Arrow loves the prey
Rope adores the bull's neck
Ocean loves the gasping fish ashore
Sky yearns for the shooting star
Root loves the drained well
Flower likes the empty pupa
The Destitute loves himself

The girl washing clothes in the river says:
My love is to this finger
To erase dirt from hidden creases
To wipe the soap-burned eyes
To point at those peeping eyes
Amidst the bushes
What else I have?

In the idle hours
Without going anywhere
Whatever has it not shown me
Took me to wherever not
This slender stout finger

Holiday in the Gulf
The intimate ones
With the night shift worn face
Of Uwaisi hospital nurse Clara
The queen of spades
In the attire of
Althaf Hotel boy Kassim
The king of clubs
With the face of my dad
Waiting for the postman
At the verandah of
The half finished house
The king of hearts
With the face of Abu
Staring at my young sister
When he comes to collect
The cut throat interest
Of the never ending debt
Hiding face down
For a full hand sweep
The trump diamond jack
Cornered in the hand
The waste twos and threes

Remember
The jobless gang home
The canal side cards play
Unaware to the opponent
With a scratch mark
Or a creased edge
Hinting the card in hand
The foul-trick playpal...
Breaking the trap
Jumping a fence
When the police ambush
Making me hide
In the abandoned ghost well
The saviour friend Ravunni

Keeping in mind friend
On the next home visit
A job visa for you

Here tonight when I am
Losing games one by one
Behind the opponent stands who
Invisible to prompt his cards
To make me win round by round
By honours and by fulls

On the phone at odd hours
Who is that from away home
What's the news so urgent

In the abandoned ghost well...

Bored of ***, she made a pyre.
Motionless he lay,
The last sandal log hid his sky.

Shriek of raw body echoed
Meek, like crystal hiss of
Torrid metal, phosphorous
And sulphur in the hugging kiln.

As if entering the honeymoon suite,
Fragrant of incense sandal sticks,
Seven footsteps she took,
On to his bed of fire, slumped,
Embraced SATHI.

“How much for Sardine?”
My query.
“The name is Madonna,”
Her Response.
“Choose ten big,”
My demand.
“Will turn nineteen
Next month,” snaps she.

Wrapped half in half out,
With Madonna-smile string,
Waves she, the packet.

Did it slip?

Wife cleanses,
Tosses to cat, those
With rotten gills.
Tongue, acerbic chops
The man who regrets not,
The wasted bucks.

Swear I, to stop
Eating fish,
Fried without oil
And spice, in the
Microwave mind.
Swear, be vegetarian
From tomorrow,
To be true.

In the greenery of the courtyard
Nested the Bulbul
Always in hide, but at times
A shine of the black beak
The crested headgear
Or a glowing red garland.

A flash now and then
Of the crimson tail-vent
The bird of *******
Of the rustic legends
Said old granny
The sight of the bird brings
Cyclic periods to woman
‘Bathe bathe bathe’
Babbles the bird.

Before the tomcat wakes up
From the ashy hearth
Into the nest everyday
I steal a peak.

Soft and tiny, dotted pink
Two cute eggs…

Later with slit-open eyes
Open beaks sticking out
But with no wings…

Today the nest is empty
Slaughtered by the cat
Or the wings bloomed?

The sound of ritual ‘kurava’
Announced a wonder news
The neighborhood twin girls
Have attained puberty together.

The crook tomcat
Should be exiled
In a gunny bag
Out of sight afar
Across the river.

Rain, I adore
Pour in measure
Thrills of the
Umbrella strolls
Without one
Down comes
Pulsating, a drop.

The first showers
Always dear
Give fever
Escalating mercury
In the thermometer
Kindles body fire
When fever chills
At the pores
Friendship scorches
Unabated unable
To subside.

All the guests gone
A teardrop knocks
At the window pane
On the bed of blisters
The half-conscious
In delirium blabbers
'Rain rain'.

Splits open, the sky
Trembles the Earth
The silver ornament
At the waist slackens
In an ecstatic
Electric confluence.

The chest-close hugging
Mercy of the sky
The wind which
Carried you afar
The sunshine colours
And pretty curves
Of the rainbow
Not with you now
But give me
The earthly odour
Of your coming
Give me the greenery
Of the fresh spring
On the paths, you
Created new
Give me those
Fallen flowers
Of the muddy track.

Forget the sky, the pride
Penetrate my soil, the soul
My fever will be with you
Which carries my breath
The warmth of my body
From that will sprout
Panikkoorkka, the herb.

The twilight pyre burning still
Across the sand bed
Towards the slender stream
He led his mother

It punctured his sole
Should not hurt someone else
Plucked out the skeletal scrap
Damp with his blood
And set afloat in the river

From the basil bush
Shed a bunch of leaves
Into the flow gleaming
With dripping sandal paste
Of the dipping Sun

On the son's wound
She dripped the soothing sap
To end the long waiting
Rubbing the mother's shoulder
Whispered the Calotropis
'Though you hid it so long....'

Sharp spiny tips concealed
Beneath the scorching shoal
They rest in waiting
The destitute fatherhoods.