A forest fallen flat
in to the water bed,
of this extended lake
gives him a feeling of surreal
and yes, an immense sense of peace.

he sits there alone, quietly
peering at his cold narcissistic face
now, broken in to pieces by fish
curious to look at his face
by swimming around his reflected one.

After many cold winters
when at last one finds out
that mere reflections all are,
the face thought to be real,
and the reflection on water plane,
on the pool waters of time
that drains little by little,
liberation wings in like
a white dove, the harbinger
of the last good news.

The cuckoo
in the bamboo grove,
swaying from one side to the other
as the bamboo moves in the hands of wind,
on the clod water sheet, sings without sound,
the forest that grunts
like a wounded animal,
observes grave silence
in the other reality plane-
water spreads.
He watches in alert silence
a recluse in parallel realities
           he has awakened.

without a word
we told each other:
"let's not explain anything
and stop the rainbow from vaporizing"
the moment stood still,
like a big red blimp
hovering above
                        overlooking
the breath taking vista of hills
                          where the dawn
displayed its magic, yet again
but in front of our eyes, like never before,
the moment suspended motion,
for a long long while,
till we lost all sense of time;
wasn't it heaven brought down for us?
will it happen again, our hearts beating in unison,
repeatedly was asking.

Will, makes the body a fiddle, every string vibrates with music,
life continues to be a bacchanalia, for long, from teens to midlife,
the weakening of pleasure seeking streak, brings spirit
to the center of thought, meditativeness brings connect
with the all pervading spirit, then poetry of the universe seep in
ecstatic moments of body, mind and soul, one is convinced,
are soaked in poetic cadence, oozing from the divine spring within.

An ecstatic poet, conjured up a full moon night so special.
Pairs of lovers got drunk with moon's white wine, reveled,
danced all night along the sea washed sands in ebullient spirit
till they were completely exhausted,  slept there on the sand bed.
When dawn tiptoed, they transformed to lovebirds, away they flew,
did they want to get back to human lives; no one knows, even if they did-
wasn't possible, the poet that created them, in drunken stupor, had
already forgot the whole episode and was in a hurry for new conceptions.

My armory is in the amorous corner of my brain,
dexterously I press the button of my attack missiles-
on love mission, as soon as she advances all of a sudden
making me counter her attack, directed to my heart,
aiming with her blazing eyes, that hit the bull's eye of the target.

1
   **My dad suddenly walks in,
  as if nothing has happened,
   and he hasn't gone anywhere, leaving
six of us behind, notwithstanding-
all these years of absence and
pain unimaginable that changed us all
to see life in a new light that gets dim
without the lamp he held in front of us.
       A shadow transparent gets in to the room,
he stands near mom sitting inside her cocoon,
lost in an ancient evening, pensive, forlorn
as if she feels an absence, tangible right there.
Dad's absence stands silent, perhaps
curiously looking at her with loving eyes
that's how he was, after a period of absence.
The pantomime, tears my sense of reality
                   in to shreds, I sit upright,
with my hands pressed against my palpitating heart.
Do I see it really or hallucinate him looking,
wistfully at the coconut groves dancing
beyond the extending rice paddy billowing,
in front of our farm yard, sleepy these days,
for a moment I think time has
taken liberty to flow back
and everything is right there
where we'd love it to be.
             2
The absence was a hollow,
in the middle of everything,
breaking the mirror of reality
in to smithereens, the dark space,
in between sprang-
opening its mouth to swallow,
wherever one turned,
it stood in front defiantly,
posing a challenge at times,
it came behind hollering noiselessly,
bringing unbearable memories,
from moments hard to forget
spent in his company,
in my palmy days of yore.
                    3
Absence was fire within,
that needs no fuel to burn,
flood waters without a source,
that can wash away,
till one becomes nothing;
then little by little,
one comes in to terms with the absence
and at last it too is laid to rest,
and that eats a part of the soul,
causing bleeding in slushy green,
transparent white and blobs of sad black.

The woodpecker wouldn't reveal,
          the secret kept closer to her chest,
but the telegraphic messages
          meant nothing else I gather it thus:
"Don't you give up midway
           slog, till you are fully satisfied,
that you've reached there
        where, what you are searching is found"

In wooden notes, she proclaimed thus,
          goes on pecking making,
the noise louder and louder,
         it's now more and more clear-
that in standards she'd never compromise,
        never would she lower her esteem
even if her sense of urgency sometimes
              creates some discordant notes
       that she accepts as her fault
and keeps her ears perked up for tone and tenor.

A fruit gatherer by some chance,
she is deeply immersed in this pursuit
seeking out and gathering ripe fruits,
hidden by the foliage,
but her eyes search far beyond,
sunny day, the impact of beauty all round,
  moves her deeply and transforms
her demeanor speaks of an  inner tranquility rare,
and the light her eyes emit speaks
all this indicate a deeper meaning to her act,
much more than what meets the naked eyes.

The verdant garden, flowers, ripe fruits,
the fruit picking charmer herself,
are the realities in front,
if one doesn't look beyond and only see skin deep,
it suits him well, what is the prompt of beauty,
he does not know for sure,
absorbed she is, and he sure is aware of being enticed by her fruits,
as much as her,
and he wants to be a fruit picker himself,
we all are, for reasons only our inner selves fully know.

To pyramids and pygmies,
all things mighty and puny-
I wouldn't be able to fathom
the true depth, they have
with my limited yard stick, "mind"
with a heavy heart, I bow low,
apologize and seek pardon
in the name of the one
unified cosmic consciousness
that dwells in all of us
from aliens to astronauts.

Why don't we pulsate in unison?
not your fault, but mine,
I understand, life has many secrets
dark energies fill all vacant spaces,
I too am it's slave, I must be beware,
by dismissing all those
as inconsequential as ever,
I'd create darkness single-handedly, I am aware

1
*Gongs and drums sound rambunctious,
a wild rhythm tears the silence of the night,
a slow number first, then in quick time
racing fast,everything ends in a blast.
his self control lost, he dances like one possessed,
in the moon lit places and shadows alike.
This angst is not his alone, he feels,
as if mad at the way the world these days is.
Freedom of a special kind, it was, catharsis,
drums sounding mysterious, made life different.
                               2
Once when he and his girl were making love
deep in his veins drums rumbled,
and he couldn't but stop and listen,
she was curious,"What is this, what do you listen?"
smiling, he resumed his dance
thorough the valley and plains, like wind,
to the tune of temple drums,
his hair flying and sweat pouring  like rain,
she could catch the change of rhythm
intense love was there, in the depth of fury.

Then, they ended up panting,then lying quiet.
holding each other tight,she said;
"you are like one possessed, fantastic,"
but he had felt the presence of a third,
he felt in his bones,
a benign female presence, who is she?
                      3
The oracle holding a sword with a shining blade,
wearing a red silk turban and a white **** cloth, told:
"It's the possession of a woman, a wild spirit,
her songs and dance were snuffed out
at a young age, when it slowly emerged,
it happened at a time we don't know when,
a kindred spirit, your tumult suits her soul."
the oracle was in a trance when he opened his eyes,
"Not a curse, a blessing, symbiotic it is"
the oracle  threw a bit of holy ash on him and said:
"Well son, in you Devi, the mother goddess
is pleased, this spirit will survive,
her speakings will come out from you,
all will be just fine, being kind you received her,
so pleased and contented she is, wouldn't disturb"

They walked together, the woman without a body
to fulfill her dreams or sing her songs,
at times of loneliness the drums sound,
she comes in to his tumultuous soul, he makes her alight,
in their entwined destiney, he sings her songs, they dance.

A dense black rock
in deep meditation for ever
gesticulated to him in the dark
as if they have met at the appointed hour.

He could feel the warmth
of love in its inner core
never ever given a chance to express
for long, long millenniums.
"Open your heart" he commanded
in a voice, that  triggers miracles,
thunder roared, lightning flashed
goosebumps did quickly spread
in the center of the dense granite block
speaking a cryptic code,
cleaving it in to two, what a brilliance!
this moment was kept hidden by circumstances;
a diamond filled the darkness
with such radiance, that has no measure.

Little speckled bird,
quirky nerd, owl eyes-
gleaming behind the glasses,
often you zoom inwards
and land in that never never land
beyond the reach of most,
yet I am in love with your
ingeniousness that defies words.
bit strange it may sound
but I am one who explores
the hidden spaces beyond
my desired comfort zones.
they warn me saying a nerd
is a killjoy, nothing else
Swimming against the tide
I hear your excited chirps inside
making me restless with anticipation,
my intellectual slant
received your approval,
many times,I am hopeful
growing my beard long
I'll wait here, till you return
completing your mission.

Your kiss effected an  explosion,
          catapulting bats hanging from the tree of my memories,
warm full lips, exuded the flavor of banana flowers,
                     in time of  ******* out nectar, from it
I imbibed the heady feeling,
                it garrulously spoke about my idyllic childhood in  the village
and on your inner environment too,
                    that prompted your kiss, so fervid, full of longing.

The blue song bird
mellifluous singer admired
for her songs that melt
even hearts of rock,
riding the crust
of the adoring wind,
swoop,
            down,
                    down,
                              down
wit­hout a thought
suddenly alights,
heroically tries to sit,
on a high tension power line;
yet another of her
impromptu acts like before,
she labors to convince everyone
in a shrill chirping sound
that dangerously she lives
taking life in her own hands.

East wind, her companion tells
she is mistaken; he tries to push
her away from the lethal wire
on which death awaits with its dark hum

"young and wayward bird
you tell me you learn so quickly
from your mistakes, alright
from now and the moment next
lies an unknown chasm
in a jiffy if you decide to fathom it
no time is left for unlearning what it teaches
and reverse your journey
to the winter land  of darkness
from where no migratory bird has ever come back"
The bird so deaf to wind's words,
still hovers above the wire
the wind in warning hums a sad tune aloud.

En route to your heart,
I strayed in to,
the lush garden of your youth,
full of  unsullied flowers,
kissed only by mischievous sun.
No man can even, think
of turning his back to this
veritable feast for senses;
it transmitted a vibe resonating,
perfectly with my psyche.

The heady fragrance emanating
from varieties of flowers did speak
of magical pleasures unexplored
I did eagerly heed,
was it by pure chance
or were there  plans to allure me in,
I don't even want to know,
it suits well to my desires.

Amorous droning of inebriated bees
rang in my ears,
making me giddy.
Spring time it was
in your budding new garden,
being a pretender
who  elicits the best effect
you smartly feigned ignorance
of my presence,
(As you expected, I suppose)
I lost my way and ended up
in the spirited night we shared between us,
harvesting wild fruits with a verve
we had never known before,
pleasures of many seasons
were there in store, I was astonished,
a consummate seductress you were.
a she wolf, under a sheep's skin.
but kind amorita, most adroit.

Could I ever blame you
an iridescent creature, exquisite
oh! the candor that marks your surrender!
Scent of flowers wafting on the wind,
created the effect of rarefied air
my lungs are full to the brim
with your feminine spices.

Does this happy transgression
to your secret scented garden
make me a fallen angel,
or am I a  slave of your whims
entrapped for the rest of our lives?
Either way your wile wins
a knight in shining armor or
bereft of it, and naked, for your sake
I willingly submit before
the light that shines in you,
I'd make your garden mine.

My sweet Helen,
this is heaven-
where stars dance
and angels sing:
"Its coming,coming"
your face
in happy contortion,
is a study in contrast of,
Nirvana and transience-
moment after moment.
I ride the white dragon,
diving down through clouds
so sudden!
Helen's heaven
one is the other
for the time being.
Thundering sweet silence
then-
same affirmation again,
a ladder however long
would never reach heaven,
my sweet Helen.

Ugly little pigs,
hooting and howling
they revel in slush
as if there is no bliss like this
and nothing is worth seeking
outside this pit, full of slimy stuff.
How long they entertain him
with their inimitable gift!
Dirt gets a new status, dainty news,
with the cute litter working on it.
What thought passes his mind?
"Fair is foul and foul is fair,
No angel would look as nice
in such a cesspit, holy pig!"

Once each one made a lotus bloom in other's blood pool,
by each brooding on the thought of the other, but time flies,
their songs, adventurous white swans, flew to distant lands,
in meditative moments they can see, those birds rest in eternity's nest-
hitting the bull's eye triggering enlightenment, but the blue bird
their pet, both loved, is still perched somewhere in a higher branch, not that visible,
echoes of ecstasy visit them now and then, but they knew illusions won't last.

He is now fire and wind, she is earth and water, time to part it is
tears welling in her eyes, she asks: what shall I offer, as a parting gift?
"A bit of salt, from your blood, sweat and tears, too I appreciate"
his voice peters out to silence.Eternity their true abode, is waiting.

Her peals of laughter, gently rocks, wakes him up
takes away from a midnight dream's warm embrace,
one dream to the other, what she is up to, he feels bit cheated,
like many times before, bit weary of misleading senses,
they are friends of course, distractors too, if unaware of their penchant

Perking his ears he listens, wind whistling in the woods,
rain drops on leaves create sounds of soft laughter.
Every where she is, the nymph, the ethereal presence,
in dreams, in the spirited dance of clouds, in swirl of water
and waves, when the birds play flute from their perches,
in flights that seems meditative trances beyond mind.

She is tranquility incarnate, beauty that grabs mind's eyes
mother who consoles at the time of distress and pain.
The night is silent again, the rain clouds too left to rest
yellow clad moon peeps above the clouds, many gifts we
forget to enjoy, some times without being aware, one leaves

In deep psychedelic trance
his companion painted
canvases that mix past,
present and future, factually
as quantum physics would vouch;
all of it co-exists, don't turn
a blind eye, it's not fair.

"There is more past here
that try to unseat future,
than the presence of present,
we would make reality sleep
won't believe in its patented lies,
we'd create a present,
in its fantasy, see the future"

The narrative is pictured as fallows:
The Cat and the Mouse
stopped their games,
they invented as a past time,
and also serious business.
Lucky prince befriended
a happy pauper.
The beauty beguiled
the friendly beast,
both eloped and
lived happily somewhere.

The bored king hugged
the leader of the coup
"I was dying
to abdicate at the earliest,
you were my last hope,
good riddance" he yawned,
sounding like cockerel.
He looked much relieved;
uneasy is the head
on which a crown sits
like a ****** politico
at the moment of election result.

The painter watching
what is going on said:
"Well, the colors I selected
this far, were all wrong.
Now, I am going to look twice
before I decide"

But when she worked
on her imagination
her manifesto was thrown out,
she was far more spontaneous
there is the rub.

Can't say, whether
the philosopher was pleased or not,
one can't  definitely tell
he only smiled and hurried back to
catch the last bus he missed.

Super star, be prepared for a resounding fall
when the limit of  your stardom, time decides
unless you aren't aware the golden truth
"All flesh is grass"; any star is reduced to dust
in a day to come sooner or later, there is a time-
for everything, to call it quits and feel rightly contented.

Her eyes
an enchanting pair,
alive and mobile,
gazing in to them,
in the beginning
of a journey
and at its end,
he finds himself reflected
just perfectly.
At times, he sees those eyes
brimming with tears
mysterious in origin,
(reminding nature)
Wet, flowing eyes
prompt him to introspect,
help him keep
his balance;
the hot spring
in those  pools
quickly melts his-
rock hard arrogance,
makes him eschew
his macho male pose,
through rituals of such kind
reiterating love beyond words,
he is rechristened,
now, passionate lover,
inveterate protector,
an equal half ever.

He quickly gets elated
by the silver strands of light
emanating from the depth
of those kohl lined eyes
that tie him with easy love knots,
quiet eloquent eyes
reminds him the moments
never he would forget
with his mother as a child,
and all other women
who never failed to shower
love on him as he swam
in the pool of their adoring eyes.
Even now he is thrilled
by numerous memories
that still are prefulgent,
an oil lamp with thousand lighted wicks
he has seen in childhood
burning in the shrine of his family;
now that flame
sparkles in her eyes.

His heart misses beats
the moment
that fragile butterfly
sits on it and her legs
tickle the tender
membranes covering
arteries and veins
causing the blood bubble
like never before.

The heart so passionate,
forgets in its eagerness,
that it belongs to a beast,
answers back in an invented
language, somehow butterflies
seems to understand so well.
Now the wild beast's heartbeat
gets synchronized with
the beat of butterfly's wings
what white magic is this?

He becomes amazingly light
the butterfly's consort now sees light
in crazy iridescent colors
jubilant like a victor, he flies up
every time, she wants to
touch a cloud,
catch a falling star
or race with a bird, for fun
every one loudly wonders how
the beast that only roared and growled
sprung at the world,
at the slightest of provocations
was bridled and contained
by the chit of a beauty riot.

Oh! I can tell
the beast mostly was an apparition
its dead, or if you can believe
beaten to death by two colorful wings
another wonder of love, it is
won't be resurrected again,
if not, the butterfly would disappear
in the thick woods in  efflorescence.

Sun drenched wild grass, in an ecstatic swirling dance-
didn't forget to tell this boldly to her lover, eager to please her:
"gentle breeze, how tantalizingly you caress and titillate,
but to tell the truth, I'll long still, for a robust wind, an ace pollinator."

Winter, tricky entrapper,
cozy cuddler, night fiddler
nuzzler, tantalizer, whistler
sharp nailed cruel lover
seasonal unfailing seductress,
sprawling on the bed cloth of December,
rolling over a few months either side,
I would never take her for granted.

I see her peep through
the window curtains,
spying at the warm days eyeing me
and waiting for her to climb down the steps;
she is jealous, as she wants to linger
playfully riding on my back.

she seeped in to my blood stream,
like the narcotic effect of grass,
before I  know it happens
little by little to make me
forget my other loves completely
even without my permission.
Her wiliness is stealthily at work,
to monopolize me fully
separating me from others
yes, winter is cleverness clad in white.
Now, I am at her mercy, completely
my fingers, chest and lips strangely
enjoy the cold caresses, she gives each!

I realize, she has taken over-
my body and paints my mind's canvas,
with bubbling hallucinatory white,
she wants others tightly on her leash,
my other loves complain:
"you act just what is her will
you always wear her fragrance,
on you what an influence she wields!"
can I help when winter my darling,
brooks no excuses!

She exposes me before others
I look like a pusillanimous one,
cowering and cringing before her
none, even my true love, has
such absolute control over me
like she exerts, it's a secret
but true that I wriggle to get out,
of this white net she tenderly knitted-
for my comfort, which is,
pleasurable I think, to an extent,
yet difficult to accept at the same time.

Let us part before long, not to make
our relationship much complicated,
I'll wait, till the next season arrives
you are in my list of periodic partners,
I'll be ready with warmth in my heart,
for your eventful visit, that leaves
an impression far too long to ever forget.

In a world, somewhere beyond the senses of human
a woman fell in love with a man,
he could be me too.In no way she could see
all(every one )of me, or I her; yet we know each other
in our magnificent ignorance of universe, that
makes things work for us in this world we live.

A sea of bubbles, each universe is copy of some other
as a lost pair in parallel universes, if researched enough
I would have found there are millions of she and I, exist
in numerous universes, doing things in all
permutations and combinations, I am sure.

If I take me as a Romeo, I can't happily court tragedy,
remember in some of these worlds where a different
law of physics works(a different Newton existed, apple didn't fall)
our love could become a super success, Shakespeare there
would have been forced to write a different classic.
In some other world a different tragedy might have occurred
I am not one , but multitudes,  in planets of different universes,
I am the past, the present and the future awaited, I am the same cat
Schrodinger has donated his name and made famous
that made life and death suspects

I am the 'atman'- the essence absolute, in human beings
that yearns deeply  to merge in  the absolute consciousness 'brahmam'
about what the Indian sages of yore spoke in 'Upanishads'
millenniums before quantum mechanics saw the light of the day.
Brahmam, the absolute, non-duel in unmanifested part of the universe, beyond knowing
by a cryptic play becomes matter and manifests before us, bit by bit
Higgs boson,  please catch  the cosmic slight of hand red handed.

A smile and a wink, create an incredible magic, one gets floored
that's her, but not a day passes without a complaint-
about her uncomplaining nature, that seems to rub everyone
in a way wrong; without any prompt,  interpretations start to pour
she definitely lacks seriousness, frivolous or an unfeeling brute?

By nature, she can't care about anything, may be the effect of the past,
tongues waged, observers increased, each one took notes,
voluntarily held conferences, and reached a conclusion, behind her back:
"Far too removed from reality, lives in cloud cuckoo land"

Strong judgments came one after the other, every one enthusiastically joined,
in demolishing, what they thought 'The myth of equanimous mind'
(irrespective of dealing with a string of troubles and continuing bad weather)
The one, only one, who kept silence, when this buzz was going on far too long,
just smiled at the end, the playful wink that followed ruffled all feathers,
now the gang has an added burden, the power of one more to deal with.

The coquettish full moon, on a cloudless clear sky,
apple of the eyes of lovers from far and wide,
impishly wicked you are, in that avatar enticing
your eyes seek only the one for whom your heart beats for.
At times you are an anorexic crescent wearing a misty veil,
flirting with fluffy clouds, you make each one go  crazy
Curiously I behold the village belle simple, peeping out-
of the window of her cottage, waiting for the lover,
who comes at odd hours with palpitating heart
My love, you are one of a kind, displaying myriad faces
an enchanting presence, I crave, each moment, in whatever form
how could I ever prescribe the way your love to reach me
your love is my never setting moon,
                                      whichever way you choose to express.

On the far horizon of my mind, suddenly it appears
on the black and white wings of silence
more as a sweep of colors, mixed and dabbed
to create a rhapsody, resonance, unintentional,
nothing other than cajoling out a feeling, so tender
vaguely in the making in my psyche.

the seeds are mysteriously sown, so deep
from a sight, a sound, a feeling or an emotion that touched,
this heart is a lyre; love, longing, desire or separation
makes me weak, strongly feel about,weep my heart out or yell

heart yearns to sing  on every experience, for which I owe
to this world, some times green with pristine life
often dry like falling leaves, making everything including future look ****,
I am the canvas, experience, heart break felt, the poem is all about me,
what you fill and drink is the cup full of tears, here see my blood-
copiously flowing from the wound, inflicted by my merciless life.

The kite gets  high, stays aloft-
quite some time displaying
enviable dexterity, for fun
do spectacular  somersaults as much times
as it could, climbs up in air with a loud swoosh
then look! how the wind gets *****
with her, if she has something
of  a skirt, it goes up, up to an
indecent height, she doesn't have
that balance a player at such
heights should have kept always.
Its absurd, all these acrobatics silly kite
displays before the world at high altitudes
with a unholy interest
to show herself more accomplished
than what she really is, could you
pardon that frivolity, because she
has many more colors than clouds.

He admits abashedly that he too was
once in love with her frivolous attractiveness,
but he never could understand a kite;
in spite of the lightness, that makes
it easier to travel heights, has kite a significance?
After all what is a kite? her merit?
a strange arrangement that defies
common sense, all it can do is aimless flying.

Isn't it a charge serious enough?
even a dry leaf, or a falling feather
can do these acrobatics for a while.
What is the meaning of a kite,
kindly someone notify , if it has any,
meaningless flying is not for anything
of substance, what kind of play
is it,   if it is perceived as one, by any one
why the folly of someone take us
for a ride all these years, without
a second thought, he wonders
who might have promoted it,  had some
ulterior motive, some point to prove;
wind, mightiest of forces is made to look weak
in everyday life .
He would suspect, in the bargain many
generations too spent their time
in this vein pursuit without any thought.
Any kite display a greed to go up and
stay there, till the time it is possible to float
don't want to be back, when wind is on her side
unless force is applied, what does it signify?

Kite has a hunger to touch wonder with its fingers
he knows, and he can't but appreciate it
and when the occasion arises she fly up to the cloud,
play with him as if he is her secret lover, that hurts
could such a liaisons are to be  be tolerated
she knows how a cloud tastes at different times
Yes, sky certainly intoxicates her,
she want to move closer, doesn't it spell danger?

Hear each body cell speaking zen to the next one
result of self oblivious meditation opening-
numerous effulgent channels to sources of light in universe;
the meaning of the epithet, "jewel in the lotus" becomes evident,
body becomes all eyes and ears like that of a martial art expert's  in combat
(remember the chants immortal, the Guru's gift
that roused the coiled serpent  1)
soul, the essence, is liberated from all bonds,
limiting cycles of birth and death
stars on the firmament of inner sky is the brightest ever, rain light
"Aum" the cosmic hum, resounds sonorously  in the core of consciousness
life and death are words without any meaning in this state
liberation could never be expressed in words or by any other means
a never changing quietude dawns,  existence moves to a limitless space-
beyond dream in deep sleep and further to the realm of mysterious.
Existence becomes a reality eternal, beyond the three dimensional space
that state is an experience, now a moment is a millennium ,
gently slips in to cosmic consciousness, that swirls to envelop

A lone tree, in all its glory stands
in the courtyard of my heart;
evergreen all these years,
proud of its songs heard as green waves
nourished by the sun in my sky.
Without that tree, I can't be
a comely girl once came
there  for an ecstatic  dance, then
sat below its shade with a smile
all through a day and night
then in the courtyard of my heart
she became a constant presence.
The wind's tunes sung paeans to her,
the verdant courtyard
was filled with sun and songs;
the tree's first spring it was.
A long season of flowering followed,
pink and white blossoms
with heavenly scent was abundant
all through the year on the tree's crown.
Like a moving cloud, honeybees
swarmed around singing songs of love,
joy of communion fallowed by the pain of parting,
the season of fragrant blooms soon came to an end
and with that she too left,
telling me that I'll be her true love always
whatever happens to us,
In that tree, the witness of our love
she tied an invisible ribbon that bound us too tough to get loose,
that embraced me whenever wind played with it,
I and she were mere shells
presence of love, alive in the precincts, of the tree
that makes me alive, now and for ever.

This wispy somnambulist
an ethereal spirit no doubt
I bumped in to by chance
on a strange hour at night
during my wanderings
for that unknown essence,
conveyed this, sans words:
"From nowhere I did start,
the journey was what did count
this winding search was my find
have no destination in mind"
I recognized the truth
behind all this;
           quite an arduous trek
I was looking for him
in my perambulations-
all through my life.
We are 'one river' slowing down
as we reach near
the deep blue ocean.

An oracle possessed by a spirit disquieted,
                                   he contains a world unknown even to himself,
a poem gets written by itself, within himself,
                                     organizing material eclectically on its own
from roots to crust, essence of experiences,
                                    mingle with hopes, fears and yearnings,
creating alloys of emotions, welding words to mean different,
                                     fixing formations and evocative images,
when he stops contended, unfinished yet, many parts in dark still,
                               then the readers get themselves invited in to the thickets,
disentangle the vines, make way through the foliage thick,
                 hanging  branches and twigs,  light falls in the darkened corners,
the poet and creator, the oracle himself, sits looking at the flowers and fruits
                                 bathed in a new light, on what the subconscious spoke,
when he listens,  the singing of the birds acquires new meaning,
                                  sound of the running brook has a rhythm not familiar,
that take him to the sea, where all end in a swim, like in a dream

I  feel  passion transgressing all limits when she kisses,
know what does she expect, and when I return,
I owe much more to her, to be in the same  league as her,
every transaction leads to further complicated
entries in the account book; can one be just natural
like waves and shore, or be neutral, tranquil, expect
nothing, to make matters, sweet and simple?
But life becomes an exhibition match of warring teams
even lovers become opponents who play devious games
of make believe, falling slowly in to the trap of follies self created

Marigold fields,extending to the far horizons,
****** me making my mission go astray,
"Don't regret" my heart said,"if beauty has its say
greater than any thing else, in your scheme of things,
blessed you are, though cursed, for now it'd seem
because life, is a mix,  beauty and its absence,
play a great  role, to give every thing a meaning"

The night is young,
dark, lascivious and willing
expectations and I
sit hand in hand with her
keeping the tempting
sleep at bay, for long.
Your part of the bed
is still warm, I imagine,
                         anyway
I kept your dinner
packed in the fridge,
warm it up and eat
if you are too late.
I won't be able to take
any call from infinity
if I am being fornicated by
my concubine
an old dream of passion
that keeps on soliciting,
but don't know when
would it knock on my door.

Blue hills yet again beacon
in a language
my spirit understands
so very well.
I trek alone,
prompted by
the  most sublime love
brimming in my being
that makes my life
less of a puzzle.
dreamily I move
following in my mind
a subtle music
that seems to me
is the greatest reward
above all else in this world.
No method
to value its worth
is yet invented,
is there a need?
The path winds up
I drink  foaming green
with my eyes,
jungle orchids of various kind,
play their orchestra
blending fragrances
with finesse.
the music
playing in my mind,
merges with it;
real magic is within us
yet again I realize.
Two jungle babblers
catch my eye,
cuddling closely
preening each other
In a world so deceptive
I cannot but wonder:
a love so mature
or a parting gesture?
I ponder a moment,
in silence
about the vagaries of life
before my ascent.

If you willingly forgo the possibilities of nights
why, feel sad and lament for not having dreams?
find a life of fun easily without any dream-
there are millions around never dared to dream!
don't make guilt demand, a disproportionate price from you,
The city night, regales us  in the flood of artificial lights,
eradicating  the distracting dreams  once and for all,
all through night digital advertisements
blink and die continuously till the morning light appears.
when a  day dies out, on earlier times, a night would begin,
now at the end of the day, night too  dies , in the flood of lights.
why make futile dreams, that wouldn't deliver anything,
make your dreams fishes in show ponds that swims at night.
On the dry ears of sleepless in cities,
music from radio  demands attention,
still solidified sleep, with the wings of darkness
sit on the night trees,
no sleep, no dreams, no secrets, what a happiness!!

the speakers of the personal computers of girls
celebrated, sleeplessness with fanfare
then boys and girls danced out of some instinct.
Night stood sad at the corners of sky...

In a vast canvas, human mind could never fully conceive,
life is unfolded as a moving picture, a chain of events-
intricately webbed, beyond the capacities of calculation
of even the most sophisticated super computer,
when the story proceeds act after act, note without fail,
a fog, descends from nowhere,  one even fails to notice its role,
it cleans  up the canvas, for the movement  forward,
without any order, dissolves part of the canvas in to the background,
don't expect fire works, thunder or lightening always
the fog that makes the marked parts disappear, keeps its mystery in tact,
there appears a wound somewhere, blood spurt,
then without much tending the mouth of the wound closes,
perhaps a faint scar will be left, but no one will notice,
life and death close each other's mouth in a conspiracy of silence.

Learning to write letter "B"
my little son tries, I curiously see
to get in to its spirit so abstract
through its concrete form,
by finding an analogy-
he could relate well and not forgotten easily.
more like a bee using wax to make a shape it likes
and then seeing it as the hive he wanted to make,
watching him I think, as his cute hands draw
the twin swells forward, with such interest,
eyes for a moment glint, as if to say" yes,I get it"
"Look dad, isn't it just like milk?" he exclaims!

I know 'milk' is  the word he associates
with the source of milk, from the days he was breastfed,
"B'with its shape  fits the bill, to be treated with love
"B" he finds reminds him the milk of mother's love.

Her poetry was like a living  organism
that changes form  every minute
by the chemical change it undergoes
within me, the reader's mind,
each avatar did a dance different
so much  the symbols and cryptograms spoke
right from time capsules of subconscious,
I had to choose from this or that.
I looked deep in to her eyes and read silently
words, one feels are severely limited, at times
much goes unexpressed for want of words
"exquisite" in such occasion is an expression
that has lost its sharp edges, due to overuse
so i smiled, I hope  in a way most expressive
of the spirit the poem reflected
but  more was in the poem, I sure felt,
beyond my view, some  hidden pathways exist
my ears craved for hidden voices, and I told her this
evening set the stage for her recitation
we walked the country road and she began
very solemn at first, then the words took
a life of their own and became palpable
I felt I was in presence of an oracle
who receives divine command from universe
a spirit that sprung from subconscious
was heard speaking in her throbbing words
the folk walking the path stood and listened,
the look on those faces were unmistakable
a knowing  beyond the  meaning it was.

Vanity she carried with such oomph and style
unlike in other cases, I didn't resent, that feeling
viewing her purely as a piece of art, made a difference,
vanity seemed not merely pardonable, but just right.

The flower was so perfect
and dew drops on it
gleaming in sun let out that secret
looking for the rarest of rare,
the humming bird on his quest was spellbound,
their communion was in a world they created
with all they kept precious,
some things were left unsaid or hinted,
yet they felt nothing amiss,
some more just alluded
and it was so clear
the ambiguity surrounding the short lives
of a humming bird and a  flower
was made in to an exquisite work of art
that flower to him, remains a metaphor
and till the day he let go the mind
he created (and that created him as well)
she'd live in him, he in her
the symbol of  the ultimate, life could offer,
in this mysterious planet.

They exiled him from their loveless land
for willingly breaking its rule again and again,
he was asked to **** love, once and for all
love that moves as silent waves of the sea,
never ceases to move, within the depth of his heart.
He was chained and treated like an outcast,
how could a loveless world understand,
the meaning of his passion, that binds him with hers.
He was out of his mind they surmised
never could they imagine they were the ones insane.
Every morning a grubby voice will ask him:
"Do you still hear the music of love the waves play?"
he was calm and said"I am yet another one, like Prometheus,
this is my fire, I stole it for me, her and all  other lovers,
your heartless world can never ****** it from me,
not till the moment my soul departs my body"

About this thief from far far away,
she never wanted, even to hear at first
but at last awaited with a wish and a prayer,
here comes the foot steps, and him as a  beam of light,
this pure delight is unexpected,
the heart of darkness, she once feared
in this winter  embraces as blissful warmth.
his lips are passionate, kiss ethereal
he takes away all she has, every thing she calls hers,
without a word she gives,
how strange, she feels full, overwhelmed,
this is not the finis, something beautiful now begins.

A kind of darkness, a profusion of red carnations create, pervades,
a suspicion raises its head, but reassurances pour in soon,
a happy day, bright with the light of the oppressing eyes
a secure place, troubleless sleep, a snooper awake for us, assures,
in the prevailing circumstances, happiness is this:
uneasiness, in serpentine coils sleeping with me,  doesn't stir all  night.

"Aren't  all these outside the wall of democracy?" a doubt
that started raising  its head unawares, is put quickly to a narcotic sleep.
Guards stand alert, with loaded guns, ready to face any security breach,
In a dream, that feels real, the gun of protection is pointed to my head
I am vexed; is he a rogue, has he gone insane or is he just fatigued?
Before he jumps out from the dream and pull the trigger, one raises the alarm,
when the whistle is blown, the squad of guards are in position,within a minute,
how efficient is our security! my! my!

"But guys, obviously there is some mistake, where do you take me and my buddies?"

This miraculous journey we call life,
has many strands braided together,
never forget what is expected from
the travelling monk, walking in front,
who'll break his walk to play with
stray street pups, eat, drink and sup
with men and women, of many temperaments,
who'd invite him to sit with them, even not knowing
who he is, or what mission moves him
through these dusty roads. There is something
that makes everyone not take eyes off him,
they'd say that, when he goes back on his way.
On the waves of emotions, he partake, he moves
like a paper boat navigated,  by the speed
it all create, yet unaffected, except the empathy he keeps in his heart.

Hearing  stories of this pilgrim  in rapt attention
creating worlds fantastic inside,
learning  things one never imagined before,
he travels with the wandering monk in sight.
What is more wondrous, once he thought
than  seeing one's starry eyed lover's excitement,
showing a jewel she picked
from the riverbed of her short life
in a blessed moment.
She put it adoringly in to his mind,
a gleaming ornament that'd adorn him
though time would change that too.

Every thing experienced in this journey
makes one, the words of the monk prompt to act
and see the aftermath, take in the taste,
be it sweet or bitter or both,
odors and smells, the feel of things
a complex web, the map of inner life.

Never should one fail, to lend ears
to the tales of wandering monk
he is wisdom's child, patience solidified,
every tale has its color, smell and texture,
nature spoke, he experienced,
ages in muted tones speak
to him in the voice of the  wandering monk

That crazy look in her eyes suits to his mood so well,
he yearns for off beat paths and forgets saner ways of doing things.
an attraction beyond logic springs, based on needs unusual,
when they resonate perfectly, words hibernate, they dissolve in each other

The hill, meditative and tranquil
at its acme, stands a tree majestic,
a grandpa banyan, lost in thought,
birds on his crown sing all day long,
many different tunes
that merge in to one, and wafts in the air
the silver cloud, transparent above the hill
in its morning meditation
stands still
below the hill is a river,
the water runs deep, so pleased it seems,
meandering around the hill,
hurrying on its way to the ocean,
yet unknown.

In a boat the lone traveller sits,
as the wind blows the boat gains speed,
he looks at the mast, so white,
the sun sits above it,
vigorous, splashing light,
around the boat he sees a shoal of fish
languidly swim,
a fish, he is in life's stream
a ray of light, a drop in the river
a wisp of cloud that drifts and dissolves,
bit by bit in blue expanses,
All one, just many facets of eternal.