Why were you impersonal,
redeeming from blues
by blues?

Your shadow shrinks
under the moon, when you
are speechless, and set free
by unsaying.

In the mauled
pink dreams, you cannot keep your
eyes shut.When the
sorrow speaks.

Sometimes you undo
the cobwebs, failing to trap
the beautiful words and
start groping.

Have you listened to
nightingale's song? It becomes
restive and panic-stricken
when the call is not returned.

Belonging
to unbelonging
was becoming a method
exploring the path.
In the backyard unpleasant fumes
were rising.

Nocturnal swoop of enlightment,
clearly becomes a festival
of yellow death.
Who was hiding the truth?

Flowering of the thought in sky
ripens cessation of grief.
Slopes and summits,
bring tears in eyes.

Solace of ancestral home
was gone. Bold ceilings were hung by ungodly fears.
Wet hands lift the body of past,
classical future was gleaming slowly.

I will return you
to yourself in the twilight
of waning moon.

No more we will speak
in dark, to read the message
of holy night in pain.

A long way to reach
you in misty thoughts after the
priest breaks the vowels.

Something was certainly
wrong. Coffin was on way to
pick up the vessel.

Will not find like you.
Why do you bring
god in every symphony?
Pain heightens the silence.

The soloist smiles.
Will you wear a night belt
and walk on the moon
to gather the footprints of
first crime?

All I know was, nothing
is pure like sands. It doesn't
want to become stones.
Do you want to stand against
them in metropolis?

A song for you. You
come again to smother the
burning poem.

Will not find like you.
Why do you bring
god in every symphony?
Pain heightens the silence.

The soloist smiles.
Will you wear a night belt
and walk on the moon
to gather the footprints of
first crime?

All I know was, nothing
is pure like sands. It doesn't
want to become stones.
Do you want to stand against
them in metropolis?

A song for you. You
come again to smother the
burning poem.

Light the candle, I
fed creepy in the grey
night of terror.

Fear overtakes.
Heartbeats reach crescendo.
Is it end of charm?

The riot begins
in dim moonlight. Who burns
the coat on the hills.

Light the candle, I
fed creepy in the grey
night of terror.

Fear overtakes.
Heartbeats reach crescendo.
Is it end of charm?

The riot begins
in dim moonlight. Who burns
the coat on the hills.

Meeting my twin soul-
for the first time,
in abeyance of any evidence.

Cutting myself-
to know the truth of undoing
of a voodoo in random
violence.

Why you had many different
lives to lead a client-
heritage, paying debt of
wronged dreams?

While lying to yourself,
you fell in trap and moved
away from yourself?

I will be seeing
my counterpart daily in my
thoughts to solve the global puzzle.

Why didn't I bite the Apple?

You were not true to god.
I was playing with fire for resuscitation
to search violets in your eyes.

The sameness was very
typical. We cry at the same time.
to move away from burning calendars.

A single kiss of Agni
will make the ashes of bickering moons.
I want to die no more.

Trembling,
you whisper- like an aspen
in self doubts.
No words were coming
no rhymes I heard.

I was here beside an angel
for honey bites.
No tears had flown,
no veils were drawn.

As I asked for nothing,
you give me bit by bit
the grains of truth, filtered
by extreme pain.

Am I not playing
a gamble? Sneering the
ashes on god stones, to bring
you back, my religion,
my faith.

After all I measure you
as the peacock flies.

There was no raised
plaque.

Rituals of resuscitation
had failed. Something to lift
from your paintings. I wanted
everything of you.

Not touching the
death cookies. I prepare myself
to witness the―
bread breaking.

There were no tears,
no pangs. No agony.
Peace.

Was it true that you
were no more you
whom I gave my vision―
my lungs, my pen.

Were you jinxed?
I would never know.

There was no raised
plaque.

Rituals of resuscitation
had failed. Something to lift
from your paintings. I wanted
everything of you.

Not touching the
death cookies. I prepare myself
to witness the-
bread breaking.

There were no tears,
no pangs. No agony.
Peace.

Was it true that you
were no more you
whom I gave my vision-
my lungs, my pen.

Were you jinxed?
I would never know.

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.

You are not me.
It was not gentle,
it was not sweet.
It was fire in the glass.

One yellow rose was opening up
in a very bright night.
I was shivering
under the leafless shade of hawthorn.

One surrogate mother
picks up the wormholes.
One tendril oscillates
to entwine the lover.

Stealthily, the sad moon slides
into the big ***** of clouds.
My eyes now search,
the bared, Venus fly-trap.

Skin to skin,
blood to blood, can there be a
digital love? To whom I address?

The first pain starts
from birth. One can not live in
the crowd. What is life's philosophy?

You will not be paralyzed.
Let it be homecoming. The intensity
takes you to discover the tragedy.

The mood-lifters
you will need, when
night falls and the poems
start howling.

The crisp massacre
of golden dreams, and you
start disposing off the defunct philosophy.

The myths of heaven
and hell, causing the colossal
anxiety.A dog walks past
a dead body, near the burned temple.

This is the world apart, where
you opened the book for
an eye hole.Then you **** the images.

The pebble in the pond
starts moving.No water was left
to wash the ***** idols.

History repeats. Youare
drifting away from point of return.
Life cries hurt, in eyes of Venus.

The golden gate of love
swings back to flames of forest.The
lovebirds want to be caged.

The sensuality of moon preens
before the broken mirrors. Time takes
revenge. After pause sun comes up slowly.

For you
I am walking on rocks
holding unburnt match sticks,
you want me to throw them
behind me.

To step down in lake
for washing sins
from the snuffed out
skylights.
Between green and blue I climb on leaves.

Remained pygmies
till end,
in frail human relationships.
All that we saw, was only for ourselves
in questions and replies.

Wasting shine of titles,
followed by empty looks.
Nothing remained to be said.
Food was left on the plate
untouched.

You will see and will
not see, at the same moment;
the son of moon,
and daughter of earth-
not meeting at the horizon
of lids.

The hole in the back
of skull was widening. An
atheist becomes a Greek God,
edged out after a heart wrenching
departure.

A trail of blood follows,
after the sharp words pierce
your poems. Dying in pieces,
becomes a daily ritual.

To be different was
very painful, like white mushroom
turning back to black soil.
Who will walk in the footprints of light?

It was to happen
from known to unknown,
sibylline hands held the head.

This was my first
love to catch the tears of moon.
Honey drips. From where bees come?

After I gained you in light,
I lost you again in deep dark.
Birth of venus was rehearsed.

Why did you paint
your name on forehead to
attract the dying desire?

The poetry decides the
fate of falling star on the hey,
before you burn your port.

Who ups the ante,
if you don't exist to catch the song
of sorrow to become immortal.

For a thousand years, the
iris waits for the light to dig and
redress the memory of gone spring.

The deaf and dumb leads
the voices coming from the active volcano
where the sparks are throwing lava.

A running poem was
condemned to die. I will not change
the route. You know the art of breathing last.

Uneasy, you never returned
for confession. The fear eats away
like a virus. You belonged to me.

No strings. We are tied
by sacred words, like swans. We
are intertwined by necks to stay alive.

The black thread
tied on your wrist was
meant to end the siege.

The fire-eaters were
back. I will watch
the birth of violence.

When the night
comes. I will move from
door to door for a flame.

Fireflies will assemble
to mourn the death
of the baby moon.

Understanding―
the sexuality
of clock.

Time moves
the hands, of past,
the present.

The future
belongs to no one.
This poem, cosmos.

I am sending you
a sea of zinnias,
asking the guardian angel
to protect you.

I am also picking sunflowers
for you. Living in the shadow, you
were always running
after small suns.

And round leaved nasturtiums
will drop bright orange
flowers, one by one
like tiny dreams.

And jasmines will spread
the fragrant flowers in your path
to make you reach in my arms.

And lily of the valley in bare
naked heart, will present the bell-shaped
white flowers, to knit your braid.

Nothing else.

Zinnias were stalking.
The fading moon hangs upside down
from the massive Ficus tree.

Ultimately the grace withdraws.
Now you sit under the bo-tree
becoming a wet Buddha.

Unthinking, unblinking
falling out of thoughts,
and start supervising the barren landscape.

The dawn sets free, the white
pegions to become prey of ravens.
Would you talk about peace?

The evil touches every next door.
I will write a long letter
to me, to unwrite the sermons.

I start breaking―
after the hate call.

Like emery paper,
something rubs my lips.
A raw affection bleeds.

It was only dust. I don't
want to wait for my tomorrow.

A conduit forbids
to improve the congenital
lisp of a godchild. You want
to preserve the ****** innocence.

Tears on both sides,
who will wipe off the scars
of the moon?

Not universal,
you were the cosmos,
staring into the eyes of void.

No more I will
confront you in rain after
imprint of peach lips.

A collective
scream goes unheard, god sleeps.
The sky burns endlessly.

You will never know,
how do I live, when glacier
breaks, I fall in chasm.

I take up the spectre
of unsung pains. Half- doubts will
follow the ending day, Make me moon.

A skyless agony will
divide our world. I become my own
mirror to witness the weird happenings.

The circle never makes
a square. We can partition the lips
of animation defining love.

The crozier makes but
you break me. You should
stand on burning deck.

This was the poverty
of words teaching non-violence
to rich people.

The pain of biting
human was sharp refusing
the mercy of god.

The crozier makes
you or breaks me, but you should
stand on a burning deck.

There was the poverty
of words teaching non-violence
to very rich people.

The pain of biting
humans was sharp, refusing
the mercy of god.

In your agony, what you want
to make love with stars? Can you bring
down the flames rising without coals?

Deaf and dumb, but beautiful,
king cobra kills and swallows the junior
ones. Mob watches. There are two lives.

No tolerance was needed
to ripen the pain of sun. When the
ocean dries up, fireworks start.

Thoughts-
were not picking the words.
This was ultimate loss.

How do I stave
off the disaster? You
were taking away my smiles.

What kind it would be
the next quake, when
I was standing at the door.

I have yet to
know myself, searching for
the invisible truth.

Cannot drop the-
pen. The eyes will read
the last sermon.

The lake was calling.
I will go untelling every one
conch shell on the beach.

Morning star moves
away from the stranger, who
brought the silent pain.

A stigma, an ache and
tears, embrace moon sitting,
on weeping Ashoka.

In shreds,
the day has passed.
At night, I will touch;
the unasked questions.

You were sending, the
soap bubbles, like
swans carrying the messages.

The weather changes. A
fantasy becomes real.
The moon has missed the night.

Like the Morse code, there was
a flurry of taps, the
blank paper flies for a rite.

It is dawn, breasted and melting.

In a passing moment,
giving you a call in Milky Way,
like a lone sun.

Where the white clouds
go in distress, after
the multiple deaths of stars?

Sweating in surging
heat, only tears will speak.
Freaks will inherit the poetry.

Wanted to touch you
like hummingbird, coming
out of silver cage.

Your hands had lingered
on the blank paper, to print full stop
before taking the phenomenal flight.

Mixed with bone ash,
my china has felled.
There was a long hoof in wilderness.

There was something
between the lips.
You will not recite my name.

A muted word―
becomes a psalm at
execution. There was no
crowd to witness the grace.

If I prepare a book of
all my defeats, would you
write obituary.

The antiquities had become
alive. This was the beauty
of lunacy.

And the saint was dead
without meeting his god.

‘Twas your ghost
to secure the promise,
that you would not commit
yourself to the story.

An island sin
confronts the sea
of tears. Was it an
emotional ****?

Did you hear the
sound of moon? It has
come down in the space
where we used to cross the arms.

That was my raw poem.
I had mentioned your solemn
departure. I don't believe
in blaspheme. God would know.

Fever for no misdemeanor.
We walk away on our
different paths.

You talk of evil,
I become incendiary.
The name had power.

Unthinkable. You
fight the lurid details of
chopping off fingers.

How would you write
the opus of human slip
for seeking royalty?

You talk of evil,
I become incendiary.
The name had power.

Unthinkable. You
fight the lurid details of
chopping off fingers.

How would you write
the opus of human slip
for seeking royalty?

When I wanted
to stop you, the flame was
snuffed out by an invisible hand.

I let the missing link
go. My body turns blue.

You return back the
rusted coins. Fountain was
dry. Someone was going insane.

An albino touch with
blue eyes― the planet quivers
in chill.

A punishment for
remaining brown in the
crowd of white lilies.

Summer is breathing
last. Frozen lips now stop the flight.

Salt burnt, you come
under the shade
of milkworts.

Not fated, you still
wanted, unaided departure.

Reading the lifeline in your hand,
why did you opt
to kick the bucket?

You wanted to celebrate the luge with *****?

How do you get in my shoes?
You become me?
The blue lake of your eyes was frozen
I will walk on ice to reach your home.

Let it not be just only once to
make you mad, at the ugly
things existing around.

Talking to your vesal fear
with its spread hood to start bearing
the human pain.

You were counting again-
to meet your god,
in moment of truth at your nadir.

To catch the beauty
of silence in midst of
homeless noises.

Elliptically I hold
you, in my soft sleep
like an oriole, forgetting
its melodious song.

Will I ever hear your
voice once, before I open
the window to the sea?

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.

Head hunting
in ghost time. You
had tried to influence
the stars.

A whitefly bickers, that
there was no more a
prey, revealing the faults.

You were very near
and very far.

Untouched, a wandering soul
cries for the rebirth.

Receive me
as a thought,
as a blood,
as a seed.

When life gives a
magnitude shake, putting the
barricades, the vacuum becomes cruel.

The half-love cannot
give the ecstacy of sacrifice. Who will
inherit the land of brutal violence?

Memory itself makes you

restless. I am going to be a martyr.
Attachment also gives pain.

Genus Viola.
Which gender you want it
to belong?
***** was most effeminate.

The tender touch.
It reaches you inside. You
start trembling
like aspen, ready to fall.

Full breasted, a
crimson moon will spill
the buttermilk for
a rosarian.

It was hot, very hot
for the quivering pearls of pistons;
for merciless decapitation.

Adam and Eve.
What was the magic of these words?
Mayflowers have a secret of divining love.

You go for a new journey.
Via commas and full stops. Under the
moon you drink the venom of love.

Who was connecting the
threads of pain? Making life heavy,
O god your name is fading.

Not confessional.
Without reading the body
there was no room.

My fever rises
in limbs.
Giving me a double vision.

This was not my age.
Out of place, I
call for limestone.

The sea and
moon will make a castle
on the waves.

Whom do you call
careless? I was writing
the verse on blood paper.

Saturday.
Night cries again.

Can I call you midnight
to **** the moon-
and celebrate the dark?

A book and sitting on the
birthmark of a fig tree's thigh
in the temple of a failed god,
I haul up the stains and blues.

***** linens. You would
faint in the stale smell of jasmines.
How often you loved to weave
the white beads into a lace for your bun?

Small things. We look
at each other to drift away.
Night lamp struts and flops.
There war no end of pink aches.

Stay aloud. Sky was
listening. Where is the god?