what’s the point of history
if we keep flying
paper kites into a level five hurricane?


© 2021

besotted by a gazelle’s gaze
beguiled by her effusive smile
bewildered he stands,
bereft of any shame
begging with a bowl for her lips and more....


© 2021

tis a perfect summer evening. a blood shot moon inches across the night sky in the city of sin. the sage and the enchantress sit at an outdoor cafe under a lantern lit tent exchanging life stories, as a vintage bottle of ‘82 margaux loses its virginity.  

she could’ve been off the cover of Vogue. clad in haute couture, her slit eyes sparkle like the diamond butterfly ring, she elegantly sports. her complexion near flawless. he on the other hand, a hippie, a yogi and ancient as Rome. living proof that the hour glass can indeed be brutal on a city dweller.

her doe eyes dart from the past to the future while his steady gaze stays in the present. quite like the burning candle on their table. the mercury dips into the night as saintly time simply goes rogue.

written in the stars
this unusual kinship ~~
beauty and the beast


© 2021

those kohl rimmed eyes
soak a tristesse beyond words,
bitter sweet memories
which now lie buried
in the sands of time....
underneath that ram-tough exterior
lies a delicate lily
clad in chanel
vulnerable enough to wither
under the auspices of a full moon

© 2021

claiming to possess a “non existent” flick which “supposedly” documents “an affair that never was”,  you lit that strike anywhere match.

soon, all of rome was burning🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

darling grace, did you stop for a moment to wonder how a meandering earthly river could physically touch the infallible sky?  

things swing from unconditional love to bitter hate.  anger, angst and heartache replace joy, banter and sizzling moments of wanton love making.

at a distance, i see the setting orange sun behind the arches of the golden gate.


the space between us
no bridge can ever connect ~~
as memories fade


© 2021

with
her tintinnabulating anklets
sullen ‘time’
now thirsty for blood
sticks her elongated tongue
at ‘consciousness’
threatening to annihilate him
and his tired creation

ever present ‘consciousness’
in his state of yogic trance
smiles to counter:
for me - ‘time’ always is still
at best, relative
so, if and when,
i wake up to perform
my ultimate twilight dance,

will you even exist?


© 2021

warped,
weird,
whirling,
wonder-filled,
a garland of words
eulogized by occidental cosmologists today
to deify the milky way

for five millennia,
in clandestine chambers of
the temple of the lord with a lotus navel,
oriental sages, finely tuned into
ultimate mantras of the cosmos,
initiated ‘twice born’ namboodris of kerala
into a mellifluous sanskrit verse....

a potent heart melting hymn
where our star-studded galaxy,
milky in complexion,
is seen as a spinning jagged-edged discus,
worn as an ornamental ring
around vishnu’s slender index finger,
from whose whirling lotus navel
originate the birth of inseparable twins:
warped space intertwined with flowing time

now this is a garland of exquisite beauty!


© 2019

in the far reaching circumference
of your eloquent silence,
a galactic gravitational pull
tugs me deep within
busting the black hole of my own illusions.

i spy
nestled inside your incandescent halo:

avatars, bliss. compassion, divinity, enlightenment, forgiveness, grace, holiness,
infinity, joy, kindness, light, miracles,
nirvana, omnipresence, peace, quiescence,
radiance, self, tranquility, utopia, veritas,
wisdom, xenodochy, yogi, zen master
all gift wrapped in one!

the a to z of sanctity.....

untouched by clocks
i stand as a king-side pawn
who’s magnetically drawn
to that shining white light
like a moth to a flame

© 2019

as galaxies collide
black holes mate
and tectonic plates dance,
silly humans twitter away
asinine triviality day after day

this earth
already consumed by deathly Time
just a pimple in the universe’s prat,
about to be defecated
as cosmic excreta
to another remote corner of our multiverse

a befitting lesson
for a new generation of
lucifers, mammons and belphegors
puffed up with massive egos
yearning to play god

the real one quietly smiles
and now takes aim...


© 2019

gratitude maximus,
earthly moms
for bearing in your ******
the burgeoning seed of intense passion
planted for forty weeks
amidst severe contractions
and extreme corporal discomfort

makes me ponder,
how that burden measures
to the pain maximus
suffered by the mother of the cosmos
who patiently hauled and delivered
the primal seed of desire
from her womb
for god only knows how long?

© 2019

akhila
queen of masks!
each veil worn
to germanic perfection
they’ve become you,
hiding that true deity
lurking deep within

each motley camouflage
a charade to quell
a rising dam
of kaleidoscopic emotions
bubbling from regrettable actions
of lives past

this towering fortress
surrounding your jello heart
self built, brick by brick
and coated with
the leaded paint of distrust,
is now impenetrable

akhila
sporting a thousand faces!
lose that stealthy visor of denial,
and true to your name
open your white silk kimono
at once
to let the tides in
and watch that inner pink lotus coruscate

who am i?

the beleaguered king
tired of wearing a million cloaks
and desperately looking
to lose them all
in order to find
my true goddess akhila

© 2019