Up the steep steps
as you reach the age old fort,
you breathless behold
the green valley down below
and that magnificent mound of rock
by the name Robinson Hill.

In the sweet silence of birds' chirping,
the winds reek of rifles and gun smoke
and you hear not the rustling leaves
but bullets echoing all over the valley
one more down, another down
as they held the fort till fell breathless
passing into tombs and memorials
you read to pause for a breath
up above the green valley
where the grasses grew over the blood.

I hide behind the little things
So the world won't find me,
If you search hard enough
You'll know what really matters
And there I will see you.

The November air brushed
Against your scarlet dress
(I get lost in it's waves just
Reminiscing about it)
   It contorts to the shape
Of your body hidden beneath
And drowns the world in stillness-
  All the world's watching you.

  The littlest thing to me
Is the doorway to the meaning
Of everything I don't think about
And that's what makes them
So very big.

Autumn, like an Indian classical dancer, dressed up
Arrives with soft rhymes and quickening steps
She comes aglow, aglow with a rare beauty
Dancing to the bracelet's tinkling song
Her floating robe falls in deep folds around her feet
As she mesmerizes all with moves full of grace
Viewing the flaming colours in assorted display
We are apt to wonder if Nature carefully saved up
All that is best for the closing grand finale
Autumn tints look enchanting all through the land
With pervading green, offset by crimson, citrus yellow
Flaming red, lustrous gold and a faded russet
The air stays crisp and sweet in the ripening fields
While stray clouds ramble in flawless turquoise sky

When autumn is thus all agog like a frenzied dervish
It gives us morbid pictures of death and decay
The trees wrestle to free themselves of their worn cloaks
Causing a cascade of withering autumn leaves
Now they fall scattered in endless stream and lie in piles
Like charred carcasses after a fierce forest fire
The rustle of dry leaves blown by the wind
Falls in our ears with the gabble of migrating birds
Pale sunshine sifts through leafless trees of maple and oak
All those leaves once stayed regal in stations high
But now tossed out like worthless chaff
They come nose diving and fall several meters below
Spreading a hazel curtain over the moist earthen crust
When trampled mercilessly by careless feet
They silently mourn their thankless fate

Graying that comes at the end of each autumnal fall
Reminds us of the pall of gloom that awaits
It is disturbing like the parting song of birds
As they fly southward before the fall of winter

At night
When  this azure garden
Was illuminated
By the rays
Of stars
The eyes of day
Hid itself
for sleep
and the dark
Of night emerged
From ambush

What difference is there
Between  a  narcissus
And a  daffodil
Both happy
And every flower
Whatever  it is
Looks  Coquettish
In the meadow

I'd rather shoot and miss in a city of tears
where stars grow cold beating like my
heart.
A dark undercurrent of woe which seems
to draw but it will not be so.
The heat of a thousand suns won't reignite my
heart, only one will do so.
Only one shall embrace my soul.
All the stars will beat again in warmth,
all the stars will beat blessed like this one sun.

The early morning sunlight
bidding adieu to the gentle night