She was love-
tasting like revenge,
not in a hurry, but
deliberately as she desired.

-a dark searing kiss
that drew blood,
from my lower lip;
getting the dormant
******* in me ready,
in a bit,

I counted it a forgotten pleasure,
playing just sadist, as circumstances permit,
it was, if you want to know
for sure a class act,
she knew how to do it.

in my writing, she said
sounding like an analyst,
i was preoccupied with dark birds,
' i see their presence,
on tree top hide outs,
ominous darkness sitting quiet
with folded wings'

blood in my lower lip
tasted salt,
the hibiscus flower on her raven hair
(reminding animal behavior
on certain periods of need)
to me is a symbol,
she and i know, of what.

I peered in to her ***** dark eyes,
thought what she said was
false.
)O(

The willowy woman,
clad in a red, red sari,
that makes her look like
a challenge  so difficult to meet,
in an imagined island of her own,
enveloped by thick whiskey vapor,
sitting on a bar stool,  precariously
in an attention catching posture,
complicates the prospects
of my white night, getting dense,
as the moon beams start to peep down,

I intuitively sense
from my table afar.

I am inward  looking silence,
but why did her voiceless shouts of
frequent glances, come in search of  me,
as if i am wanted in her court, for some mysterious purpose.
Like a curious  fish,  that swim around pecking and tasting
something she has got interested, in her underwater world,
her eyes roam, so far to my lonely  corner, a sea **** filled depth.

This busy bar has an inner silence
i realize every time i enter  here,
i often get the feeling,
that Buddha sits somewhere and meditates
in disguise, i am all eyes,
let me surprise him
before he decides to tell this secret,
-i am almost sure
in my ear.

I expect this to happen,
for a while now,
this bar is esoteric, conceals many things
though darkness concentrates and celebrates
as often as it could,its motif is  gleaming white
-reminds me the  thousand petaled lotus
and it makes my consciousness tingle,
even in tumult, like two hands protecting
a flame against the wind's onslaught,
this bar preserves its silence.

Every time I get in, it embraces me
like i was a  long lost prodigal child.

Moonlit night brings  mystical moments,
the universe has so much to communicate,
the galaxies distant,  resonate with silent symphonies
eternity conducts only  for the ears that hear without  a sound,
the consciousness is all ears and listens like a child in its cradle,
straining its ears for mother's lullabies.
Enhanced by the bar's background music
i was getting  immersed in a conversation with the moon,
rising above the sea of  undulating coconut palms.

She sat alone shouting orders,
an unknown landscape,
an island melting in to sea,
none could reach without,
a boat that could cross rapids,

She sat with an imaginary baton,
imagining she conducts with perfection,

Fighting rough waters
seemed nothing new to her,
' haven't i weathered many
cyclones, day and night?'
she wordlessly proclaimed.
Four gentle men on bar stools near her
busy finding their own wonderlands,
though fascinated,
with their combined  body language indicated,
'she doesn't belong'

Forced to break my cocoon,
i hear,
          -you drinker of distilled silence,
          -lover of primrose moon
my white night
was taken over,
by this dark cloud
that wanders many skies,
'lend me your time
and those patient ears' she whispers
'if you don't know my mother'

No mother should become a shackle to her daughter,
fathers should be the key syllables* to liberate children seeking their own distant  sun

Here she goes-
taking me along to the road of her past,
dodging shadows of
a mother, wayward.

-men are cowards they never accompany me all the way-
i hear she secretly wail; who cares about self inflicted pain?

the hood of darkness
stood behind her
framing her face and mind.
i let her walk, run and feel free like a peacock
that badly wanted to see a dark cloud to feel  the mood to dance
a wild dance it was, untill
I said,
'do you see the army of ants, that are behind,
feeding on the dead,
that want to hunt you down?'

She didn't seem to hear
or anywhere near the mood
not to dance.
                                                          ­                                         UOIOIOIOU

She smelled
camphor and wonder,
my wet hands caressed
the fruits i wished to plunder,
mind transcended
to clouds and whispers,
falling incessently like a pleasant rain
drenching us , till we can ask for no more.

Her lips were
soft waves sent by
the sea of tranquil night
that nibbled  the shores,
little by little.
Her lips on my lips created
a myth, of a land of happiness
which before my eyes became real,
i found my inner pains have
completely vanished,
we were consumed by a pleasure,
that was full of nocturnal vigour.

What would you do
when,  ***** are on fire?
we were in hunger,
she said, we would build a slow fire,
and make our pulsating veins dance
around it, till every hunger is  fully satiated.
I found this dance  so tantalizing,
she was in fits of pleasure, surging
from the  deep centre
that kept on erupting.

It seemed our bed had  swift moving wings,
she swung up above me
a bird ******* honey from a flower
hovering  over it, on her wings,
her alacratic moves
made her look like an acrobat
perched on top,
the  journey was across time and
we lost all awareness of place,
she moaned her mantras,
pleasure seeker's chants,
to attain the higher reaches of the peak,
faintly visible.
We came swimming though
the turgid waters,with  an urgency
rarely known.

The hands of raising sun
was feeling our bed,
i looked up to see what happens
the night has stealthily left,
early morning light mischevious
peep through the window
to see us lying
in each other's hands

Then again,
we saw the sun a perfect red ball
falling down, to drench us in purple rain
we ran after it , amorous spirit
still glowing inside,
and at that moment we heard
melodies within our bodies.

A vegabond cloud,
fluffy, cotton white,
that quickly became a faint smile,
                      on the face of the evening
                      all crimson and serious-

slowly dissolves,
resulting in a vacant look of loss.
Face of evening gets pale.


Night's dark veil now descends
              over evening's gloomy face....

1
Bark, say, those who probed its meaning deep,
is a complete dog language;
but many others argue against;
say, this idea itself is nonsense.

when you hear the bark of a dog remember, meaning is not the same every time,
either happy or sad is every bark!
some could well be shouts of protest.

breaking the ruminating silence of the young night
in to hundred tiny pieces,
a dog, count him a vanguard, barks,
over and over again, like he/she is possessed.

sounds like a long pending complaint,
to the heartless master,
insistence on not restricting the rights

"Let me be off
from this leash
for a while"
a dog's days are painfully  long,
but even meager demands, mercilessly neglected.
that's a dog's life perfect!

the love showered on occasions,
and care taken, excessively at times, come with riders.

2
Now two dogs, with throaty barks,
compete to outbark each other-
(...to settle an acrimonious dispute,
going on for how long,
who knows!)

'kind souls, at your dinner tables,
please intervene,
even dogs deserve their peace'
the bark goes tapering in to the night..

3
A woofing predator- like dog,
with a bark that easily could startle, any heart,
suddenly falls silent,
like all his engines have failed!
what ever has happened, one can't guess!

4
A sleeping dog
(his barks suggest that)
breaks the lull again,
barking harshly at a dream,
that threatens ,(perhaps)
a sudden bark, like a bullet,
catches the opponent unawares and hit.
(the foe, howled aloud,
till the moment falling dead,
one imagines!)

5
The bylanes are now littered
with, many kinds of barks,
mutilated, dissolved,
vanished, floating in the air,
quickly  forgotten, as it's harsh;
swiftly passing dark night,
with the help of sweeping  winds
collects and packs,
all barks
in to a bag of silence
and walks on quick.

6
Top dogs do not belong to this club,
they are always noted for their
braided silence;
none ever hear their barking sound,
--such a secret, not even a growl!
they are known for their bites,
each one  is different.
                  OOO

A sudden flash,
lightning's cuneiform write,
on  the plack of pitch dark sky;
like a truth derived from lives

Sudden  insights,
in human nature strike unawares,
if you look around,
some times even casual look reveals.

Likes and dislikes drive human lives,
and civilizations thrives or bite dust,
on their merit,
they are like leaves sprouting on a plant
an act, result of the land it stands and nutrients
it receives,
what complex laws work behind it!
how would you capture the essence of this?
--meaning is elusive even if you peel
the onion, for long,
human nature defies all descernable patterns.

Pharova Khufu of Egypt,
wallowing in riches, all his life
(in the stories of past)
was in love with
his two boats, more than any other thing,
(one made of acecea and other from cider)
king, aimed  his longing's sharp point
at this two wooden objects,
(a guy who had no problem in focusing
bless him, he deserves credit for that one decisiveness)

And when he died,
they thought these boats were the things
he would miss more than his wives,
what else could be possible?
they carefully laid to rest with him,  these two beloveds-
Khufu with two lovely boats; his love objects,
his wish was honored
*
Imagine a man of immense wealth
which eventually reduced to  some wood,
the size of two boats,
(the symbol of futility
human life represents,)
trveling the great beyond,
with his legs, one each
on a boat.
                

Past,
i saw you crossing  roaring rivers and
climbing snow clad mountains,
taking long walks through prestine landscapes,
or loosing completely in  ecstatic rain dances,

But,
when i sought you,
and after long last,
found you there,
where you were hiding in disguise,
like a refugee, whose passport was lost--

you were,
mostly eliminated,
like a map, eaten by hungry moths ,
vastly altered
by time, the great forger
hiding in my own attic,

drastically cut,
particularly at corners,
like a cake eaten by greedy cats,
totally sanitised,
clumsily cleaned,
shades of dark completely erased,
unknowing it's value, to create contrast
foolishly whitened,
throwing  sense of aesthetics,
on the way side.

I can see frills attached without any rhyme or reason,
specifics, misinerpreted in many unwanted places,
dark lines of interference, criss crossed,
killing the  pleasure of recollection.

And,  what is  the precious left over?
do i see anything significant at all?
your this avatar, i would have gladly
submitted to  Herr Alzeimer's

what i see before mind's eye is delicately positioned,
ambiguity has taken active control, effectively of  all details,
i stand aghast,
close my eyes
and try to answer
the question that arises:
"who exactly is this?
the memories reappearing as a ghost
to bring me  back to senses,
and make me come in  terms,
with what has passed for ever?"
                                       #