Shoals of salmon on an upstream rush,
a frenzy propelled by an instinctual wish,
the milling evening crowd does siege the street,
one'd think it is a riot, all hopes to be sane is already lost.

Not soldiers on march, they are,  but within each
rages a war, not exactly knowing what they want to search,
this street has it all, hence all blindly flow along the stream
greedy green eyes hunt, splurge, conquer,vent steam.

Look for the labels, brand is sacrosanct,the only pointer
once the libels are spotted, in to the brain enter, the deal is done
smile, be contended, evade every other thought,
why waste time on value judgement,pointers assure delight.

Salmon on the stream never look for happiness,
a clock work motion that culminates in nature's prompt.
nowhere in this broad street you'd find a shop that sells-
happiness; but all search for it, without even aware.Fail.

A vision, in a flash told him about her ultimate mission,
that's the best of gifts, for anyone that walks on this planet.
When you are here, only for a short while, find out the one thing
some one special wants to fulfill, then, help accomplish it,all out.

No need even to ask what makes the passion to them, so intense,
see the sense of purpose, the grace; swiftly they move towards the goal,
every being roaming here, has a mission kept coded at the core,
as for her, she is the " ambassador of love" from the cosmic  effulgence.

A quivering drop
                       of tear
gleaming with the fear
                       of pain,
holds back in vain from
                             falling.

He stands helpless as a
                    drop of blood,
oozes in his heart along a
                         slash, love
has inflicted with an invisible
                                         blade.

An extra terrestrial on its mission
                                             wonders,
why didn't they transplant another in place
                                         of the punctuated one,
                                                      
do away with the tear glands and happily
                                                         live ever after.
"Aren't they attracted to each other's bodies?
                                                 then why suffer like this
                             can't they apply their intelligence
                                                                ­               in time,
                                    surrender to pleasure awaiting
                                                                ­    at  arm's length?"

A cactus he loved, all he saw was beauty in her,
the fascinating patterns,were engagingly intriguing,
she sought his thorns, to naturally reciprocate,
to love him, the way she always had known that art.

            Never could she find, even one, however she tried,
           thorns weren't his attraction, was she disappointed?
           she had to learn  love transactions, eliminating thorns,
           then, everything in place had fallen one by one.

Threatening demons prowled in hoards
in the mysterious outback of her psyche;
knowing this,she decided not to be perturbed,
tamed them, one by one with poetic mantras.
Now, they recite the chants of forces she invokes
as soon as she feels like going in to a cosmic trance.

Spreading dense night, dark robust forest,
growing relentless, virtually unstoppable;
it went on for some time after the sun surrendered
we were stranded in it's cloudy  thickets, thorny bushes.
Then came white butterflies, waves after waves after waves,
from the silver moon's abode  they descended so spectacularly.
          We were overwhelmed, by this sudden invasion of beauty,
that swayed my mind, made it fly high weightless like a feather,
couldn't even notice them eating up the fear of the forest altogether.

They crowd around her, as if she is the last straw
reads aloud what she wrote, together and feel
the pain as their own, her words breath fire
the picture of exploitation naked, painted  is real
what exactly they wanted to holler to the world is this:
"Lend your ears,for once,  hear all about our plight"
but in empty darkness it echoed, none heard.

"Stop reading my poetry" she'd curtly tell them
" It's no good" she lost all faith, where is justice
in the world we live, the underdogs fall by wayside
may it be women, children, aged.Who cares!"

Look at those girls, taut, depressed and mute
crying may do good, even that they are not capable,
they work round the clock as cheaply paid sales girls,
in textile or jewelers' shops rich frequent to buy
expensive stuff of every kind to show off
"We are on our feet all day long, put on
the nice uniforms employers insist to wear
we are mannequins alive,flexible more than plastic,
of flesh and bones, but even we forget
our feelings are to be tightly wrapped,with smiles"

"I want to cry all night long, when i think
of my life, back home, all my tear drops had dried,
only what you write has the power to make me cry,
your poetry is the pill for me to cry, how I enjoy it!"

"it's very private, my devotion to the lullabies for the dead,
each speak the words of the dead, some are uttered
by the not yet dead, going numb in their feelings
whenever i feel like crying i write them, when I do
my blood boils, I become blue with rage and helplessness.
i doodle in words, why read my words crinkly
you wouldn't understand a thing, it's complex
it doesn't mean what you think perhaps, the drops
of blood splattered there has violent stories to tell
i don't want any one read the secrets of my psyche concealed

But then i am a companion of you in this bleak, desolate world,
so i'd forgive you making me feel naked, we all are here..
so, let's huddle together and sing  about the passions still left"

Across the green of the lawn, the morning sun
makes a spectacular  splash, a wash of gold,
the lonely tree blissfully embracing soft fog
all night long, gets annoyed and feels cheated
as the hands of sun tickles wisps of fog, startled
she  hurriedly leaves disentangling the branches.
A black cat, rudely woken up by sun's sultry pinch
still her eyes half closed,  runs across the lawn,
the dark shadow of the tree fallen across her path
engulfs her, perplexed she rolls on the ground
still her eyes closed, thinks she is trapped and
something is going to happen,"I am dead" she meows,
a morning bird on a low branch, seeing this,is amused,
in mirth she  tweets aloud" you fool, you fool, get up"

"Never heard her speak
aloud  like this"
her father said.
"Don't expect any answers"
ten pairs of eyes
looking daggers at her
in her college
implied.
teachers only award grades
never allow themselves
to be graded.
Ÿou are a breeze--yes, my girl
but keep your mouth shut.
and get appreciated that way
you remain nice, we'll patronize,
it's plain and simple, this works everywhere.
Bit by bit they were  teaching her
the way this world functions
"Don't expect an answer "
he said in a voice, ruder than that
she has never heard--what a change!
she watched with bated breath
him walking away briskly
flowers never came again.
all of them stood around her
with inscrutable expressions
on their faces.Strange
she thought, this can't happen
time doesn't converge like this
in a bleak white cell
is it here all *******
wish for a happy communion
with a frail hapless girl
without even taking in to
consideration, she is sick?
sick, sick, sick, like hell
to the core...

Her elegance, if as she pretends
is such an exquisite, priceless wine,
I'd just admire the bottle from afar, that's fine.
Relishing with out tasting it, is an
undiminishing  pleasure, beyond expression
she'd understand it in this instance

If desire eluding fulfillment, is pain
it's the ***** for me now, I 'd enjoy my trip,
even if my stubborn stance is in vain,
I'd rather die wanting, won't toe her line.
If with such allure, someone tempts too much
wants to prove a point after all this I've done to woo her,
I am not the one to submit, say uncle.
Let me make sure I'd rob the very thought
from her and keep it in a dark cave, as a treasure
for some future hunter  in search of ego's glitter
of a woman, that was robbed once and for all.

"Department of space' a signboard shouts aloud
to my perplexity of that moment, it adds
before mind's eye I see the great enigma personified
and try to reason,"Oh! fathomless vastitude, mostly dark
what need you've this quaint building, that before you
would be a frightened Indian bride at her first night?"
Yes, the puny little "department" is not all space, it implies,
has a purpose limited than how it sounds: grandiose!
one doesn't even has any inkling,
what all these means, but a scribe, I have  a thing
with all these seeming inanities, that's the funny part.

Marveling it's esoteric architecture and mulling over
the concept of bringing the limitless to the minuscule,
just enough for a department of government to deal with,
I wait for bus, a personification of impatience, curse the circumstances,
fear reaching late for my appointment, with an eminent scientist.

Fuming against the haphazard, public transport system in this town,
while appreciating the red brick architecture, acts contrary
and make me a bundle of nerves.
Then she 'happens', that's the word
wasn't I looking for an escape from it all?
Freeze, i did, she, to be precise,  her figure was
nothing less than  a show stopper,one should admit.

Her dress, gladly left nothing to guess, and those dark eyes
from the other end of the bus stop eagerly sought me
as if I am assigned officially to pay all her pending bills!

From all round swarms of humming birds, eager admiring eyes
were chasing her, the moment  was an explosion of chrysanthemums ,
for me,  she and I , two spirited dancers on a stage,
(a scene fashioned in my mind, unfolded there ,it seemed)

Am i not to honor commitment as a responsible journalist?
an appointment was fixed with the nuclear physicist,  
with great difficulty it was done, on the way my car conked,
at the nick of the moment, i am here eagerness and anxiety
combined , fighting many demons at once, give me a break..

Yet here i am, finding time to fall in love, like yet another accident,
how fickle is my mind, I'd make any one submit
in an argument, but this red, ripened lips,are alluring
infest my thoughts, those dark eyes plead for love of course,
makes me feel like running to her, true love  may appear even here.

at that moments of dilemma I was another Buridan's ***
wants to do both but can't do one even;
and precisely then  my cell phone rings,
on the other end the nuclear scientist sounds apologetic,
my heart started to pound in my ears, does she want to cancel
the appointment for the day, postponed to another day?
I didn't listen her words, those eyes were scorching me alive.

"Let me do it for the many worlds I simultaneously exist
as birds and bees, beasts of pray, majestic tree or tiny organism
human beings of diverse persuasions , male , female, inhabiting
in parallel time lines, sinner and saint seeking salvation together"

He delves deep in the heart of blue, fathomless, abyss, a country new
where meanings differ, voices are petering to the valley of silence.

The rivers are silver bands, mountain peaks soft pillows,
the clouds sheets fresh and crisp, spread gently over
the undulating water bed of seas, so inviting, soporific,
fire lovingly ripens the fruits of temptation that hangs from branches,
drink the bubbly white wine of rain pouring in to your cup,
breezes are nice silk, towels to dry one softly
after sweating too much, when ends the frenzied search
through the mazes, for each other, in the play ground of
wolves  and panthers, friendly beyond belief. 

Day and night, one comes to know are made from the same cloth,
wearing a day easy is difficult as evening comes closer,
it gets soiled, however careful one is, needs to stuff it in a container
the dark sea, tame like a bucketful of water, it takes so long to clean.

Morning,  time to wear the new dress,  embark on a new day again
we are men and women here, creatures of circumstances, in disguises
don't ever pretend there is a world real, and you exist here just for fun
like a fish coming up for air, now he surfaces with a sly happy smile.

Sun flowers in full bloom are what he sees in place of her eager eyes,
at the very moment, he transforms; another Van Gogh in creative frenzy.
Her eyes are alive, from them  swarms of crazy bees fly seeking him
her each desirous glance, goes straight to his heart, sting again and again,
hapless he becomes, as the sweet pain in his heart grows more and more,
revealing true colors, the lovely CARDIAC NURSE takes charge of him.

Holed up in a bunker, a soldier dreams that the war is over.
It's just poetic justice, a dream for an emerging new dawn.

See, every soldier defying orders, leaves the post and embrace
the one whom he was made to think as enemy in his naivety
they dance in the no man's land, where they plant a rose garden

With them aloud, let's chant,"Bury the guns fellas, war is a tale
told by perverts of the worst kind, just to sell deadly warheads.
that **** happiness, book the culprits that make war, allow them not
to fornicate truth, blatantly like this, deceive the world , gift turmoil."

Airborne still, this moment aloft is simply magical
in perpetual motion from a moment in the past
when I start to swing, it's a journey, back and forth
to a past  which,I can only visit hovering above
and a future , just an apparition, vague in the horizon,
can't be certain what it would bring, unless I would
make it happen wishing deep inspired by  my vision ,
gathered from my experiences in the swing flying.

Time, lends me the wings that fly me, this vision is all
I have to rely on, to make things happen before
the swing finally slows down before the setting sun.

She never moans, weeps, sighs or sings his paeans,
as one would expect, seeing her ardor at it's peak
how could he still just be the receiver of her ****** mastery,
without all of that intermittently let out loud, without shame!

He feels compelled to look at her with a sense of thankful awe,
she, no doubt, is in a plane far far above, any classification,
just not a  participator or receiver , she is the moment itself,
on it's shining wings, ascending  to the rarefied air, ethereal
see, the look of self abandonment, on her intense  lovely face,
that tells all, a flight defying limits of time, a leap yet again.

let everything go
at a glowing moment's prompt,
no looking back to the paths
that went winding through
the landscapes, both  barren and verdant.
Slowly started to fall
from nowhere to nowhere
like the flow of a symphony
heart rending, rising to a crescendo.

Touched the acme. Gently

started to fall like an ice flake,
simultaneously freezing and melting,
as if not yet decided what is the best,
don't know how long it kept
going on like a dream sequence,
though never moved a bit.

then--

eternal, shining moment
like a rainbow arch appeared at
the mind's horizon.
All illusions dissolved
like  vaporous clouds  in the blue sky.
visions of many worlds
merged in to one.
felt the light that engulfed
has a voice,
dissolved self is in it
as it's lilt.

"Catching him in his utmost real expression is almost impossible"
She sinks in despair,he manifests hydra-headed,beyond her grasp.
He doesn't fight contradictions; seeds sown for diverse harvests are  him.
He plants a  fervent kiss on her lips,"This is patented you" she concedes .

You are the book written by the mystic eternal,
in sub atomic particles of each and everything
after transcending the limits of time,
on the wings of the thought in the primordial core,
that witnessed the seeds being sowed in the beginning.

I am entrenched in the inner urge of the spread of everything,
the surge of cosmic mind, all the five elements
the Brahman, most sublime, omnipresent,
at once, inert and omnipotent, a feat one of a kind
the waves of music, the subtle "ÄUM" containing all,
even when the symphony begins, and climbs to the crescendo
when self and the Master, my cosmic significant other,
merge in YOGA, the ocean, the confluence of consciousness.

Intense moments of passion made her uncontrollably weep.
But each drop of tear, rolling down her cheeks tasted so sweet.
Astonished, she looked at him and found him knowingly smile.
Yet another miracle of love, least expected, she was overwhelmed!

Everything would come to an end,my love
             even the frenzied season of love we celebrate.
In loneliness I muse, dreamily
             pour the molten gold of my heart, incessantly
in to molds one after another;
            on this one I don't have to remind myself not even once,
in my consciousness  this abstract is darkly painted
                 on it's live silvery screen:

She sits waiting patiently for me to come to rest,
                 in that secluded, quiet house
where love and longing, sighs and moans,
                  even the poetic cadence, my only aphrodisiac,
like many hued evening clouds,
                       disappear in the dark, till the next day dawns.

Are you the surge, triggering the flight of the transcending bird?
the  ultimate mystery, unspeakable, that liberates the seeker.
While awaiting the wingless flight, the moment of soul's effulgence,
you too are a mystery , like the all encompassing spirit, I am one with

The universe is not wholly cognizable,constant transformation
one to something drastically different, and the story never ends.
Known physics, could tell the story,only halfway, the rest is dark
I understand the helplessness of space observatory at Herschel
peering at vast Magellanic cloud galaxy, a mystery in the move.

Her stolen heart was left unannounced at my door step
I know  the last place she would like to look for it, is this.
Yet I kept it warm and safe, with in the flannel of love
still wet with the tears she once shed,  but tattered a lot;
I'll keep it like times before, till she has the presence of mind,  
to retrace the steps to my door step, she could never forget.

This being the usual place to find her discarded heart
many come knocking my door, inquire what is it's state
plain curious they are, more of a usual ritual, familiar
"You do cradle it far too long, isn't it still a child, refusing to grow?"
I pretend ignorance, loyal to her, the heart that was once mine alone,
I'll never let down my split love,sell or barter what is left in that love
only wait for her without rancor till the tired foot fall of hers
echoes after the pale moon has risen, climbed high up in the sky,
hesitantly at last she will come to my door, find, it's again discarded,
as ever I am the only one,  her last resort, though she hates to accept.

Then she weeps leaning on my chest, grief haunts her without fail
far a while, she cries, as she limps back with her brooding heart
I go to sleep, thinking how a love once moved  mountains,
                                               ­                                              had gone waste

In his dreams the Vally in the throes of efflorescence call out
in a language heart alone understands;
from the hanging bridge over Ganga, he views the ice-capped peaks,
Vally's ***** extravagance and the river's turbulence.

The river runs too deep, at times he finds,
the currents treacherously strong,
from the window of his *Ashram, the view is clear.
She bathes naked, alone on a step submerged in water,
eyes feast on her moonlit curves,
the pleasures skin deep, camouflage the existential dilemmas ! he smiles
In memory his Guru speaks:"Eat only those fruits that make one immortal"
Yet another Himalayan journey in search of the fruit tree unknown

It's too late to redefine, life and love when the avalanche thunders above
on his lonesome path, every step uphill is fraught with slippery stones,
one way leads to the top, to bathe in the light of  the star reaching down

Some days end in too long nights, too cold, the sun shows up hesitant,
her body has the warmth that reaches to his icy depths,
a ****** alone could penetrate, but it still wouldn't melt
Himalayan silence, chant of Ganga, the ghost of a ******
that follows him  like a faithful dog, are all these fragments of a dream
or realities stringed together from many different planes?

This is his Henri Julian Rousseau taboo land,
here he appears as the lion night after night,
with his tail stiffened, *****--but the Gypsy wasn't there

Bathed in psychedelic strobe lights, now
here on a plush confession table doubling as their stage
his Gypsy lies spread-eagled,  
til there is no secrets left in her body, he now tries
to pry open the many chambers of her peripatetic mind.

With a lingering kiss, he in vain tries to arrest her
never subdued spirit and begins his secret rituals
for the angel of sin, black magic maiden, yin for his yang
who in ways direct, sly or by allusion, is the bestower of
a million forbidden pleasures,  whispering,like a mantra thus:
"There is no right or wrong, all illusions, within an imagined truth"
which made him stray, albeit, within the labyrinth
like innumerous men of power, which they gained
shedding blood, sweat and tears; as if there is nothing beyond.

She who by instinct engineered his downfall
from the pantheon of the anointed is finally here
but this is no retribution, only return of the favors received,
his throbbing lust seeks her deep interior's caresses
giving her forgiveness in return, his masculine urges
wish to be gripped by her unusual craving,
she is melting like butter, her sweet urges fight back
in unison they seethe, wreath, roll and race to culminate.

On a swing hanging high ,above the poisoned earth
for a few sweet transient moments they remain,
weep in pleasure til they fall in to slime and crawl back to life
--then the Gypsy and the Lion remember nothing .

Just think of it, we are all two dimensional figures made to believe
the universe is a happening real, but just a flip of a switch is enough
to unmake the drama of universe, and as everything points, is it
the Higgs boson that would become unstable, pull the curtain down,
end this cycle of cosmic drama, not with a bang,but with a whimper?

The shadows get frighteningly long,
he watches in silence like a painter
whose mixed up colors in the palette
are found to be of no use, the pictures
are muddled by inept handling of colors.

once colorful skyline is suddenly
pecked in to pieces by winds,
the belligerent evening birds in discord;
the child playing in the park now gives up
her carefully structured house,
receiving cues from swarms of darkness,
looks at her mother as if she isn't  interested,
anymore, as if feeling the encroaching loneliness.

"Evening is a spoiler of beautiful things"
he jots down on the page of the day in his mind
"it's  enticing beauty is just a masquerade"
a truth he would vouch as a fact of life.

It's time to be back home, the dusk falls
holding mom's finger she goes
back to the lighted space of warmth
that has an assurance of kiss any moment,
on his way she sends a smile, just a stranger
till two days before, as if saying "See you tomorrow"
this little one is a fresh guest of breeze
a pure blessing, sunshine rare in winter.

This rusted garden bench knows him well,
the fragrance of mango blossoms from a land distant
in a season long past still spreads the scent of musk
touches somewhere deep, brings
memories from a land so far,  a land where
evenings were spent under the shades of mango trees
in exhilaration, awaiting the mango fruit season.

A change in the lighting of sky overturns everything.
time administers it's hidden poison drop by drop,
the memories of an evening from afar asks in a feeble voice
"Will the child come to the park to play tomorrow again?"

In that pregnant moment
just before you said
that you are leaving for ever,
did you care,
to look deep in to my eyes
as you loved to do each time
you took leave, that made us
feel so near, just a heart beat away
though how far one is from the other.
How could I see your face
when it is reflected like a
flickering beam of dying light
in the drops of tears in my eyes
that were about to roll down,
--the last tribute to a love taken
a turn none foreseen,
like the course of a river after
copious rains in the mountains.

The insane man with uncommon zen,
I encounter now and then near the city center
poses a nonsensical question each quite different,
every time he and i come face to face by chance,
then shares a smile with a conspiratorial wink.
        "Every one in this planet, even those ones
          who are at war with themselves or others
          inanely clamors'light, light, give us light'
          they sincerely believe it or not, do you think
          there is enough light, for all, assuming they all deserve it?"
I see the night getting  near and the electric lights started
opening their greedy eyes in quick succession,
I see a drop of it reflected in the well of his eyes,
He expects a "YES" or "NO"from me at once!
as if it's crucial to the survival of planet earth"

I look around and see light valiantly fights the army of darkness,
now tell me my friend, who now reads this, what would you advice?
I am waiting, I am all ears; darkness and light too listens.
I know you as a nice one,a good soul, balanced; come on tell me..,
,

Within the blue expanses of your left eye
I see colossal expanding galaxies
white dwarfs, black holes and exploding super novae
vie with one another in the other eye,
expansion and contraction are created by your winks
to complete the picture of a universe without an end
oh! mother of everything, this wayward son is
only a spec, he dreams your vision, conjuring up immortality,
he traverses through labyrinths non existent
in the outer space, in his fragile space craft to reach
the galaxy in the shape of your heart,
this is all I can hope in my interstellar voyage
now undertaken, with my heart drumming
as the back ground score.

She tries to put that favorite poem of her's to sleep
it wasn't easy as it spoke of pain, made her weep,
kept on talking about losses, promises not kept,
fighting losing wars, strifes and  getting  lost.

She waited for the night, fully covered in black tresses
the ample woman, compassionate, who gently would caress
in night's presence and  deft manoeuvres all weeping stops.

She sighs, no more poems resurrecting the reign of pain, she hopes
forgets what makes her nightly haunt this place, that she is a ghost

She rides a thoroughbred perfectly like a man does,
that in no way makes her look less than a lass,
how does the horse feel, being in this rough and tumble dance
see the reason for his pride, it's deeper than what one thinks,
she makes him feel loved, he obeys every word of command,
not a mistress and slave, two beings benign, in sync
right then, my heart dictates,"Make this lovely Cavalry woman
your own", as the crowning moment dawns,
I wave to Esther, from among the motley crowd.
Still in gallop her eyes caught my eyes from that far,
what makes her look at me straight, later I would ask,
"Being the first, near the finishing line, the crowd was just a haze,
to my watery eyes, colors seemed blurred, but you stood out
the crowed simply cheered, but you! you were in such an awe."

Someone has started a war once again
says the news bulletin; the news caster
munch it again and again, tempting
listeners as if it is her favorite nutrient pill.

Gloom spreads in the after noon, distressed lovers
are getting ready to live together some time soon,
"Only if things fall in place,without any hitch
and the world decides to be kind" they resolve.

Like the background score, they hear the wails of children,
their lives are destroyed for ever by precision warheads
made in the best of factories, yes death creation, is a business for profit
not too may'll shy away from such prospects,
                                      
               ­                                                    isn't gun a reality of life?

(protect it with life, what if if destroys life bit by bit)
Why he asks her, is there no bar, in creating war for fun
she says they must start one, the sooner they can,a war to end all wars,
till the moment one or both go down offering no surrender
or a law to stop making wars, is to be brought  in force at gun point.
Allow warheads to stockpile, to get rusted, harmlessly go waste,
so that all in this world once more can feel safe,
                                                           ­       the beleaguered lovers dream

In the circular lily pond--
desolate, surrounded by lush growth of
tall, entangled ***** pine plants
spewing amorous scent
in to the humid tropical air
from musky flowers, golden yellow.
hunted by swarms of bees,
                                        --  you step in.
Peeling off  your clothes to the last bit,
with a jubilance freedom bestows
you spring down, delve deep
to take bathe, knowing, I the owl
that has an eye on you always
keep watching you from the other end
in a stunned surprise to see you ****
for the first time, after long last!

In a fix you are now about my presence
when  celebrating the freedom
of a village belle, that comes rarely
on such occasions, away from all eyes that pry-

You swim a few laps, my water nymph
on your back you glide, setting the water aflame
now, you pretend to see me all of a sudden,
then, swim towards me as if your secret plan, did succeed,
I am caught in your net of love, but your ploy is different,
plead not to look at you as you swim naked,
a wily love cat, you are,  that knows her alley well.

If only, I were a water lily,I'd pretend to be your waist band
made of the stem, supple soft; the petals would jealously conceal
the secrets of your lotus, while circling the slender waist  tenderly.

Step by step a kite ascends to the sky
regains  memory of transcendence
of once being the echo of a cloud
sailing speedily westwards.
the kite remembers another life
and strays far beyond it's distance permitted,
when the string rudely pulls it back,controls,
the young cloud, narcissistic
still keeps it's love for the echo, in swirling
wisps of vapor as gently caressing wet touch

The lone woman who suppresses deep inside her chest,
the tumultuous waves of love and passion,
imbuing the emotion sunset spews, suddenly breaks down
the startled sea breeze is the only witness to her outburst.

the sky slipping fast in to the gloom of darkness
stands frozen, silent, as if melting in the pain love causes,
when one bids final good bye to the beloved, vowed never to part.

Yet again I see me in your eyes
far deeper than just a reflection
am I sweetly disappointed?

I was looking in to your eyes for that
deep blue oblivion to disappear
and be one with your placidness
Not a mirror, I look for,that flatters
and proclaims love to me in a
loudest possible reflection of mine
that I've seen on all those days
we've been trying to discover
each other like new continents.

Now, I find you keep me deeper,
like a jewel kept in a chiseled case
Though late, let me tell you this,
remember, you are the diamond
I am just a case to  safely keep
my precious for all the days to come.

In my deep state of awareness
an apparition strikingly similar
in form to me in many ways appears,
"What are you looking behind me still?
I am an ancestor of ancient, in your linage,
countless generations before"I hear the words
"But I see myself far behind you too
we are all one, so no confusion in multitudes
my quest for noumenon has only begun,
isn't it what you tell? Time to break loose,
from all the illusory identities, bindings.Adieu"

The stars fallen
on the still water plane
of the lake
dreaming the sky every minute,
sizzle,
like the effect of cooling,
smile to themselves
thinking about the amazing
translocation,
from the foaming rapids of milky way
to placid dark waters deep down,
from an illusion of light years
to another, of transient reflection.
lie still for a while
taking stock of things:
isn't the real on the same level
of what we count imaginary?
when--
all the fish from secret depths
shoal after shoal after shoal
curious about the newly arrived
lightening bugs, that pulsate,
try to get closer,
propelling themselves
through water
like torpedoes sensing targets
wanting to gobble up
the whole galaxy,along with supernovae and black holes
thinking. "for us these planktons are an easy game
now right here, in our sanctuary,when we are starving"
stars, like frenzied school kids
after the last long bell
swim helter-skelter, ride
the unruly waves,
try to make it to the shore
but find dissolving altogether
was what was written on the book.
Anyway it's a"LILA"
a cosmic game illusory
all a grand opera in which
*Shakti  and Shiva play
transformation game.
But the big fish
ruling cosmic  space
with appetite voracious,
moves across galaxies,
crossing light years in a flash,
obliterating whatever is the matter

Her mind is a thicket, never once pruned,
her heart is in turmoil, weeping blood
she puts on thick makeup, artfully smiles
her mirror image laments,"Are you relevant?"

And the bell rang, the time of closing
of the nine doors of entrances,
he is glad,he did read much, experienced
imbibed, felt elated,embraced effulgence
but the unmitigated sadness is unforgiving
the heart, heavy; a feeling too painful to take home.
"I haven't invented even one word
as my firm claim to immortality,
words I 've only seen, read and heard"

As he quietly lays waiting, these words
rush to mind,"A solitary pilgrim  am I,
a song sung when an audience was all ears, applauded
beginning from a thought, I am left behind as one,
the rest from dust goes to dust.Finis."

The smile of the white bloom, in my crown
its fragrance spreads across galaxies of neurons,
none can fully imagine the scene, I haven't seen
it's stellar design baffles humans, resists exploration.

On single file pass days and nights, indefatigable
rainbows are made and unmade, making clouds
blush and hoping for  bridges across them,
why, even the universe dances to the tunes we play

Ever  at ease, I walk silently past the blue mountains,
of remembrance, mostly love created, a miracle!
At times a poet, a scientist,a  cosmologist,or a mystic in solitude
finds the need to "stand and stare"wonder, speaks in metaphors.

Looking st the fireworks sky manages, I hallucinate,
an astronaut I become, who knows nothing about time
one wished to live in timelessness for ever and when,
that dream comes true, loses within and be nothingness.

A sunlit narrow path cleaving  
       overgrown green hedge, both ways,
such exhilarating surprises, it too can offer,
        but would one expect, in the first place?

On my track, I stand arrested hold that flower,
                that made my heart jump, in my front,
felt being washed inside out
                 by a kind wave, transformed.

The flower, romancing the sun
         still is on it's branch,alive
didn't feel the temptation
        to pluck it like many times before.

Even the beauty's name is unknown to me,
     just another hibiscus,amidst her  cousins,
"I love the one next to her, the purple one"
    said a female voice, a wayfarer like me.

Standing by me, she adoringly looked at her favorite,
     I had no hesitation to accept it, like mine.
no ranking makes sense, each has
      own quicksilver tongue, if you 'd listen.

"Look at you! how pleased you look
    I love the folks, that adore flowers!"
she sounded like a skylark, hands of
  evening sun caressed her, we are kindred spirits.

"You have wide eyes like girls,
    eyes seeking beauty reflect it"
we held hands like childhood friends,
   long lost, looked at each other's eyes.

Isn't it the feeling one try to capture and define,
       when trying to say what poetry makes to happen?
it's there, a tangible feeling, if you know what it means,
   on our separate ways we went, gifting what to keep for ever.

Charming lass, the shark she did trust , was a nimble one,
softly nibbled the dead cells laid crusted on her heart
genial it was so she felt like closing her tired eyes a bit,
her bed, lukewarm water, ominously bobbed all the while.
A woeful clown, she dreamed, tried everything to make her laugh
with his pathetic pranks; a jellyfish wearing a  wedding dress
seeing this, smelled blood, tried to raise an  alarm.
The shark was the one responded, "Don't you wake her up"
the waves were lapping on the shore, then dense silence reigned,
as expected a sanguinary sunset it was,on water blood lay splattered.

Our destination we knew beforehand

we did set sail to distant galaxies, that create

rainbows out of light years and star dust.

We forgot the meaning of the word 'return'

never imagined a coming back, ever

the journey of no return  every moment,was
rich

only we were there,needless to think

about the beginning or any one other than

us

we didn't bother about the moment of culmination,

the phenomenal world, after all is not ours

Spinning top vanishes in a blur
motion finds an inward swirl
through a tunnel undaunted
find quietude, dazzling light, merge.

I just stood transfixed, letting her eyes light
the smothered wick in me that needed the oil of love
with  anxious stutter I asked, "Is your name Grace?"
"It really is, you are right there, but pardon me
I am Grace Fallen" I took it as a joke and smiled,
"Dear fallen flower, your grace resurrects my crucified spirit"

I have seen them all, blooms, perfect, fragrant,
the ones that catapult one to momentary bliss
with a wink,  a word that touches somewhere tender
or share love, fresh like butter, that seems gushing from the depth
that not even  expect any kind of reciprocation,
blowing like fragrant  breeze, caressing drooping trees.
Women with such luminance ,bless their ilk
whom one only could think as incarnates
came down  to lift this miserable world
up from the quagmire, the ***** pit  it has fallen
because of the absence of feminine grace in abundance

A jolt too, once in a while I like,
to **** me back to the center of my being,
she said, not always a flower I seek
though I appreciate a fragrant bloom
on a plant, no doubt about it.
Give me a pleasant surprise,
show me what I miss without fail,
let us be alert, to complete each other
push me out of complacency,
thus help me see more clearly.
Water my thirsty inner plants copiously
and see how happily they greet you
with flowers, buzz of bees and fragrance,
enjoy the dance with life even if
our steps falter a bit in the beginning
let the dogs bark, night be dark
winds blow heavy and strong,
let the change of weather never bother us,
moving forward is the order of nature.
Softly kiss my soul with  noble acts
it's not for here and now, but for
eternity to keep as a treasure incandescent.

I see you sit expectantly biting lips
  on the extended museum steps leading
to a veranda around the building, that invites
a flash mob,of your ilk, effervescent, to come together
perform and celebrate, nothing in particular,
  except giving a shock pleasure to all those marked  "the other"

Once you made me believe, together we make a whole,
that is the story we live on I was told, I merely listened,
I and you missed few beats and steps here and there
find us now in pages different, why, even ages apart,

"What a fine specimen,!" a pacifist, I can't but appreciate
watching your elan. As if seeing an alien in my home ground,
I watch the spectacle, gulping down my discomfiture dutifully,
while you romance with much finesse,to the cell phone,
you cling on as if it's the beau you want to show off.

"Wouldn't she make a fine museum piece?"
that would point towards the life style,
that highlights only the moment present,
and constantly on the run to remain there,
while past vanishes and future becomes obscure more and more.

With a gentle smile for you to pick up, when you are at peace,
I move on; more than the museum pieces still living,
I am interested in  regular exhibits I easily grasp.

He created a night for him
with the dark metaphors
his poetry tossed on to the air;
from its ember buried under ashes
oozed little by little,
two drops of scared light.

Alone, in the cocoon of the memory
of her words, he distilled and drained
the magic potion of poetic expression.

In it was ingested, the intensity
of sudden lightening
that burns down everything
in to ashes

like the tides that occur high and low
what if ,at will, single source secretes
both poison and nectar?

with your eyes mutely speaking of desire
you are deft in signalling both---
the ascent of love, that creates in me
the instant capillary rise of passion
and
love's descend, as if the monsoon has dissipated
and just a sprinkling announcing rejection!

who are you, reveal your true face
poetic trance at the moment of my inspiration
or dark poetry, gushing out on it's own
from a secret spring, deeply hidden?

Plan A: there is none as such;
though unflinching ego makes
complex calculations, concludes,
reassures it is best laid for sure.

Plan B, hence has no actual relevance
A mountain river, life is, it rushes
the way the cryptic GPS message directs.
If you ask how it works, try to understand
the intricate organic correlations, involving factors
that  even a super computer can't process
but your mind would, somehow easily tell you
in a clear voice, if only you are ready to  listen.

Every best laid plan is merely a wish
the more profound is spoken as a prayer
words addressed to the voice inside, that listens and acts
fulfillment then, is an emotional construct
you need the scent of that flower to inspire life.

Who says the cosmic plan is mysterious?
One who walks the karma path right, even when eyes closed
knows how to reach where one is headed to.
The truth this: one leads oneself, so keep the inner eyes open.

Subtle wishes that bring smile on the face of thy neighbor
are much more meaningful than selfish desires