Somewhere under the mundane moon
is an Arab smoking ***** on the sand
and next to him is a beauty with a scar
dancing despite the presence of God.
Her silky red dress swirled like divine fire,
And until sunrise all she will do is dance.

Close by is an Indian who cannot dance
as he is shackled, though his skin is pale as the moon.
He watches the beauty spin and turn across a distant bonfire
to which he tries to get closer to,away from the freezing sand,
but could not resist watching her hips that moved liked the way God
created flowers, perfect in every way-even with a scar.

The ****** suggests the Arab to give her another scar
if her body grew too fatigued to dance.
His evil eyes gazed upon the girl,thinking he was a God.
But even in this darkness, the presence of the moon
hung in the sky, observing all that lingered on this sand
and then it gleamed its light brighter than fire.

Finally the Indian is warm near the fire,
but grew enraged when he sees the Arab giving her another scar
so he lifted himself up and off the sand-
even a goddess can’t perpetually dance-
then he ran towards the Arab to which the moon
encouraged by shinning the light on the false God,

making it easier for him to see. As he run he prays to his God
the deity of
Koti, the lord of the core and fire
to give him the power to defeat evil.The mighty moon
heard his thoughts so it asked Koti to spare the beauty from another scar.
Koti, in debt from the moon agreed to help as he himself loves to dance,
so he set the Indian’s soul ablaze by sending power from deep beneath the sand.

The Indian ran up the dune where the sand
felt heavier than ever, carrying him down, but his God,
Koti, blessed him to rescue the beauty that can dance,
but the Arab had already pulled out his musket with fire
coming out of its barrel and now it was the Indian who would get the scar.
His chest was pierced, but he kept running because the moon

gave him all it could and Koti shared his fire
to punish the evil- the false God-
because it isn’t right to see only one Indian dance under the moon.

I.

Last winter,
when snow softened streets
and windswept ice decorated
cold light-posts, you called
Minnesota "home--"
"koti--"
for the first time.

I sat across from you
as a Minnesotan might--
I looked you in the eye
while we shared conversation
and you avoided my gaze.

Face red like firelight,
you smiled at all the right words
and spoke softly, your
thick accent stumbling
over English.

Each time our eyes met,
a grin darted across your lips,
an unspoken assent
to a question I hadn't asked--
then, quickly, you trained your eyes
on my shoulder-- on my forehead.

Maybe, I thought, he's
traditional-- maybe my
V-neck makes him uncomfortable.

II.

Today, I learned that
eye contact-- in your country--
is an invitation
to bed.

why do people like me
why do they act like thier my friends
is it due to my poetry
is it my hatred towards life
is it the fact that i hide my emotions

why does life flourish
why is peace seekable
is it due to a lost adventure
is it due to the fact that we hide the truth
is it the love for humnity

why do people question me
why do the act like im important
is it due to the fact that im a failure
is because i speak my mind
is it the philosophies i acknowledge

answer these questions
somebody please
tell me lies or the truth
it doesnt matter cause im losing the grip on life
love doesnt matter to me

koti thank you for the comments
kevan thanks for the advice
all poets of time
thank you for being my inspiration
but time has it flaws
and people have thier end
my lost sanity
brought on this poem

These empty beds,
And the silent rooms.
Have we got to the end?
The days really have come to an end.
The tress, the birds, and the lady bugs,
When will I meet these buds again?
Morning Yoga and Morning walks,
Are what I always waited for.
Landscape and OU's nature,
Made my whole gallery fill with her.
Walking to the college and to the hostel,
Days have gone by just like a tide.
Going to the mess hall with my friends,
Conversations in there just don't end.
Walking to Arts whenever we wanted to,
Talking for hours on the green grass and shades too.
Group studies and night outs,
Workshops and Labs,
Civil and CELT,
Instant plans and escaping seminars,
NCC and Ratnadeep,
Saraswathi and Yellamma temple,
Arts Landscape and Health center,
City wok and Tasty crunch,
Cycling and our Adda,
Jamai Osmania and MMTS
Koti and Secunderabad
Bawarchi and Sri Ramana,
210 and G4
Who could've thought it would end this fast,
Time machine is what I wish for at last.
Adieu to you
And I'll miss you.