A long night―
unending was,
the wait for the sickle moon.

Midnight,
shooting stars―
you are still breathing?

Doleful cry―
of the crickets. Why
the rain has stopped?

I was talking―
to the clouds
for a favor.

The words are flying
away, enigmatically. There was a
family of god. Is the end drawing near?

Half- way you are talking
about sequences. Oceans are on fire.
A weak voice cries. I don't want to die

Who will call from the future?
The night will dance for the solar eclipse.
Don't touch me. I will not melt.

My inguinal pain,
watching mating of moons,
at bank of tears.

Would you come to
ask the sun not to throw the
sparks in the eyes.

Will wait in twilight
for the blueness in moon.
Then give a call.

Escaping the unknown
becomes easier
when you listen
to the echos of dark.


My god says, the peeled
oranges will feed the
starved moon, when you
invite the rains.

Invisible hills will send
the bronze poems to you,
once the black night starts
drinking the green water.

The nightmare looms large―
climbs up my chest to
lick the isles, throwing me in
parenthesis, failing the commas.

Poetry stares, unblinkingly,
in dilemma―
at mindless extremism.
Evolution of words,
was going retrograde.

Your pretty face―
needs dusting. I was
curious to know about the story
of night shifts.

Sometimes I am hit―
by your feline grace to go for
immolation of male chauvinism.

You ***** the barriers,
so that I won't
reach your lips. The moon
went laughing whole night.

A slow poison, like
hemlock, you drink the hurts
to stay alive in a wax house.

Your feet had
turned stones. The return
of the gale will find-
blood marks.

Embalmed was your
spirit in my roses. The
heart of garden trembles.

A lone pain
flutters in exile. I will
not meet you at moon.
The greek tragedy repeats.

The spark was
caged. I was trying to
find shelter under bottlebrush
in howling rain.

I will not call a stop.

To save the last bruise,
after an encounter with
a kiss of the breaking rock and melting voices.

I did not want to
remember you in twilight
of dementia. There was no birthday for me.

A brown girl drowns
in my deep poems. You had become
a river without a bed.

Can you give me a
name― for my unborn child?
I loved him to measure you my mate.

After all I refuse
to die inspite of all the falls.
Beyond the bricks lies my blessings.

It were only you.

Why do I part with
my grief, my poems?

All night I was awake
to know what went wrong?

I extend my empty hand―
so that you can draw my fate.

You have the beautiful gazelle
eyes. Why they always look beyond me?

The salt comes again in
my verses. No sweetened lies.

The truth was too hot to be punched
on my hand. It has made a bleeding hole.

We are all liers
No love is made. Racism? Tell
your agony. Money flies.

The faith is negated.
Talking to sun. Lot's of misery.
Savageness. Anxiolytic prevails.

How will you look at
the moon? The muse! Can go
silently for a suicide?

Unsung something,
in space, in other life
can I raise you?

The aureole
cannot be resurrected
like Lazarus.

Fading jasmines
make me mad looking
at moon rise.

When your suffering
drops by, something dies in me.
A cluster of stings-

Brings the anaphylactic
shock.I look at the faces to find
out, how many times god cries.

Don't write me on
your lips like an ephemeral
smoke rising frome the castle.

To read a map―
listening to your inner voice, for
changing the green color
of eyes.

I was studing you,
in the caravan of desert,
leaving the roots
going nowhere.

I will wait for the fall
to pick up my crisp, memories
breaking off from―
the sad trees of life.

Stepping stones were
beautiful, not the feet. I might
have erred in draping the
people who were fake.

Sometimes you mourn
the vision of dying moon.
It will not bleed―
till you cry.

In western sky
hundreds of small birds were
flying in an arc,
synchronized in orange.

The grass, holding
the skirts, wants to cascade
in death of the
paramour.

Let the copper―
speak of hurt, in the
thighs of moon.
It will not climb tonight.

Less molecular
affinity exists in the breaths
of time gone by.

I will squeeze
my lips stitching the
borders of pain.

Brown salt was
taking the color of hails.
Knives were red.

You know the truth.
Religion covers the half-
burned candles.

Draped in shroud,
the untouched womb
picks up the priest.

Even the stars
go dim like orphans
of sky, searching god.

The end of night had left
a ****** trail―
of the fading moon.

Love erupts with
a pang. I love the privacy
of dark niches.

Life begins to write about
the bare ******. I start
paying my debts of wounds.

A canary leaves me
bleeding whenever I ask
it to burn with me.

In flames go my
dreams when I invite the
sun to sleep with me.

The age has taken
away the bones
of tall trees.

I am drinking
from the lips of moon,
the tiny specks of pain.

Crossing my candles, I
try to read the dark
sky, hanging from distant stars.

What was in store
for us, secured in vaults
of future rage?

Is it the last confession
of dying bottomless
present, without a cue?

The prophets of doom
are on the doorsteps of a
long winter night.

A dream without
a dreamer wants to reach
birth pain.

Where would you
go in the dark to taste the
secret right to burn?

A corona of scented
thorns on your head attracts
the queen bees.

A dream without
a dreamer wants to reach
birth pain.

Where would you
go in dark to taste the
secret right to burn?

A corona of scented
thorns on your head attracts
the queen bees.

Standing on black stones―
in water death,
I let it go, my pride
at the end of bay.

No obituary
no elegy,
will erase the thoughts of coming and going
of moon, when night
starts crying.

The smoke-filled eyes
will speak of the burnt house,
when the sun was
telling the truth.

Setting frozen tulips
at your feet, I bring the
river of tears
to start the day.

This was the rise of animal
after dividing
the pain of man.

The shared past―
would guide the misreading,
calling bloodbath a mistake.

Balancing the pole, walking
on long rope, in sheer
darkness of moonless night.

The words fall on your
feet, begging the exoneration
from name-calling.

Square meals and two lipped
lavenders, will bring the aroma
to wipe out nonexistence.

Before you eat
your words,
smear the dust of rose―

on your eyes.
The incense will blend
with your vision.

Don't walk like
a thief in the house.
Moon will face the night.

The bell rings
not. Tonight temple
god oversleeps.

The grass reaper wants
to right your wrongs
of medieval hurts.

While I uphold
the clash of isms, it should
stand without violence.

You were worth my
breaths. Still something
blocks the sluice gates―

protecting the virginity
of the jungle. Tiger
must not come out.

A cloaked confession,
leaves the space to start
a new arithmetic in reaching
the downhill.

All therapies have
failed. Time to divide
the footprints.

Under a perfect moon. I
missed you at dawn in,
rain dance, when stars
were going to hide.

Beyond midnight, you
were not supposed to stay
in my dreams.

Oh, was it the time
to drink from the falling
dew? Can I blend the nature
with your eyes?

The days were trecherous.
You were not going
to curve like a rainbow.
It was a good old art of swaying.

When you run short of
appropriate words to describe
the dilemma, you start
counting the folds in the currain.

Lying on bed of
thorns, you revoke the curse
of moon to remain amputee.

This was signature
therapy to become secular.
You rub the side of flame.

My dissent was
natural. Cannot speak any lie.
Will listen to my ethos.

In my repose, I
go for an illusion .The new legacy
has a queer say. No kissing.

A hostile love breaks
the earth to enter the hole of gifts
in the fading pain of success.

Living for only bread, but
no salt. The sweetness betrays one day.
A dead person gets up after sleeping on a pyre.

The space had a scent.
In stunned silence, I will
speak my mind.

More was less. Nothing
stirs, the raging pyre.
As if the poverty of thoughts had ended.

The happenings, splinter
the dream again. Sun steps out
from the black clouds.

You find yourself
interpreting the propelled blaze,
sleeping amidst the mirrors in dark.

The ******* jumps the
boundaries. I am your only
dilemma. I never speak in whispers.

Words throw us
apart in the desert of
eyes, where no rains
come now.

Misty lips don't
leave the imprints on
the frozen face.

It was very cruel
of times. We watch together
but don't speak
from wound to wound.

When you don't own me,
will not call the hangman.
Ropes were very weak.

Come November,
I will ask the sun to cool.
Moonlight was becoming hot.

A snake dithers,
before it puts its fangs
in the chest of sleeping moon.

O Earth,
today, standing on your bones
I will study my fears.

I am talking to myself
to say everything, which I don't
mean, presiding over the violence.

Bullet-ridden I
will return your sorrow
to sky, hailing the stars.

From grief to grief
I walk pigeon-toed,
to explore the mines of seed thoughts.

In summer, you
offer the naked hands to me
to write the poem of the day.

Come out of the roll
back. Fear and uncertainty have broken
us apart. I want to say-unheard.

How many thieves are we?
Euphoria has taken away my pains.
I ask myself, how was this world?

Must you go to meet
the end twice? And come back in pure
voices, new and untouched.

The fear of losing the game
looms large.
It were you, I wanted
to win.

For a gender neutral
god, you will need a wooden
high priest to invoke
the eternal peace.

More likely it was a moist
patch to relieve the
ache and blue pains
of deadly sting.

The paragon cedes
and suffers dragging the truth
and duplicate becomes
an icon.

You shake hands
with arrogant time and
return to songbirds.

Between direct and
indirect lies futurism. How
to take on the inevitable?

Will you leave my
hand? I asked the scented wind.
In sanctuary god takes turn.

You speak via eyes,
how to live in sanctum sanctorum
without dying?

You want me to like the
silver stairs. To climb down in a deep
well to disperse the ashes of poems.

Far away loud voices
are giving me a call. Time was
very cruel. Will not stop the sun.

The wholeness is broken.
I collect the shards. Watch your
steps. Not barefoot I will bleed.

I had my scars.
This war will not end any day,
fighting with my brute.

Your presence I
feel in my wounds. Will not
convert meinto martyr.

Soon I will pick
up ****** path of learning,
what I am, I was.

Tell me the meaning
of life in stillness of
vandalizing death.

I will pierce the
air to bring out the taste-
of the flowing tears.

Lingering at door,
for deep colors of summer.
****** kiss of cool.

Genderless,
instrusive, was the withering effect,
questioning the ***.

Filling the space
between body and soul, you
sail into emptiness.

The mistakes―
happen in night, sleep.
Death will drop the stars.

Ergo, the embedded
****** will not descend; you
can **** the sperms of mosquitoes.

Blueberries, haul you
up from the darkness.
You will find your sun now.

To drink the sea,
spilled over
from your eyes was not an easy task.

It was getting
dark, outside.
Inside an eternal flame
of separation
was flickering.

About the consent
of owning
privacy of truth,
I withdraw
my comments.

Now no shroud was needed
to cover the naked body.

You make me lighten.
I am going back to the woods.
Life has beaten me in absence.

My eyes belonged to you.
Night descends slowly to check
my life in my poems.

An accident of the lips.
I salute the crystals of no love.
At last I breathe poison.

An unborn poem wants
a name to make a poet of me
to discover the black truths.

To lacerate, the moon was
running shirtless. Why was there
devastation of culture. religion and morality?

What was the merit of
karma? You were digging the farm land
to bring out all the grave sins.

An unborn poem wants
a name to make a poet of me
to discover the black truths.

To lacerate, the moon was
running shirtless. Why was there
devastation of culture. religion and morality?

What was the merit of
karma? You were digging the farm land
to bring out all the grave sins.

Moisture was becoming
the strength of dry eyes;
pounding a glacier.

There were different stages
of anguish under the aegis
of moon. I am abandoning

the night of terror. Days
were numbered. One by
one, they fell before the dawn.

Time had been revengeful.
Asking for the pound of flesh,
against kisses of death, given free.

I refuse to submit an
apology for writing my poems
instead of sending laurels
for the rising sun.

Drop a dime, after
you have loved. I am returning
back to my school unflinched.

Euthanasia, you have
been targeted. What is realism
of murdering unasked?

Do not repeat the
same truth. It becomes a lie.
The Moon has been stabbed tonight.

Was it your happiness?
What is the definition, in soft water,
or like in the air. No one lives in a vacuum.

That is not the boulevard
going to the temple of invisible gods.
You were always moving in a sleep walk.

Hallucinations tend to divert
you. A study of human nature. I was
an outsider in my own house.

Complicity was ****
Glass windows always betray the
contours of truth. Pain starts screaming.

The silence has many
roots. Why were you born in this
century? Afternoon was cool in black sun

The paradox of wordless
reality has many shades. Religion and
crimes have come nearer. I will stop praying.

A biological split
divides the water of a well to
become weaponize.

A riverbed bed comes
up to see the result. It has
brought the lotus from the mud.

The ocean has a very
deepstay. Earth was not sliding.
The man returns to collect the pearls.

Do not display your
shadow, Come back. You select your
mistakes and get ready for your Niagra falls.

When the pyre catches
fire, your personality disappears
to touch the flow of blood. Learn to live.

The return of the moon
like a ghost to collect the venom.
Like a child you want to taste.

Again the salt lake in
my eyes spills. This world will
ever become happy one day?

Kafka, why were you
so sensitive? A melancholy teacher
becomes a god of the poor student.

How is it, the right
becomes wrong. Your chapter belongs
to the philosophy of the death of man.

Connecting my poems
with your soul was my promise.
Now you set me free.

Give me a pain to
love you, to come back in dusk,
when it is raining.

The cuts and the bleeds
will have a common breach.
We search our faces.

Looks like an unreal love.
Why someone hangs from an Indian lilac
tree. Leaves were very bitter to chew.

You want to pull me down.
I will not eat mangoes. TS Eliot was
ignited to write 'The Waste Land'.

Like a vampire wants to
know, who were half-kissed faces,
ready to be punished by charisma.

A bohemian moon
was following me,
playing in the hands
of dark night.

Man's marrow, the
essence of truth,
drips from the wordless
poem.

Hanged from the
gate, a wreath of capsicums
and citruses to ward off
the evil eyes.

You avoid the debate.
I wanted the perfect answers.
Wearing a hawthorn crown
does not make a Christ.

Every religion has its own pain.

Before the dawn
black sky breaks in my eyes.
We were very sick.

You were avoiding
the cross. I cannot pass on twisted
version of beautiful end.

Tiger was alone in den
waiting for a saddened song
on piano for a last time.