night was yours.

I had embarrassed
the moon. It was watching me
from the window with a quizzical look.

Of meager existence
an asteroid wants―
to beat the sun.

The palm holds the secret of orbs.

Unfinchigly, I come
to explore the reason for fall
to explain the expired truth.

See you from evening
to moon, the unknown secrets of
incidents to open the pages of rare love.

I sleep in the books
to become a transgender. The home
has masculinity to **** the sparrows.

For a believer, it
was impossible to fill
in the blanks. We were
the rarest pygmies.

Afraid of each other,
trying to demolish, the windows.
We scramble for awords.
We remain unstable.

Don't move, don't
touch me with your sacred
hands. I break down when
I **** my poems.

I shall wash my
hands again and again.
The stigmas won't go
in icy moonlight.

Water grieves for
the moon, it will not get
the honeydew.

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.

When you become
a question, I had
no answer.

Lingering in secret
alleys, I turn to
fragile defence.
And a bird is shot down.

There was no time
to hold the time of arrived, for you
to come late to join
the festival of home coming.

You were me, once
upon a time. No I don't change
the game, when the gun
was pointed at me.

There will ne war
In death, you will ultimately
become deathless.

Your body, intense―
eats the sins,
dedicated to hunger OF temple.

Weeping windows
will speak for ground zero
from where you picked up the rosary.

Would you invoke
the spirits of owls, who would
not open their eyes in day light?

This was the thought
of the moment. I hail
the half-finished kiss.

There was an allegro
in the outskirts of moon.
I wanted to wear a mark.

Your body, intense―
eats the sins,
dedicated to hunger OF temple.

Weeping windows
will speak for ground zero
from where you picked up the rosary.

Would you invoke
the spirits of owls, who would
not open their eyes in day light?

This was the thought
of the moment. I hail
the half-finished kiss.

There was an allegro
in the outskirts of moon.
I wanted to wear a mark.

Red horizon―
had bite-marks
of setting sun.

On the table,
I will place all my oblique wares
for a change.

You embrace the strange
things, horns and all. The
dissection was accurate.

A multiplex opens the
gates for all the
lipless gods.

The maddening silence
of the priest was
deafening.

I will not come near the skulls.

Listen,
take your call.
You can smell the
musk of a wandering deer.

Retrieve,
the lost soul of
the wounded age. Ravens
are increasing in number, waiting.

The grace,
disappearing fast. The
random silence, in terrible
commotion, remains unheard.

I step outside,
my body, my thoughts,
on flat earth. You touch
a poet's dilemma.

On your bones,
lies a small bundle
in white, of the future
child- stillborn.

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.

A streak of sin,
just as culpable,
gives back my pains.
A half-finished poem
jolts me out of my vision.
Someone drops the moon―
and becomes evident in mist.
A profile floats. I
imagine the spreading smile.
I want to understand myself.
The colors blend. Have
you read Rilke? You will not
rise from the surface of―
life and death.
Authenticity has become
rarer. Copyright to **** is
religion. An aquiline nose
smells the prey.

A wreath of skulls
you want to hang on the wall.

I don't want to
lose the skin.
The land was bleeding.

Mars mission. A very
lonely flight, pulls me down.

Do you have a
pearl knife?
Small talisman, you used to wear
when you were a child
to ward off the evil spirits.

A buttonless chest. The map
you drew on the torso was tense.
The woods were nowhere. Only
the dry sands.

I wanted to make a slit in the stone,
to release the holy water,
but it was only tears―

Throwing the prosthesis, he jumped for
numericals, refusing to expand,
walk with father of sorrow
the revolutionary.

He wanted to talk as an equal
in interpretation of truth about death
and God, the new incumbent
of faith.

An aptness to spill the blood on
your face, of some recent slaughter,
as a witness of dying for peace,
as soothing law of nature.

He wears the fabric of inspiration:
the city and streets are empty
weaving the welts of pain,
for nothing.

Half your young age,
violence comes in choppers,
to avenge on the solemn moon―
for a long night.

It *****, day and
night. The assassination
draws the blood tears, unwashed,
from the sunny plasma.

The crotch was saboteur.
Pure love had become
an echo of hemlock.
Your lips were blowing blue.

It was terrible trauma
of believing in your religion.
Truth will not rise―
from the dead.

The perfect U-turn.
A dead poem turns into
dew on your eyes.
I am singing again.

Would you be one day
my assassin? I don't
want the god to act.

A sacred promise.
I will meet you behind the
sacrificial moon.

Who knows the future-
of bright twinkling stars in sky?
They turn to ashes.

The decay has―
killed the dream songs,
of shut mouths.

Trees were rolling
down on beach
when hurricane collapsed.

It was raining,
carbs and limbs, when
clouds gathered.

You love the
potholes, underground
caves, to hide cardinal sins.

Widening the scope
you want to remain
at center stage.

Thinking starts, battling
the ghosts. Doubt remains alive.

A broken beer bottle, at your throat.
You suffer the fall
of humankind.

The acid burns. You wire the
clouds. Tears will not flow.
This is not the end.

Turn the page. Why you
need the signs?

Those pale, staring eyes, unclosed.
Not sufficient?
Can you read the red line?

Was it not an oblique cut,
where the sand was lifted?

You want to cover your
amnesia. Death
has no other color.

How far you will go
to retrieve
the sensibility?

Time does not sit idly.
Undeniably your foe―
poisoning the well.

Sky was overcast and
sends misty rain.
Have the heart-leaves and moon-seeds.

The history concedes.
Molybdenum was god,
initiating life on earth.