Mom and dad used to tell,"Don't be self conscious, go out and mingle"
Even  profit minded corporates, yell out,"Be socially conscious, conserve"
let soul be a myth or not, one feels kinship with all life, at least once in awhile,
cosmos is you and me, starlight whispers; what more is needed to have cosmic consciousness?

Though he counted himself brave,
she saw teardrops rolling down his eyes
that could be interpreted in many ways
perhaps on the plight of human life
in this planet, makes him sympathise.

"Brave heart, don't grieve" he heard her whisper,
"Don't see life merely as a balance sheet
of profit and loss, just in terms of money.
It's a system human mind created
for mere transaction of commodities,
emotions clothed in flesh and blood,
you are ideas too, that have mind and limbs,
that touches lives, moves the world,
you can't walk in the reverse, Never.
Be what you were once, you've made history
as well as mistakes, as a tree you've borne fruits
propagated your seeds, satiated the demands,
and alas, littered the surroundings with
dead leaves and rotten fruits, that stink.

**"Brave heart, nothing is perfect, nothing lasts,
it's within the complex cosmic design, that's all"

The devil is in the details,
God, did you blink?

Darter bird, lithe charmer, hidden neck deep in water,
you took charge of my heart, in a quick connubial move,
your silver streaked wings, waterproof, are ready to dive deeper,
am I to swim, fly or dive to be with you always?

Boys, always will be boys,
if girls won't be themselves

I'd seek her preventive arrest,
Get uncontrollably amorous near her.

"So curious are your eyes,
remove everything, find what"

Wor(l)ds cross pollinate, it seems,
our most modern thoughts
reflect ancient minds, if so
words lose or gain meaning?

Tom Cat demands a change,
either to Hanks or Cruise.

1
Like the  turning sheets
of a monthly calender,
life has layers after layers.

How would he know that ,
just a callow youth on  sea shore
playing with  smooth pebbles,
that was when he saw her first.

She was the woman who
taught him, whole cities lay merged
within a woman, like wave after wave,
of inhabitants over time, leave their
archaeological markers of periods,
she was a mystery like life itself.
There is no way to decipher.

2
They first met
in the city of light,
Diwali lamps were lit
in all courtyards,
It was an immortal moment
in his  life, he realized,
leading him gently to the light
which evaded him though he assiduously sought,
she parted without a word
Did she belong to someone else?
3
The city of sorrow,
yet again brought them  face to face
Ridden with angst of existence
he stumbled, was about to fall, then
he  could experience her iron will
more than a woman, she stood, like a pillar of strength,
she took his weary head in both hands, pressed to her breast,
pulled out the crown of thorns, their paths
diverged again, inexplicably complex, was their relationship.
4
In the city of guilt,
an unexpected meeting again,
they were surprised. Here, they were on their own.
They  wanted to take their lives in their hands,
in spite of the currents that pulled them to different directions.
But he knew all the while that her self, was divided between
three cities within her.They co-existed, Light.Guilt.Sorrow
will their love survive? Not all loves are intended to live long,
a parrot in his tree of loneliness always whispered.He pretended he didn't hear,
A game of dice, almost was their lives, mysterious forces did bet on their love,
Having traveled through fire and water, she was beyond pleasure and pain,
Kali with a fiery nose stud, female power that overcomes all pain,
she became, that shattered his dreams for them.
He was thankful, to be awakened by her,
the light she lit, burned bright, within.

Now or never.He crossed the river.
Deliverance comes from an inner source,
otherwise all will end as an idiot's tale
signifying nothing.
Her flame lighted his wick, liberated him.
5
Fire spitting dragons one can tame,
but in the duel with demons of life,
it could be a blood letting end,
call it play of chance or what ever
they are the  easy game here
He  packed his backpack and
started to move eastwards,
Westward bound was she, invariably,
her heart had still a song left for him,
the void was filled, the pain was stilled
with anesthetics of mind.
Just for one last time they went to the beach,
watching the sunset was their good bye to each other.
They never met again.

No canine companion  has ever questioned me,
cheeky mongrel, you cross the line too often,
don't forget this; an animal  is still alive within me,
though an animal rights activist I remain officially.

Just the memories of her,
make his winery full;
he gets inebriated at will,
drinking it drop by drop.

A ***** wanderer,
from life to life; I am a butterfly,
fragile, but my desires take me from,
flower to flower, in search of new flavors,
I often find, myself  in quandaries, quagmires and coal fires.
And at the end I am left with nothing else, but unfulfilled desires,
the nectar, that used to be my bait, I thought would be the end I seek;
but now it is clear, there is a jewel I want to adorn on my crown: Enlightenment it is.
Now I am aware, a seeker I am first and last, my hungers will vanish when I embrace cosmos.
This butterfly's flight through the mist will end when a flower will  feed me with nectar eternal.

My lips were wounded,
badly hurt by the broken glass,
of yesterday's love, tumultuous.
You came by after a while,
a floating silver cloud,
providence, brought you here,
with a healing potion
ready at hand.
In no time, you exorcised all the demons,
a wizard you were,
with wonder filled eyes I witnessed
what you did.

From under the rubble
you pulled me out,
removing debris, you retrieved
the lover in me by and by,
your searing kisses
quick stitches
made the scars vanish,
without any trace,
a magic you alone can summon,
with such finesse.

Now  my smile
has the sunshine sheen
that has gone hiding
when the lips were
hurt and bleeding.

A reminder of my father,
am I, they remind often.
No need to repeat,
what my every cell is aware.

Meteorite has just one language,
speaking the the desire of the element, fire.
Its voice lasts only for those blazing moments,
consuming heart, with an equal fire.

She was on the brink,
he just whispered "Explode"
that really lit the fuse,
she was awaiting his nod.

I plant trees, then forget; never turn back.
I am not a rooted lover, plunderer or penitent,
just a wayfarer, dissolving cloud, call me a seeker,
still they blame me when the trees doesn't bear fruit!

The ancient banyan tree is huge, its parallel trunks,
Go across , spiral out, spread  branches,
Sheltering birds; doves or eagles, it doesn't bother.
Above that a kite lost  mid way on  its pleasure flight aimlessly circles.
A grey half moon tries to remain inconspicuous in the day light.
A single engine Cessna sky hawk from Bangalore flying club,
Laboriously crawl across the sky like an overeaten caterpillar.

He remains,
Oblivious of the world around, and its many preoccupations.
Within a craggy nook created by the irregular stem of the banyan,
The old man sits like an idol, totally alien to the world, that is in its Nataraja's dance*
A long, grey, shaggy beard; serene radiant face,
Stunning  any one, looking at him with the contentment blooms there, a radiant flower.
His rags for long time has not seen water, its obvious,
A soiled turban around his head is tightly tied, yet  he looks regal.
He is silence personified, has no needs, it seems.
He breathes freedom day and night, no dependency on others,
Sounds, discordant and confusing, from the nearby road, fails even to touch him,
The dust wind that circles around, only creates a halo for him.
A plastic bag full of stuff, his worthless belongings, lie by his side, like a severed head.
An old news paper he holds, to shield him from the setting sun's attention.

On the third day I found out, he has friends.
Though there seems no need to speak, words are too precious to waste, isn't it what he implies?
A dark, frail woman driving back her buffalo and its calf after grazing in the fields,
Stops in front of him smiling, he smiles back; for the first time I saw a smile speaking to another.
A silent exchange of feelings, I could experience, even  in nature, since then. An awakening he brought.
Every time I watch him, with an open mind, the contentment I see, recites wordless poems

Flower beds in every nook
was Bangalore's delight
for long long years,
even before the time
Winston Churchill lived there
as a young British soldier.
Salubrious climate turned it then
in to a pensioner's paradise,
full of quiet tree lined streets.

The one time cool "Garden city"
one finds now with a new itch,
in its mad rush to get hitched
with the so called" flat world"
every which way possible,
it kills the symphony of colors,
both willingly and otherwise;
trees fall, monstrous flyovers rise,
technological behemoths,
which fast become dinosaurs
as economic down turn hits hard,
stand daunting us, adding green house gases
now, its all kitsch and concrete **** everywhere.

Nearing night, lovelorn evening sky blushes, turns crimson.
Her face, brushing his, trembles with uncontrollable passion.
The sea, clearly is impatient, descending sun so expectant.
Her lips inches closer, his passionate heart is ebullient.
The heaving burden of night, weighs gently upon earth,
The sands of the beach, give way to her lithe body's weight.
Together they savor the wonder, that single moment brings.

A feather,
immaculately white,
with a hint of black at the edge,
incongruently shaped like a sword,
was lying orphaned on the third step,
as I descend.No one noticed it.
Or, what is there so special,
they would have thought.

I stopped to pick it up,
on an instinct, softness prompted,
or perhaps a wish waiting there,
far off in the dark corridor of mind,
a need badly felt,
while rubbing against,
rough edged time;
is it hope of a possible chance
of a caress. With a smile I turn,
serendipity starts its game then,
at that moment one least expected it.

No, I am wrong in saying that,
that moment was indeed ripe,
then only the meaning of the word
gets justified.
                         She was looking at me,
standing on a step, arresting her ascent,
transfixed, looking at the feather too, now and then,
as if it is a quill immersed in liquid magic,
I hold to write, something she would,
spell out, in a moment.
                                    "Tell me" I turn playful,
sensing her mood in that glowing moment,
so rare,we share, that has a hidden significance,
I was certain.

"That's the feather I dreamt last night" she stutters.
We feel the spell of serendipity,
binding our hearts at that moment.
                               0O0

Stately stone mountain's pride,
steep granite peak, seat of vultures,
single lush tree uniquely shaped by winds,
stand atop like a mysterious symbol,
big, round, purple sun, in poetic candor,
like enlightenment, rises behind it;
a sight words can't contain.

Far far down,
in the middle of the grappling green,
the blue jewel, a lake in meditation,
hidden in the thickets, hanging down
in to the water plane, cunning eyes
in hundreds, of black-spotted wild alligators.

A doe and her fawn,
stand at the edge of the lake, driven by thirst,
her both ears perked up listening,
before stepping in to the water to see,
if everything is in order.

Nature, mother kindness
stand guard to all her children,
non interfering,
what now will happen
depends upon  laws
governed by karma,
decided by the action that triggered
the sequence, long back
and not easy to discern.

A small aircraft, noisy intruder
cleaved the star filled night sky,
foolishly demanding more attention
than the brightest constellation.

Though looked stunned
in his expression,
                       the dead man
                       was pleased
with all arrangements
perfectly done.
Only cause of worry
even then, was the
reason of death cited
in the papers: Pollution!
"Frivolous, isn't it?
Not even a solid reason,
for returning to the pavillion.
Inglorious, what else,
though this as a cause
is getting more and more popular
in these days of global warming"
a thought free of body floats around,
unheard by anyone.

How could I claim
you are mine?
Where do you end,
I begin?

Hear a hiss?
***** up
both ears
don't miss
the difference.
(lurking serpent
or the breeze?)

Don't ask
the echo
to shut up.
        You loose
        the right
        when you yell
        that aloud.
No need to bid,
echo to be quiet,
if you just do
what you ask for.
Adore silence
till light dawns.

When they were entangled
in the orange coils of passion again,
she reminded him
of the moonstone.

When he and she were in a band,
at its wild crescendo,
the moonstone had melted,
a molten green fluorescent liquid,
roared in his *****,
she felt the tremor,
the spasms that comes like waves,
to embrace the shores,
wild winds, cloudburst.
"Come deep" she pleads
to him in between.
Winds still in the wings
kept roaring as if the thirst remains,
didn't he see moonstone in her eyes,
an eager glint, unspoken words,
obscene perhaps, erupting from deep?


He ate apples, she had peaches,
she combed her long hair,
with a ritualistic meticulousness.

He  spat the seeds of the fruit.
She stared at him with unbelieving eyes,
at that night,
something strange happened,
the river went dry,
in the morning he saw dead fish
amidst pebbles smooth and round,
shaped by long years of rolling through
the riverbed,  now lying orphaned,
naked without the cover of water.

*She had already left,
was the moonstone yet another myth?

The wild green tree speaks
to her lovers, all through the day,
flirting innocence she was
to the gentle breeze,
those lovely foliage
swaying side to side.

With the indecent demands
of the rowdy wind,
she was rumbustious
not to be left behind even a bit.
Then, the long persistent buzz,
of honey bees, theirs was
an intense affair,
with the inviting white flowers.

The tree was still, as if in goosebumps,
though impetuous, isn't it a diversion lovable?
I was the lover, hope personified,
the tree, in my dreams I wished,
was waiting with all these
momentary engagements,
for that one great love that thrills her,
from tips to the roots, deep down, unique,
in its intensity, when it happens.

The green leaves, white flowers,
the cacophony of roosting birds,
under the shade was a world,
moving on its own pace,
all the while waiting for the magic love brings.

The tree was a song of love, wind's whisper,
sweet exchanges inspiring to many lovers around,
all through the day and night.
At dark lonely nights, an oily moon appears,
very late, as if it is reluctant,
the tree stands silent,
looking wistfully at a winking star,
as if her true love was finally found,
though light years away.



**I stand lost in thought,
in my garden, where flowers wilt,
looking at the flickering light,
at your window, getting engulfed by mist

1
Backwater nymph,
queen of serpentine black tresses
flaunting its coconut oil gleam;
envy of  leggy girls from the Western ghat mountains,
and lissome  maidens from the plains,
who can never eat as much fish, even if they wish.
Wearing hibiscus flowers,
on coiffure like hood of a king cobra,
your coral lips  silently speak
of hot peppery kisses,
waiting for me at shaded corners.
Your sultry body in me arouses desires,
that could only be whispered in your ears.
2
On a coconut lagoon when we met,
for the first time and spoke,
non stop, as if we knew each other life long,
I heard music in your words.
Oh! in the tongue you spoke,
I heard the cadence of a nightingale
ecstatic, on its wings above the clouds,
love had prompted us to fly above the storms.
Your  gleaming coal black eyes,
like silver hooks, tug at my heart strings,
that makes music, only I can hear,
you are a free flying lark,
above Kerala's lush coconut coast,
that extends from sea shore to the mountains.
3
*When we relished steaming brown rice,
mixed with clarified butter,
with spicy tuna curry, tasting so dainty,
cooked in bubbling sweet coconut milk,
my eyes like two crazy butterflies
circled your face, a blossomed Champak.

Mashed cassava and roasted squid,
melted on our tongues,
in a perfect culinary language
any one would understand without effort.
4
Your lips had cinnamon scent,
spice land's boons,
when we kissed we touched heaven
of scents and spicy tastes.
When our eyes fell on each other,
near the ancient synagogue,
the hay days of which is over,
a long jasmine garland coiling your hair,
    marked you different,
from the  the ladies of your neighborhood,
                                          surroundi­ng you.
How well you did pretend
that you have never seen my face before!

You have mastered love's cunning,
and all the wily tricks to cheat
the enemies of our fiery love
my Freudian mind perfectly understood.
Just imagine the brouhaha we would invite,
when we elope, in the last boat,
to *Alappuzha, stealthily at midnight.

1
Never ever lacking in drama,
since the day he knew her first,
as he races  his car, at breakneck speed
to reach her point of departure,
one last time, right on time,
mind flits to arenas different, in real life,
Shakespearean dramas to Greek tragedies,
from where memories of her come alive.

A maze of roads he sees in front,
they appear from nowhere,
then from all four sides, like other peoples' lives,
come in to contact unawares, run parallel-
for some time, get entangled like serpents in heat,
like it happens after frenzied mating,
quickly get separated as if by post ****** hatred,
then, goes missing for ever, like her,
till the last moment.

2
                                 Though  roads appear divergent,
and destinations seems varied, all roads in the end,
one would understand, converge at one point,
to transcend and dissolve in the embrace of infinity.
The present, past and future the three time frames,
are rivers; clear, dark and hopeful blue they appear,
but all these  Niles, come to the confluence when
the illusion of time vanishes,
then, color doesn't matter, final destination is the same,
there isn't any other.

3
He parked his car at a distance, watched mourners
filing past, a muted lament meandering;
a sluggish python,
slithering slow, after gobbling too much.
Its a ritual, all of them came from far and near,
none he knew was there, an eventful past fully obliterated,
isn't it strange to say the least!
Once played the lead, he is now just  a relic, a stranger,

                                                                              a discordant note

A whole new cast was added later, after his exit,  he learns
here they are, from different places, some flew down,
others took trains, coaches or drove down in cars
as if meticulously planned for a flamboyant farewell
to the queen bee of the hive, who knew how
to rule the kingdom she takes over,
by defeating and trampling on the puny kings .

4
Every queen finally bows out when her part is  fully played,
on the way back his mind was empty like a concert hall,
just after the performers have left; this show packed up midway though.
Can anyone plan, the journey to the point of no return
as a victory lap? He was asking to himself,
At last all stories reach to the same  sad end,
the songs, words, tunes and best laid plans stand changed.
Time is a mirage, but it rules us, it can interfere with the plans
of man.And change everything the way time flows.

It was getting dark, rain  lashed making him drive with
caution, while passion from the days of past
visited him like gusts of wind pushing him backwards.

5
**A thought murmured in his ears, like a beetle,
with her memories dancing in the background.
" One needs to drive slow, look around,
hear the hum of the wind in the ears,
and when it rains, let the water wash and heal,
feel contended, move on with the sun,
tomorrow is another day"

"She smells raw mangoes
and chrysanthemums,
 what a combination!                                     
                                 how exotic"
enamored city boy mused aloud,
kissing his newfound lover
a village belle,
under the shade
                    of a chattering peepal*
a  rendezvous, so elating
he could never imagine.

"They didn't pay me much
to pick the mangoes, still not ripe;
had to pluck flowers in the afternoon,
for decent wages"
                           she candidly told.

Tiptoed out of my bed,
not to alert mom and dad,
in a day that now seems in another life,
I went in to the outstretched
hands of mysterious, silent, night,
my secret lover waiting for long,
in our quiet courtyard,
expectant.

The moment I stepped out,
a net so light fell over me,
amazed I looked up to the sky,
and found trapped in a
gossamer net the stars hold,
woven by lightyears far and near.

I pleadingly looked at the moon,
who had a feud going on
with my lover I did suspect,
but she smiled at me and asked
"You are with us, aren't you?"
Yes, I said, and never changed my word
since then.

Bamboo shoots, cooked in oil,
we munched were delicious. The tender love,
we shared, in our sojourn, in the lodge
deep inside the forest, had complemented it.
She was a playful tigress, transformed
by the atmosphere, with a manifested ****** interest,
different from her usual demure self.
One thing led to another, we fed each other,
heady vintage wine, from our mouths,
till we found out, in such circumstances,
love would make us do things,
we never imagined we could.

The sketch she made depicting us,
as two wild elephants, in musth*
rummaging the bamboo grove,
eating shoots to our fill,
reminded *Shiva and Parvathi, his consort,
taking the form of elephants
indulging  in every possible play amorous,
culminating in the birth of Ganesha,
the cute God, elephant faced,
the remover of obstacles.

Love drunk the song  we both sung,
was one of innocence.
The booming wind in bamboo leaves,
suddenly changed tune, sounding like ankle bells.
Dense, dark, green womb of forest
and the flow of wind above, like a blood stream,
kindled the prenatal memories, from deep down,
and as the background score,
cacophony of unknown birds of many feathers.

We swam in the lukewarm water,
of a day so different, with joyous abandon.
A voice mysterious, spoke in my blood stream:
"Be like birds, wind on bamboo grove, elephants seeking what they want,
the love you share would bring, fantastic results,
the world, would look far more simple,
life and death cease to be riddles, just natural,
shadows vanish, no fear remains in deep caves,
everything gently flows, like a clear river to the ocean"

The waters are languid, in a thoughtful mood,
the waves reluctant to touch the shores,
the beach is deserted with last evening's sounds
still lingering in disguise as seagulls' calls.

The cove has let you take it over as a whole,
you are the daughter of the freedom's waves,
standing waist deep in water, let the waves-
play with you like the fluffy kittens you love.
Your eyes droop, with happiness, a sweep
of emotions beyond words dab your face with a glow,
mate call of gulls, unhurried caresses of the waves,
salty taste on your lips, ethereal is this moment.

You gently give yourself to the cantering waves,
they take you around few times on their back,
when you emerge from the waves adorned by
pearls of water beads, sun's purple fingers
gently so gently tickle your naked *******.

A wizard of words,
he created from nowhere,
a wonderful space;
        the novelist made
        his characters play out his wishes,
through every little action, he penned
felt euphoric beyond words.

When one among them
 clearly his blue eyed girl
on whom he showered a lot,
his thoughts, writer's craft
             and  much much more,
  to make  her
  well shaped, a cynosure,
unexpectedly
turned cheeky and crossed limits,
the novelist got terribly annoyed.

*In the dead of night,
during a rendezvous with her paramour
the character had a
horrifying end.
She fell prey  
to an assassination plot,
hatched by the  patriarchal novelist

They found sin,
an alluring fruit,
in the forest of the collective night
of their callous hearts.
They avariciously ate it,
though digesting its toxicity wasn't possible.
Its seeds were enthusiastically distributed,
among other creatures of the dark.
Planting seeds of sin,
they thought was good fun,
their technique of brainwashing
was perfect, a lethal gleaming weapon.
The fruits it bore were
what none expected,
explosions shaking public places,
an efflorescence of gun culture,
bane of our times and for all the days to come.
The genie refuses to go back to the bottle,
once again, though few still try.
The lovers of sin bragged ,
about biting the bullet,
if it comes to that,
won't run.
Short sighted,
chafed were their words and deeds,
at last when reality came to visit,
each one bit the dust.

Night,
dark, soft, alluring,
spinner of dreams I want to be lost in,
is a kindhearted courtesan,
who never demanded anything
for all her loving, that to me
was like a swim in the pool
of "Ananda"* I was searching for.

I climbed her door steps
with the silent footfalls of a cat,
all these years for solace,
when the fair lass ,
regaled by my songs evening after evening,
scoffed and taunted,
when I fell wounded
in duels of life, I was forced to fight
to keep my honor intact.

Once,
seeing me left in the lurch,
blood soaked and badly wounded
she led my tired legs
to her house of magic and secret treasure hunts,
blessed me with oblivion, till I woke up.
Her mansion became
arena of silent dances of wounded memories,
till sun appeared above misty mountains
cheering me up with new promises,
but my thoughts never left her.
I spent my darkest hours
in her house,
thrilled by dreams she induced,
in which under moonbeams
princesses gathered,
bubbling fine wine brimmed
in sparkling glasses,
I felt the most loved man
within her tender arms.
I would wait for the night, my sullied lover,
to arrive with her hands of breeze,
to tousle my hair and caress my face.
Night  took away my pains,
her lasciviousness is the only drink,
that makes me ask for more.
She is not only mine,
as a courtesan, she needs to entertain
whoever seeks her,
But when I am with her,
she is all mine.

Hands of every clock,
each passing hour
clap aloud thinking,
at long last,
the  enigma of  time is
caught and caged for ever.
But what one hears
in every chime is
the sardonic laughter of
elusive time.