I saw me walking alone, along the path
feeling upset, I followed me noiselessly
curious, to find out,  what would happen, next,
with my heart relentlessly  pounding my chest.

I rang the bell of the house I lived as some other,
the door wasn't closed, so I could see
I have already gone, leaving the place,orphaned,
to that  destination, mysterious.where another tale begins.

My home once, is presently empty, signifying this :
"I am this, also  that and the other, the  next too,
I am multitudes, in everything I am present as a wee bit"
When I was alone, I wasn't, in fact; while moving away
I didn't go anywhere, all the while,ecstatically, "I am that"

If I could boast in simple eloquence
of distant, ancient names of stars
that exploded, and became dust,
and became earth,
and became me,
I would willingly jot them
down for our study.

Only this tall clay pile
is what I know of the moment.
And the next moment
may be much like this.

If the celestial proper noun
should suddenly ring out across
a sleepy or forgotten cosmos,
I promise that I shall
not hold it in
like some verbal fossil,
but shall release it
into our waiting essence.

They would sneak out quietly in dark nights,
walk to the desolate beach slowly hand in hand,
and lie supine on damp white sand soaked in star light,
shedding from light years afar,counting stars as if it's their job,
wasn't that an esoteric ritual, prelude to a cosmic trance?

Love gifted a stole to keep them warm,
to her it was him and to him it was only her all along,
and on the sand bed in such nights they got to know secrets,
from the  galaxies,together they broke taboos of every imaginable kind.

They would wait for the seventh wave from the ocean's mind,
that was the moment they knew each other intimately than ever.
the seventh wave was a gift of pearls from the depth of unknown,
and the sharks were on the shores roaming alive like in fairy tales.

They kept awake for the seventh wind, that did blow promises,
on a space above, they hovered standing naked chest against breast,
the seventh wind told them many things, in to it's essence they delved,
wind, water, fire within, space in between,earth mother holds together,
an awareness , they roamed around the galaxies,wasn't it wonder itself?

Some say I'm obsessed with the night
and I, I say they are right.
I used to be afraid of the dark
the full moon
I used to be a huge horror fan
and well, I still am.
But I grew out of those childish fears
and now I see the wonder
as I gaze upon the stars
and adolescent angst
makes the night feel akin
to the dark thoughts
but as we mature
we realize that the night
is just the prelude to
a beautiful dawn
a new day
a new start
and the glory
of a beautiful sunrise
seen through introspective eyes
and even as I type
an essence of my thought
is lost
or simply kept
as I heard it put in another poem
and it resonated with me
like thunder on a dark
and stormy night
I used to feel afraid of the thunder
even though mom
would say lightning is something more
rational to be afraid of
but she couldn't hear the monsters
in the thunder that were out to get me
now thunder is calming
as I realize that there
are more worrisome noises
in day-to-day life
Going back to the night
as I sit outside
and tears stream down my face
as my eyes look into outer space
and I realize I'm just a speck
in this greater place
just floating on a rock
moving to and fro
like the waves that
crash shore to shore.
But we are all universes
with our thoughts
and even as I type this an essence
is kept
and lost.
Some say I'm obsessed with the night
and I, I say they are right.

Her perfumed essence
  still fragrances the air
         in her absence

Swirling waters gush out, creating  chaos,
freeze in to ice, the silence follows, quickly
devours the spirit of that disorderly behavior;
memories of past sins are all forgotten, soon.

I adore you as if
    you were divinity,
   midst shadow's darkness
      and wildflowers' flourish,
cherish your dignified sensibility
       in all spaces without pride,
breathe your complexities and
          simple nature's composure,
where affection prevails 'tween
    sun and moons' compelling power,
savoring your enraptured essence in
           the realm of my own being
   hence, consummating  
             an unqualified existence

Aum..Omm
the wind booms,
the holy chant
kept awakened
my inner power grid.

The invisible fingers of wind
play sensually
on the salacious forms
sand readily assumes.

Inside the pyramid
I built brick by brick
with my love for you,
hope and anticipation,
silence stood frozen;
ages rained over it.

I was oblivious of
anything other than love,
kept waiting for you there
in my anthill beyond time.

time immesurable passed
like waves after waves
beating on the sandy shores,
numbers are just the creation
of mind's illusions like time and space,
but love I believed would fight back
the vagaries of human transience.

and at last I see
a turtle swim above white form
of an imagined ocean, my love
I see you swimming along
a mysterious apparition.
the moment has come
to redeem me from this bind.

It's like coming up from
the depth of blue waters
escaping a death by drowning.
Seeing your smile  was like
an assurance for a place in the sun, all over again
but I stood stunned as you walked past in silence.

And when I chased, you dissolved like a mirage,
the shadow alone was left on the sands, a coiled serpent skin!

after a trek that felt like a lifetime, I found you again,
there , at my favorite oasis; but it wasn't you
I knew from the first sight.  
                                               On my lips you kissed
one last time, for the sake of love that kept us wait in vein
in words dripping pain you whispered in to my ears:
"This  isn't real my love, you are day dreaming,
forget me the flower bloomed in mirage, go back to depth,
stop vainly flitting in transience, only one way we can unite
eternity waits for us , it's not this shadow of love, but real"

When released from
societal confines,
mockingly posing
as structure, newfound serenity
is confused with discord.  

Manifest inner conflicts
and God-like shadows
will be cast.  

Chains snap and allow
wounds to heal, or crush
from beyond bone.  
The absolute of life
is only grey so long
as we breathe.  
Is birth or death the light we seek?  
Are we more blind
when facing that light, or
the pure dark pitch
of silence?  

Perhaps life will dictate
this presumed ascent
or descent
before we're unleashed beyond
withering forms dancing
aimlessly on a speckle
of the universe.