oy vey
everyday, oy vey
Granny couldn't get through
an hour without a dour
oy vey

the woeful phrase I recall,
though most of all, I still see her
scrubbed raw, red paws, always
clutching a tissue, to keep
the ghastly germs at bay

the ones she believed
yet survived the camps
no matter how much time
and scalding baptismal
water had flowed

though far from the filth
even farther from the ovens, safe
she still said oy vey and held the tissue tight
perhaps to keep out the night
I never had to see
oy vey, oy vey

Armed to the teeth, he was every bit a soldier,fighting fit,
Had even an excessive zeal,for conquest bordering to
obsessive compulsive neurosis.he never could relax.
But the moment she was sighted,as an apparition,in his radar,
it was a  near a melt down; how quickly did he transform!
"Yes"  his command center,flashed a message, "See the target"
This was a surprise! contrary to what he thought his nature was
he stands now  stripped naked to the core, ready in true love mode

Moved by the guiding hands of the wind,
While avoiding the living room box's trend.

Although fixate with this generation's iPad,
Or impulse to explore the Xbox's dungeon,
And glimpse the pages of the Forbe, the Facebook, and the likes.

Make time to be in the moment of solace,
A time to dream to explore ideals,
Like floating in nebula avoiding the all powerful black hole.

Navigating the void of the sense of inner torment,
Or charting the boundries of the next voyages of personal task.

One does need to depart from disparity of news,
Or lose sense of humanity by deprived reality TV,
For satirical movies like Idiocracy prophesied seem realized.

One does need to regroup in personal cocoon,
Meld by the silent melodies of beating chest,
Like metronome syncing the keys of the piano to Bach,
While breathing upon the horizon of rebirth,
And find your enshrouded foggy path by beacon of self enlightenment.

She doesn't recite poems in the darkish sunset

like golden corns dying to be reaped
she needs a hand to cut her through
reach to where a fleshless lust is still not ember.

Seasons come and fly away.

Her own poems withering
she pines for one simple nest
to rest.

Lust, when it grips us,  is a sudden swell,  
occasional in a mountain river flowing downhill,
from the high ranges of inflamed emotions.

The ecstatic roar while the  discharge is easily forgotten ,
the river  runs dry soon enough , when the torrents abruptly stop,
as the winds chase away the clouds, all of a sudden.

But those pools, your blue,beautiful eyes, clearly defy,
rules of seasons,brims invariably with love pure, all along,
and yes,it gets replenished,from the deep well springs
of your heart, it remains full whether I am far or near.

On the drive from St. Andrews to Aberdeen
I stopped at a roadside cafe,
For toast and jam and tea.
The young blonde server
Took my order,
And never spoke a word.
Then her mother bellowed
From the back of the room;
And her father barrelled through the door,
And a baby cried;
She's wanting more.
This is their country;
She was their girl.
I paid for the platter,
I tipped the teen,
And continued on
To Aberdeen.

Foaming sunlight makes love
                 with the tender purple leaves of mango trees,
light crafts a crust of luminescence,
                  over the profusion of yellow and blue blooms,
avenue trees vie with each other to  hold forth
                  their  flowers on sun's water fall of light to bath.


Evening doesn't show any sign of waning
                   the ebullience  the day had sowed in the world,
"ANANDA" though unspoken as a word, aloud
                    is heard by  inner being, making everyone rejoice,
living and nonliving seamlessly join in,
                    and swim in the swelling  waters of force of life.
past invisible floats gently to the present
                  flows towards a sea of tranquility crossing nights.