There was no one
at my back. A very tall moon
stitches your name.

I wash your body
in tears to the concept
of undying love-

When the light goes,
trees start falling to pay
homage to roots.

Surging tears
let me go, in rivers.
Sun will find shade.

*

Lunar eclipse
will not spill blood on road.
Reflection of self?

*

Time lives in
veins. The past and future
meet in present.

Can you see yourself
from my eyes in the dark?
The moon will not help.

Your face tells the
truth of timeless pain. Why
did you keep the viper in bed?

And then the blood
oozes from the pores. Was it the
punishment of not believing?

Can you see yourself
from my eyes in dark.
The moon will not help.

Your face tells the
truth of timeless pain. Why
did you keep the viper in bed?

And then the blood
oozes from all the pores. Was
it the punishment of not believing?

I will never be able to―
tell the full story. Winds
are changing and―
the innocence has ended.

Centuries of recital now
starts the inquisition. It haunts
my psyche. In deluge―
the ferry will ever come?

Yesterday you had seen me
in a very vulnerable state.
Even gods weep.
Do you know what is muse,
goddess of art and an inspiration
of a poet?

In one of the poem I had
asked my muse, can you prey for me?
This is my style of conversational
or confessional poesy.
What do you say?

Your face becomes
an eye, a saga of
holding the assaults.

A body hails
the sagacity.

A child becomes a man
away from home
of truths, god forbids.

The innocence gives
rise to a mound of bones.
Death lingers to
take revenge.

Brutality breeds
brutality. Can anyone
break this cycle by giving
one's life after receiving the award?

This was the art of killing.
From the dizzying
heights you throw the
vesicants.

Now you need the gliomas
to finish the job.

At wrong time, I was
raising the bizarre questions.
Why the wealth brings-
the change of life?

A wandering pain
caves in, where the moon
looks sick in its paleness.

The massive lies, deep
in ***** tricks after the traffic
of voices.In blank space
I plant my poem.

You will never count when you
stitch the stars on a milking tree.
Nobody will cry. Nobody will laugh.

Was it an invasion of privacy?
You share the saliva with pursing
lips. The tall tree spins.

Was it the elixir of love
or the poison of life? Who will know?
The roots become deep and rich.

You are pinned on the
board to don the cap of watchman.
Jasmines go nomads.

To alter the nomenclature
of pain, to take a nap in the rose
garden. You cannot move a mouse.

Violets are raising hands.
The voices are dim. It is getting
dark. Two small eyes roam.

I am, because
you are not there.

In cold blood
you slice the moon
and drink the tears.

The forest path
opens for the shot
tigress. She will
survive.

A mysterious hand
picks up my name to
write a wounded
poem.

There was no war
between the gatherers
of blood-soaked shirts.

Will you come back
bone, flesh, heart?

I am, because
you are not there.

In cold blood
you slice the moon
and drink the tears.

The forest path
opens for the shot
tigress. She will
survive.

A mysterious hand
picks up my name to
write a wounded
poem.

There was no war
between the gatherers
of blood-soaked shirts.

Will you come back
bone, flesh, heart?

I wished
a solitary temptation,
to write off karma
and become responsible for the spattered blood.
You were generating hatred, Asia,
in the land of Buddha.
I can hear the glaciers receding.

Answerable to belonging,
the change of generations,
makes me free to become deaf and dumb.
Only I wanted to see, and see through
burning walls,
the hands, who lighted the torch
to burn the transparent shame.

Rejecting the original script
of fighting a god, in the midst of
non-truths, how far the time will decide
the destiny of man? I break off
from the cliches, wait for the leaves to fall
and its drifting darkness on the open land
of wounded whispers.

Why am I so sad?
I asked the waning moon.
The sun started flirting.

The vellum― still carries
the imprint, where you had
pressed hennas hands.

I came out once of
myself to look at me
from the falling star.

You would never know.
How had you cheated yourself once―
by praying for death.

To understand your
niche, I listen to echoes.
Moon will draw a map.

No beginning, no
end. Arguments continue
till the next world.

To go, not to go
was acrude dilemma.
The volcano waits.

Invite the hemlock.
In my end, you begin to climb.
Not political.

*

You let out gossips
for me to sort out pebbles
to prove narcissism.

*

Let the waves come. I
will stay at the bay to watch
the sea to go on fire.

It was a cloudburst-
from your saddened eyes.
I want you to hurt me.

Like blood fingers writing
a name in sky-of
a towering fault.The sin
0f unabandoning a hymn.

The breach will swallow
the lamb.I would not know
of the Aquila, how
big were its wings.

Burn me in your eyes.
O goddess, why you always

look like a fireball?

O liberty, what was the color
of your torn gown? The aconites and anemones
have beautiful buttercups.
How would you drink the lethal dose?

Playing the double life,
coming apart at-
the seems.

I was thinking aloud the death of a
supernova, and here
an araucaria burns out.

Hands unknown,
someone mixes the cards
of your fortuity, and you
become very rich.

You couldn't carry
your happiness and crashed
on stairs, like embedded
in quicksand.

I regard this a
slaughter in broad daylight.
Sun was pierced by a
blistering eye.

You walk in air
without leaving footprints,
giving me nothing.

In the sound of
dry leaves, I search nothing
in abstention.

Who had molested
the white moon in rains
of the sacred land?

So normal, the poverty
makes you rich.
At the same time, you cry.

Not needed to be
adored, I was my own slave.
The long journey suffers.

The big shark makes
a dive. You fall like ginger-
bread in mouth of kismet.

So normal, the poverty
makes you rich.
At the same time, you cry.

Not needed to be
adored, I was my own slave.
The long journey suffers.

The big shark makes
a dive. You fall like ginger-
bread in mouth of kismet.

An abstract romance
will take you to micro love
of nothingness in void.

I start collecting the
evidence, ******* space
and you transcend time.

A rainbow knows the
secret of dark winter, when
snow hides under your skin.

Exploring yourself―
with an ornate dagger,
to find the missing link.

My integrity was at
stake. From where did―
you start?

Bring the steel from
the sea, and loneliness
from the storm.

The beige sunset
would dare to go ahead
of the red moon.

Will you threaten a
small reply? The lips were
in the state of siege.

I will meet you
one day at distant dangers.
How far you will go with me?

It was a celebration.
You were ready to start
self-questioning.

In this immoral
world, why someone died
laughing?

This is not true.
Nobody wants to be honored
after the death of unknown.

You become a child,
after the ****** of sepia night
for the sake of moon.

It was like a
trail of the trembling comet,
when the god cried.

With your basest coins,
will you not add
to my woes, like invasive
hyacinths?

In the hot power
matrix, don't become
the hypothermic.

A geometric design
was coming up. Most innocent
was responsible for the
**** of a beautiful city.

A burning sitar
was still giving out a
melodioustune without
a wire pick.

The hot days have turned into
wild animals, eating away
my thoughts.

I freeze in my step at
middle of the road.

I will go away from me
to find your brutal intimacy. The
blood between us stopped to mix.

Not endangered to walk
with me in climbing a volcano. The
pain spectrum starts burning.

A slap of love will touch
you when the sun sets and the moon falls
in your rotating shut eyes.

The hymn, an unentered
temple, you come in pause.
There was uncanny space between words.

I let it go my sleep.
The angst. I have to pay price my love,
for sharing the blanket of life.

We will look at moon
together to abdicate the throne of
thorns and find out peace between the knives.

I am going to stop
thinking about myself. Core of knowledge
fails. I am losing the dialogues.

How long do you have to
drink hemlock daily? The death comes
and goes back. Is it a magic?

Fever rises. Why you
are standing between the lotuses? What
was the secret of creating beauty in mud?

Was it a calculated
risk, when it was poetry,

falling like rains
on the parched lips

of yellowing pages.
Like the stones of a

grey mountain,
singing a hymn to blasts,

pick pocketing the sun?
I start reading the anatomy

of violence, ever, never
easy to understand.

Lots of red blotches
were spread on the tiny figures.

I don't want to take
my words bad. Where do I keep
them in burning house?

*

It simmers, the sandy path
to bury you alive in hot truths.
No end of beginning.

*

Who does fall, which
has no height? Moonlight spreads
on hot lava of tears.

When the lone night sleeps
I wake up the moon
for a monologue.

You listen with unblinking eyes
and hear by shivering skin.
Constancy remains alert.

You wanted me to define―
the time. Will that change with
our age, unknown to bystanders?

You were not yourself
in my presence, becoming a lost
child in trance, struck by a magic spell.

There was no physical passage.
Timelessly you would stare at me
to enter my thoughts.

Like a blue butterfly, I will
fly in the room to kiss you, and
bring back the feel of merge.
After a long pause we would part,
taking the scented dream
of our interrupted moments.

From the fog to fog,
grim reminder eludes me.
Where had you been?
•
The gray dark circles
confine the blue lilies.
Unkissed by tears.
•
The shifting dunes
hide the silver moon.
Don't cry. O brute!

Don't come near sea,
I ask the moon, braless-
in love galore.

What will you see
in eyes of the burning sun-
rising very sadly?

It was writer's cramp,
coming at shrine of snow
god under dark clouds.

Your freckles should not
go like innocence. Sun
was overlapping the galaxies.

I become whole for a while,
when you cry for the blueberry
moon in vain.

Why the night dips into your blue eyes?

No irony. I will wait
for you on the burning deck.

The schism was widening.
An animal living inside me
wants to raise his head.

The loser gets the inky jet
to cover his body. How about
getting a glimpse of lightning
walking down the road?

I become your past
in some confrontations
trying to hear you.

The lexicon gives me
a path to go in the quiet of
night, when you are sleeping
in moon's arms.

What a dream. A
white tiger jumps on the
pink belly of earth to
find the browless eye.

Standing before the
firing squad, you were
still planting the lilies
and iris will go blind
for thousand years.


The coral reef has
started dismantling.

Not the salt.
The water hurts.

The frostbite connects
the moment of break.
I will not write
any elegy.

Frivolity takes
away the rose
buds of moon
in dilemma.

Tracing a *******,
did I ask for your long life?

This was the
oral death of soft
butterfly, who will jump
into bonfire.

You could have given me
a little star.

Being rationalist
you wanted a secret sun
in your dark house.

Brainless also sleeps.
Season was not right for me
I was planting words.

The weird norms of
the parapsychology.
Why do I read mind?

Come inside
me and explore god of
fire burning the world.

A miracle was
not the answer. The pathless
trek ends in water.

To live or not
to live like light
in eyes of moon.

I have not done this
to me with a purpose to arrest the door
keeper. How can you live without kith and kin?

This is a tribute to the
pain of giving blood to a tree of thoughts
Was it a nightmare to write a poem?

Do you think the world
will die one day. Bloomers
will put the body in a cauldron?

No story was left
between us. You will not
start any new event.

You sing the absolution
amidst the hails. I was not
ready to retaliate on two legs.

The vibrations reach the
sea. The waves prepare the
advance attack to pull down the sky.

Two small lips tremble.
Even the irises swell―
before the frost.

The naked dolls swim
before the moon rises. There
were no stars in sky.

A dewdrop climbs
a cloud to inspect the
Broca's area and tears.

My speech was
fragmented, picking the
wrong words to convey-
the pith.

Weary thoughts tremble.
You won't be near me, when
the jungle burns.

A war always
looms large, between the sky
and caged birds.
I don't want to break.

Venus flytrap,
becomes my home, I need
to sit at the edge
till sun sets.

Very grim. You
promote the copperheads.
Lakes go dry.

I cannot stop
thinking, watching incessant,
the rains.

Waters send- the
crimson clouds to hide the sun.
Now that ice melts.

Become genderless.
You are walking on a
sleeping volcano.

Where the three
rivers meet, I stand on the bank
to watch bipolarity.

We are not yet dead.
Some wherea flutey whistle calls.
Follow the flames.

Again you took a wrong path
to meet the angel.
Like larkspur, you had
the dolphin's back.

Tears will not stop in the―
eyes of the moon. The
eternal itch remains. You will
not drop your smell like musk.

Like the **** salute, you
raise your right hand to bless
the crime of telling truth. Now
people listen― when you are gone.

The poesy suffers. As
also the ink. You want your
dark spots to come back. In
contrast, the sun will shine.

Impatient, I will
not say anything to me.
Come burning the moon.

Surrendering truth,
you lay bare your daisies.
We don't share enough.

Pain me ever to
eternity. Who knows you
will sleep in my eyes.

I believe, I had not arrived
when you were arbitrating
between naked steel and the truth.
Violence were you. I was watching
the burning pyres in a row. Small hands
were collecting the ashes,
casting glances on the falcons.

Why reincarnation of the reaper again and again
arching the helpless life in terror?
Half-filled cups of tears are spilled
on the marbled smoke.
We made the truce with slaughter
in moonlight pitying the survivors in sun.
The face watching from the window disappears.

An auburn dawn wakes with swollen eyes.
I might find a lost child of the empty womb –
wandering in wilderness of three dimensional sorrow.
O mother! somewhere the roots are waiting!

I cannot hear you
in my absence―
for a transient heartache.

Life gives you a ***** slap
and you write a poem
and this was not to happen overnight.

Looking at you straight
I discover myself
surrounded by glares.

From where the horse
was felled, a warrior makes
a hole in earth to reach
the flesh of time.

The flames take away the
gifts of death. Only the grey
ash smears the face of moon.

Skin deep, the moon
goes with me,
to bid goodbye to old year.

I have moved nearer
to the door ****,
of the unopened crypt.
The stale air leaks from the crumbling door.

The unfinished books
are under the frost. I cannot
shovel the walk. A grainy
picture emerges, of despair.

Going to dig up the ruins
to find the script.
Ink spills on the paper,
words depart.

You evoke the desire.
I break like bougainvillea leaves.
Wind sweeps the floor.

After tarantula bite,
I pick a peony― ambling
aimlessly in rains.

Until the seagull
lands, I will stay on the beach
waiting for sunset.

Waves scramble before
the moon rises. I will hold
the flowers in palms.

Sovereignty of thoughts
in the well of eyes. Something tells
about love. Who dictates the blood?

Morosity develops, when
alien hand catches you.Stark naked
buds of roses tear the sun.

It was anonymous to
open the eyes of flames.The lightning
will clear drops of my tears.

Will not donate
my bloodstained shirt.
It divides the cuffs.

The alphabet turns
around to watch the fall
of syntax.

Everynight I wait
for the moon to rise
from the crescent of golden eyes―

for another encounter
with a god, who
would not listen to soliloquy

of a rich begger―
sitting in the ruins of a temple,
he built of dreams.

Moon crazed fonts
starting a genocide of words
in narcolepsy.

Don't ask me about the amphetamines!

The letters have gone crazy.
No discipline,
no shoes.
They run wildly barefoot,
make you feel a victim of curved lips.

There were no afterthoughts―
about the massacre of essence,
of message, gist and substance.

You stand alone in jungle
of books, unprinted, unspoken
of, finding the
sequence of life.