Buzzard, eagle, falcon, hawk,
Tiger, cheetah, lion, leopard,
panther, cougar, wild cat
intense all these predators are,
in carnal love and the war for dominance.
Each has characteristic hunting ways,
in day time prowling,  plain beasts, they remain,
at sunset , each springs up,  party time starts.
Birds of prey in silence watch from above
and find the right target, at a time that suits.
No endearments, in love or in games,
only body speaks of desires or warnings
Swift expression of demand, quick strike,
overpower and make the other surrender.
Throaty growls hurting silence of the forest
double as their sparse love language.
Hunters can never be lovers, their actions speak,
they demand, commandeer, force to surrender.

Blazing summer sun,
fuming in the sky for long
had a secret desire to sneak out
and cool off a bit, in private.
Pretending that he is still up there
hiding behind a cloud umbrella,
he sneaked out, holding on to it
jumped in to a  lake
waveless and placid, in a quiet siesta.
Swimming around
 within the safety net of
floating fluffy clouds,
he thought none did notice,
his new secret predilection
to go for a cold dip, against his grain.
A little fish on her  midday practice swim
saw the cold sun, close by
fretted at the strange sight,
(for her, it was the first time)
raised an alarm, that brought all fish along
the profusion of fins and tails and
pecking mouths, all of a sudden made sun
spring back in a moment,
without a second thought.
Bleeding from the wounds
angry pecking fish gifted in anger.
He was hot and furious more than ever,
will he venture out again?

Poetry is the dress she always adorns herself,
the see-through floral patterns reveal her more-
than conceal, my eyes imbibe its aesthetics in the fraction-
of a moment and to tell the truth, they are thankful.
Poetic is her walk, her rhythmically swaying buttocks-
subtly speak by allusion of genetic possibilities vast;
in her movement's poetry  my lineage would be safe.
Her lips part, the warmth, ruddy pout and perfect shape suggest
her sensual love making  wound be both tender and swirling
like the  poetic feeling, an image unleashes to overpower me to surrender.
Poetry makes its essence look like a fine silvery glint
in those deep eyes, that have a sensual droop in the eyelids.
Arrows straightly directed to my tender heart, from the bow of her chest
contrary to the normal, creates a cadence, poetic utmost !
She is,  nothing but poetry in motion, rooted in beauty's repository,
that never will fully drain,  even if the most she makes her own  often.

******* rocks are singing a mellow song,
emanating from the warmth  daylong,
received from the sun, that left them behind,
melted in to a red haze and gone in to ocean.
The dusky night moving on tip-toe is pleased
all ears, discerns and imbibes its meaning
for her to join seamlessly at the right moment.
The  stars, gentle still, are thrilled by this musical's
complex emotions, join in with their contribution,
subtle notes of winks, gleams and twinkle.

Black
is dripping from
the clouds.
White,
storks are
painted black.
Red
rain lashes
raising alarm.
Green
fields are turning grey
before our naked eyes.
Blue
skies are
beyond eyeshot
always.
Yellow
leaves
fall all through
the year.
The globe
acquires a
new wardrobe
beware!

Wanton moon,
deftest angler I've ever seen,
my heart,
thrashes about wildly
caught in your fishing hook.
Pining for you each minute,
I wasn't aware where would
this love lead me in the end.
How blessed I should feel
for having my heart impaled
by love and longing
you tell me sans words
all the while,
What else can I hope
if I am hopelessly in love with this pain?
Keep me always like this,
your favourite minion.

The sun, passionate lover, persistently follows his beloved,
gentle river, a demure maiden from the hills.
Though  sparkles and glows on his attention,
she loves to shelter more, within the woods, out of his reach.
When she at last comes out in the open,
to the planes, look! how much overjoyed the resplendent sun!
With his million magical hands he embraces her
she turns  crimson, in her intense desire
then comes the subtle moment of ecstasy,
in the ocean, they both conjoin, together they swim till nightfall,
the story is enacted, in endless variations, between these lovers.

The sun, slanting westwards
chases me with competitive spirit;
speeding through, interstate highway
from Hyderabad to Bangalore,
long stretches I see, are waterless seabeds
reminds the oceanic origin of all
sense of time vanishes, I am an unknown
creature of the sea, an explorer of underwater geology.
                                    Like life, it's a winding long drive
             lonely too,  like one often finds, oneself in spite of many loves,
just incessant voices that soon lose meaning.
Speaking to myself, quietly, alone
I realize this, calmly, in life-
one is alone in many ways .
How curious,
the sun, my co-traveller,
caught sight of me,
and graciously gives me
a smile of recognition,
still continues the chase playfully,
from my right,
I like his verve
he too finds fun in our run.
He becomes red all over,
decides to set in the west
he signals,
above Nandi Hills
his spectacular farewell show
makes me slow down and watch.
At the height of the display, he vanishes
like a magician, taking every drop of light with him,
leaving me to find my way
through darkness, that I have to dispel myself.

Whispering mango grove, in its heart
keeps this secret, lone block of rock
black and sturdy, precambrian marks
making it a thing of curiosity.
Travelling by foot, weary, needing rest
he sat leaning against its ancient comfort
not knowing what a boulder has to offer,
other than that,
                          as his eyes pulled curtains,
and brought the night for the time being
he heard a music or was it a voice, almost like
another kind of silence?
The sculpture within the boulder's prison
told him in a pathetic tone,
how beautiful it was
"Help me come out of solidified darkness,
take away the bitter cup of solitude
millenniums made me drink
I want to see the light of the day"
When he opened his eyes he heard
the voice echoing deep in his psyche
---a flower bloomed suddenly within
the barefoot traveler's  diamond moment ,
right then, he heard, the beauty within him plead
to be discovered, the rock and him aren't two,
                                                   realization dawned.

The girl has a pearl, that she keeps closely guarded,
he knocks her door and she is aware of his ardor
he stands at her door, which she keeps half closed.
They are different, her words ring true to him, he loves her,
and thinks the pearl's worth is overblown, is this her most dazzling thing?
From where she comes, they count the pearl as the thing, she is aware
one huge burden for a girl, to keep it shielded until the time to hand over.
Caution is her shield, the pearl is kept burrowed, yet  it feels too heavy now,
she has two choices; find if the pearl dazzles him or not, 
she has to soon  decide.

A sudden evening rain over the rice fields,
      memories wake up from deep sleep
of long years, take a walk once again
  along the narrow ridge parting green fields
on a rain soaked evening of yore.
She, a jaunty young woman had changed
      the quiet world of a village boy
with big curious eyes, just in few minutes.

his innocence, vanished a yearning
   for something unknown until then,
           started its torment
      love, dabbed its fragrance
on his being with its slight of hand,
a spell cast over him made his head spin
like he drank heady wine, how strange!

Under her spread umbrella he came
by chance, only once in his life
walked with her till the door
on his way to the temple of Krishna
     for the evening worship,
walking along the zig zag, slippery path
had he slipped a bath in slush was assured.

When the rains came unannounced,
rushing ,with her anklets clanging
frogs spiritedly croaking,  
all this mingling with
the  orchestra of myriad insects,
she came as if from nowhere,
from a wild growth of banana plants
on one side, down to his path.
She smiled at him as if she knew him well
a lush young woman, who took him by his hand,
brought him closer to the protective
wrap of her sari, that smelled lemons and oranges,
that fragrance remains sweet in memory,
was it jasmine scent from her long black tresses,
that made him feel that the world has  suddenly
become, a place, full of luminance,
has he quickly grown up to her age?

She didn't ask him questions,
called his pet name surprising him
about that knowledge of her;
that made him think that
she was someone so close once,
but forgot as he grew up.

Reaching in front of the temple,
she gave just a wistful look,
and vanished from his life for ever.
Not even aware that she just gave,
the best fragrant moments
for a boy on the first step to adulthood,
he stood looking her go on her way.
When he look back and remember,
this delusion, he realizes,  stays with him:
"I am under your umbrella  ever since"

That little star
on the bank of milky way,
watching the flow with wonder filled eyes,
is my unborn daughter.
In my dream I see her
crying to sit cozily on my lap,
with her winks of starlight,
she pleads with me  to tell her
sweet stories till she sleeps.
Soulfully she sings for me
the songs my beloved brought
from distant eons.
A ray of light from her
becomes love itself,
a flood of tenderness
sweeps  me off my feet.
Sweet transcendence
binds us together
across light millenniums
that had come and gone.
I am delight personified sitting
on the lap of limitless universe;
I am a dream that conjures up,
whatever seems real in my mind.

On each line
lays buried,
a vanished river;
a brief history
of my pain.
Like criss crossing veins
on the plane of a leaf
they create patterns;
a map of my inner strife.
In solitude
I yearn,
a hunger inexplicable
in words, burns inside;
a new leaf
with eclectic patterns
is magically born,
my moment of
serendipity blooms.
I feel the warm kiss
of sun on my tender leaf

The break of dawn-
I stand near
the  river flowing
like life,
open my eyes wide
and gaze
the purple sun,
starting to
climb up the sky.
Water in my cupped
joined palms
offered to the sun
slowly gets heated,
warmth permeates to my body.
In to my inner ear
sun whispers
his music of colors;
a profusion
beyond words,
that creates
in my inside world,
never ending
fields of sunflowers,
that in joy, dance.
Thoughts that has
roots in light,
emerge from
deep down in mind,
on day and night.

Blue roaring river, green seething sky;
everywhere he follows her on the sly
fully undressed in less than a minute,
she jumps in to the river and dives down

a woman's secrets in water gets a life
the protector in him is instinctively aware
not every action is prompted by a thought,
she finds him there, a fish in the depth,

getting in to her, twisting his tail, through dreams, 
of recurring red blooms of desire, fertility rites.

A book left partly read by a voracious reader,
came in his dream and revealed the secret:
"Don't you think anything left incomplete
would mean much more than a definite finis?
When each new reader tries to fill the gap
the unwritten part gets richer than the other.
Here is a book left unfinished by the author,
whose life suddenly said "NO" in just two bold letters.
Does the book's self feel incomplete? Who knows?
But think of this: Does anything we know ever get completed?
Why bother about the changing patterns of this kaleidoscope
as we are only colored specks that turn and turn with the rest.
Time, that magical construct, hates perfection, (would you believe?)
though it loves to draw circles mistaken as perfect,
when it's really another form of limitation, by deceit.

It's complexity did excite him
         but in a stern voice
          the Rubik's cube
admonished not to touch it!

"Stop!
stop immediately
who needs this mess?
clean up the mess at once,
stop the bus immediately
stop the last bus, and get in
don't miss the last bus by any chance"

A voice whispers
my name like
the swish of silk,
at the dead of night.
When I broke away
from sleep's long,
sweet embrace,
those nails
painted blood red
seek my hungry skin
that craves for
her tantalizing nips
on every bit of its spread.

A dog somehow learned cat-speak,
thought the second language, part of his camoflague
but his  attempts for catcall sounded like muffled dog's howl
caterwaul, should I need to say, was all foul,
quite threatening to  any cat with a bit of self-respect.

When they brought
the tent down,
with a sudden thud,
neatly packed the things
in their haversacks,
hurriedly in silence,
resumed the journey
on their separate ways,
he couldn't let go
of her smile
she gave him
the moment she found
they were in love
with each other.
Only a memory,
an image of what was
in a glowing moment of the past,
became more real
than the reality,
staring now at his face.

Glowworms swarm
on the treetops of the sky
to make ornaments
for the night,
                      they keep me awake
with their brilliance, extraordinary
that makes it possible for me
to hallucinate
that it's heaven.
Cosmic fireworks explode,
crossing the limits of time,
rhythm of a starry song spreads
like a divine fragrance,
transcending light years.
I've been in a cocoon,
long days of grief and pain;
this effulgent night transmits
some good news, for the meditative-
chrysalis I used to be for long.
I fly up on my invisible wings
to experience a life eternal,
to be one with alpha and omega alike.

Good night,  God, part of everything,
oh! forgive me for forgetting-
your relevance as omniscient
you are absolute and limitless,
there can't be more than one such.
**With my low functioning brain
and slow data processing, I can't
even imagine your perfection! Stupefying!
It becomes more clear, with thinking,
you could only operate in higher planes,
           you have no business to know
          the concept of day and night
or for that matter, any single thing,
you are beyond limits or lack of it,
I am limited and bound by strings
of time,my thoughts are 'time twisted'
           Forgive me God, omnipresent

a dewdrop
on the petal
of your red lower lip,
     tempting
like a drop of honey,
waiting
to be tasted
by a bee;
               imagine me,
I took it so gently,
with my lips
and avidly made mine
and heard beauty speak
to me in a secret tongue,
I am your sun, you said,
the sun that thrills you with
a warm kiss, when
it's most needed.

A hitchhiker, he sits in a roadside shack, with a song on his lips,
a jewel, a chance find from the heap of trash, in front is in his hands,
just back after chasing a rainbow, in an aircraft crossing sound barrier,
he found it's made of droplets of water and hopes yet to be fulfilled,
the moments invaluable she gifted to him, he'll never measure,
with anything other than emotions pricier than the costliest diamond,
the moments he gifted her from his repository of secrets in his heart,
takes many births to make it ripe like that, he understands.

He has no apologies for anyone for anything, everything
happens with the mathematical precision, mind sets in motion.
Each moment has something to offer, if one hesitates,
the plate goes on changing hands and someone takes it.

He doesn't stop smiling, sun and moon, with their rare moments of
unequal beauty, are his darlings, he decides what he wants to take
feels the flow on mind, soul, veins and everything moves,
don't you fail to be aware, you are an endless flow, he tells himself,
quantum of energy, in perceptual synchronized motion,
from waves to dancing waves of the limitless cosmic ocean.

kind blue water, turning reluctantly black
by dark night's persuasions,
fallen yellow moon melt in to it
embracing swiftly changing waves,
curious fish, swimming up to it
from depths hoping to get a bit of moon splash,
drama of life,continues, changing players
moment after moment...

Courting cobra woman, never lets him go out of her focus,
pure passion made her hiss with delight, just on seeing him,
when her lips gathered his, her hiss led to a performance,
coiled together they swayed in sweet pressure, intensified by heat,
cobra woman told him not to be daunted by her ****** ferociousness,
her poison, he understood was pleasure by another name,
he then felt a drowsiness,so pleasant, that never will be explained in words

Sipping  hot drink
from a silver mug
he feels immensely pleased,
so smug! Oh! he feels great,
what makes it so special?
not just the hot drink in the mug,
the mug,being sliver, takes him
to a new height
of well being,
why this,
he puts his thinking cap on
just a thought
with a coating of silver,
makes him feel
the golden glow
of being
bliss from a mere thought!
******* by a mere thought!!
the one that creates thoughts
has the bridle power to decide,
the state of being.
between one thought
and the next,
there is a swing,
he sits there, as mind
-a thought created by a thought,
of a forefather of yore,
right there in the beginning,
passed over to generations,
with a bit of genetic material,
DNA to be precise,
activated again by a thought.
If only he could still
his recurring waves of thoughts,
stop throwing stones
in to the tranquil pond,
inside the meditative mind,
the waves will sleep,
the bubbles will dissolve,
for ever in to its origin,
the first wave of creation,
the primordial hum
Om sweet Om
making him aware that
he is bliss itself.

A shapely cargo ship,
bobbing on waves with urgency,
mating with the lurking fog of dusk,
dissolves uncontrollably
in to an, intense ******* frenzy,
that swirls  like waves of darkness
screams out  ecstatic, loud.

Your soulful look has volums to tell
brings me joy unlimited, unreasonable
you are that rare flower, I used to dream
even in my waking hours, not knowing
you won't be mine ever.

Still you make me yell, "Life is full of surprises"
and hug the person standing next,
just to transmit the happiness you gifted,
all the while knowing it won't last.

That sparkle in your eyes, tells about a  verve rare,
the zest for life, love for happenstance,
gentle wind and gushing water remands you,
one look at you fills the heart with a new spirit,

I can't stop you, a mountain river you are,
I don't have any questions, we are strangers still,
never will we walk hand in hand, hearts brimming with a song,
you are the girl, someone is waiting for,
how happy am I ! a breeze you were, that  blew my way, for nothing.

Spread your spirit, that inspires all,
wipe the tears, rejoice, you have a heart,
you won'tire, if you are needed there
you as a human being, would never fall.

An alien fruit
on a low hanging branch,
she swings invitingly
flaunting her color,
that pulled me near
what an adornment
you would be to my
meager fruit basket,
inebriating scent emanating
overpowers my senses.

Your design, I certainly smell
I hear the whisper,
the disclaimer to entice me
to your side, "I don't like him,
the keeper of my orchard,
he pretends he owns it
but does he know the truth?
it's different, fruits aren't
his passion, just a hoarder
he doesn't enjoy  the ripe fruits,
and I am a **** fruit,
I see yearnings play hide and seek
in your eyes, aren't you the kind of guy,
I've been waiting to come this way,
take me, soon I'll forget him,
throw away your qualms
like fruit peels to the dumps"

I can't now discern,
what I now think,
no, I am no purist
who detests tartness,
I like the taste of vinegar,
this fruit offers so much,
this is a taste I relish,
but I am not game for this,
like to chase and hunt,
fruits from higher branches,
"wouldn't touch a carcass,
even if it promises much"

Deception wearing the mask
of a kind face sowing dreams,
roamed for too long these towns,
around the globe,
that erupted with mortal force,
deciding at last enough is enough.

moneybags having stone faced elegance,
in place of heads, travel in their stretch limos
in the company of swindler princes,
wizards in money juggling

at the foyers of seven star hotels,
where the false suns dawn
at sunset blackening out truth,
they stepped to the tunes
holding hands of power,
the beauty without a heart
goes around with the plastic mask
that transforms according to the stage.

they who charm you with
glib talk and usurp power,
at favorable climes
jump upon unsuspecting
hotel maids, like
resurrected ghosts of vampires.

Every street is dark
with heaped carcasses
of hopes, birds died
at their flight, in ways mysterious,
falling in thousands,
in front of the stunned faces,
of lovers, husbands, wives,
families are looking distress
on the face, every passing day.

The octopus sitting at his
secret castle in water pulls string,
continues winning spree,
as no one raise their voice.

Not any more;
the waves of people,
seething with anger would lash,
against the citadels of evil empires.
The rebel forces have their cause,
this war, the eruption of masses,
will gather momentum, they won't lose.

When a poem comes to me,
I see a mysterious maiden,
her presence thrills me beyond words,
my eyes, gaze deep in to hers, get electrified.

poems, a  few of them, gently lift me up,
I remember my mom and dad doing it to me,when I was a kid,
I wanted to be lifted up again and again,
the imagery transports me to an old world,
where my eyes were  curious, senses growing outwards.

And a few had hit me hard and , even hurt,
'cause I failed to hear, what needs to be heard
I reel under the impact, but when I get up,
love it, find I am not the  one before, transformed!

And this one , meditative, makes me still,
lights a gentle flame within, I feel divine.
And the fun poem regales me like nothing else-
ever did, with quirkiness and humor, without limits.

A sublime poem is the one that takes me across,
either up above my mind's sky, so vast,
or depths of  marine blue where whales navigate,


I am an unknown continent, waiting to be explored,
this poem is an oceanographic expedition mysterious,
I find myself a deep sea creature altogether-
a new species,  none has ever found or named,
and its observer at the same time,  magical!

Decide the course of the love therapy, you'd subject my body, soul and spirit,
my body is eaten by the poison weeds of passing moments, I am a dissolving island,
elate my spirit, still my mind, calm my body aches with love, the aura that ever surrounds you,
begin with your conquering lips, kiss me head to toe, let me drain in to you and sink in oblivion.

A dark, sensuous, blithe, night
seduction is her sole intent,
beating in tune with the heart of
a lover, an adventurer, a crazy poet,
a beggar, a courtesan, a clown or a priest,
     prompts each one to do what to them please,
     to the manner born, unconcerned  of darkness and light,
     her knitted quilt thrown over their heartbeats rhythmic.
Sleep is the best refuge  for the uninspired, lonely, sick,
love, ***, any number of intriguing options she offers for her lovers,
and when the clock of night is torn open by the impatient sun
and day arrives with vengeance to reclaim its land,
with daggers of  sadness stuck to heart, bleeding
they move, like shadows doddering in the path of life.

Her guttural moan, a flower blooming from depth,
                                                             primordial expression of pleasure-
no word could ever contain, solipsistic,
                                                                has numerous shades of meaning;
no lexicologist has ever attempted to elaborate,
                                                                     the nuances of that ****** slang,
yet, how does he understand its each exquisite strain,
                                                           so perfectly well, when she whimpers?

Slightly built, yet robust,
not frail, a daily jogger by choice,
shape conscious, proud-
about keeping the weight
in check, all these years,
articulates her feelings well
but, not the argumentative type,
this facet endears her to all,
keeps her Indian mind agile,
which reflects in her awareness
of eternity than here and now.
Takes oil bath twice a day, in keeping with
the true Malayalee spirit,
never a river in spate, yet
forceful and gushing in making heard
her opinions for others to consider,
from the first day of marriage,
unlike the demure Indian women.

None would doubt her might
that transcends the limits of material and physical,
hidden power sources are tapped at will,
cites her matrilineal heritage, that
stems form a long line of matriarchal grandmothers.

I can't imagine a day passing our premises
without she giving permission,
putting her signature,
all over each passing hour,
though we never keep a formal register for that.
Aren't we three, auxiliaries, the boys and I
in the orchestra named after this inveterate conductor?
Sweet to the core, but if needed
could be pungent, never erupts or go wild,
Smile is disarmingly gentle, yet
that firm answer, needed at the right time,
is never delayed.

Two adoring eyes flutter,
pledging support,
they never let me down, day or night.
a hand that gently touches, me
with the  fingers of reality.
when I dream in day or night.

"Ant dear, don't pant" she pleaded without words
"let me listen to the music of this rose breaking open"

"In the borderless kingdom of poetry,
poet is the emperor"
KALIDASA (Sanskrit classical poet circa,3Cen BCE)


His words
"Apare,  Kavya Samsare,
Kavireva  prajapati"

A sad stopwatch in silence,
regrets fragmenting time,
nonexistent, unstoppable.

Look behind, a shadow follows, morning till night,
at sun down, it transforms and waits, no curtains needed,
look around at night, see that mysterious bushfire,
some happened beyond time, heaven is your imagination speaking,

I stand on a flow that never stops and put all my hopes in love,
there is nothing that doesn't change, I stand where
many others before me stood, I forget that, but events repeat,
I stand naked on a rock with prehistoric markings,

my shrink will associate it with my desire to go back,
my loved ones whisper in to my ear, "Hallucinations all,
will be alright after a deep sleep, you're tired, mind a dark forest"
why overburden oneself with memories beyond time?
Reasons are fading darkness, when looking beyond the mind,
all you now pass through is a dream, seen in sleep, one sleep to the next,
*How many galaxies are to be hopped in this intergalactic travel?

Summer night, moon and her white cloud
frolic on the star spangled bed
You come to me, flames of passion lighting both eyes,
moon incarnate, why your lips uncontrollably tremble?