On the mount
a broad-leaved tree was preparing
for self destruction.
It was too cold
under the sun.

A small Christmas tree
with its needle leaves
waits for the snow,
to draw a self-potrait
in bitter winter.

Snow fall makes it
gold, when rain comes
and my hand knives the moon.

Is raining. Since night.
You have no claim on
dry lips. Wry stance. The
city walks slowly. Wasted
faces. You want to ****
the words, the profanities.
Want to unwrap the knife.

I don't need any flowers.
Always making faces. Too
Many boats in the sea of eyes.
Rowing, arowing. I am
Afraid. The fast currents. And
then my shirt becomes stained.
***** words.

You reach the bottom. The
terrible depth. Digging up
my body. Even my hands
become shovels. Slowly
I erase my name on the sand.
The sea has divided us.

You do not want to reach-
where the journey ends.

Can you keep this secret
how do I harm myself in ecstasy?
Your shadow walks-
on the lake solemnly.

I want to talk of-
the broken musicality of black
veils. Do we need to touch
the tulips under the moon?

Big toes digging in wet
grass. Grieved, not getting there
where the sink hole appeared
let the hands tremble.

You freeze in the space
between the eyes. The groove
widens to **** the guilt
which never was.

A little finger points towards the sky.

The king
made a fun of our poverty.
Marble faced girls always thought,
wearing black scarves –
sweeping the floor of white mausoleum.

You made a death
a loving eternity.
We die daily
in the face of old shine.

Who shoots a peacock
on the tree?
I mourn for the blue peace,
let the clouds come.

Who remains unhurt
unpained, when the night calls?
I seize a moon
to enter the crack of dawn.

When you stand still
in unbearable agony, the unquiet
dark starts settling
around me.

Why this crisscrossing of
ill-bred beliefs and credences?
Hacking of the circinate thoughts?
After the rolled up,
tip of pain lies in the center.

The dead leaves,
noises of the past-are gathering up
with ugly exhibits.

As origami, you fold it
and put it back
in ice box.There was no need
to decorate the death's crown.

Eyes half-shut
will not see the moon rise.

I break myself
today, angry with me,
for small things.

Not able to finish
the track, I will sell now―
my dreams.

How do I turnaround,
to seek my aching legs,
for the fear of climb?

The call of the peaks,
in deep ocean,
for an asylum?

Why did it happen to
unhappen, when you were
fighting like a lynx with fate?

I see you in my arms
when you bloom like the hawthorn,
mayflower after making it to the peak.

You exist because the moon
exists. The tyrant of time will not die
easily. Solitude prints a saga.

A mystic romance flourishes.
The moonlight comes on tiptoes
to kiss the sleeping deity out of the temple.

Red horizon―
had bite-marks
of setting sun.

On the table,
I will place all my oblique wares
for a change.

You embrace the strange
things, horns and all. The
dissection was accurate.

A multiplex opens the
gates for all the
lipless gods.

The maddening silence
of the priest was
deafening.

I will not come near the skulls.

Was it a sorcery?
In broad daylight,
you ****** away the echoes.

Now I am shodowless.
Walking on toes.
I reach the pit.

Bluebells. From a
precipice, I bend down
to hear the divine music.

A dumper picks up
the foreign traveler, hot
iron. I become a refugee.

Talking of non-violence,
you become violent
against the poppies.

The drugged apostate
wants to live in
lesser space than a mouse.

Rainbow becomes
dark. Colors singe the eyes
ignite the psyche.

Moon, eye of
night, will watch
your mandarins.

Deep orange-red?
No.I would
prefer hard cider.

Daisy has a
flair to wink―
in bright sun.

A netter on
prowl, for wingless
butterflies.

It takes billions of years
for ancient light to reach us and
rescue the trapped darkness.

You can hunt among rocks
in the palisades, behind
the ramparts.

There was an apocalypse.

Stem cells were ready
to repair the myelin―
searching ancestry.

It was a tense stand-off
between the headstone and a living dead.

Cannot repay the debt of blue
Sky, sending us
the warnings of catastrophy.

Sometimes I will interplay
the secrets:
faded rose in a book,
a distant star spelling out
your name.

When I go, will you come
to my home?
Hold my eyes wide open
and become my iris?
I wanted to see the innocence of a sin.

Black stone on a white belly
petrifies the womb.
Maniacs were dancing on the petals
of marigolds.
A mauve revenge

Petit mal holds the sanity
of defeat.
Pheromones will decide the gender
of a flat chested angel.
Each thorn was crying.

I

The blend of gene and name.
How you carry the
legacy?

II

We are losing the war.
You are winning
the birds.

III

The sparrows have left
the nest of man,
in search of moving homes.

IV

How do you spell the ruins?
I have never seen
a perfect shape.

V

Chicken-livered.
Why did you try to
confront the wall?

When the various attempts fail.
You become a sage.

Always I will question
the unveiled moon, why anger was
surging in the disturbed night?

Let me complete
my story. Will you wait
for my final confession?

When my pain
morphs into a poem, I
will discover myself-
in your absence.

And when you put on purposely,
the pink- lipglow, I go lonely.

The gift of parting
was the death wish for a fluttering moth,
to fly towards the glittering flame.

Do not measure zany,
yourself. When did you become
your pedagogue?

Around the city I am
planting the roses―
against the wishes of land mines.

Haunted by a survivalism,
somewhere the smoke
was rising. But I wanted―

to leave the fragrance
for you― and you will not
wait for the ghosts to tell,

who was the visitor. You
will not know my future and
I will not know your past.

Spurned,
staring into a void-
for a door,
burning a sage.

Wearing a veil to ward off
the curse.

You start the baby steps
getting there, near the noose,
weighing the planks.

Now you are breathing fast,
getting a hit, counting
the hymns.

The corrupt booms
rise and fall.
An overt withdrawal
from the bet, to sacrifice the bliss.

White lilies washed,
in tears, let down the shawls.
You can see the holy vice.

Sitting in a wake
you don't feel peace. The vigil
has a buzzing sound.

No benefit comes.
Your fingers speak for the broken
faith. Where gods sleep?

The candles in the wind
were blowing up at the bank
of the river, which had dried up.

Listen to wind in
dark. I was hurting myself
not to kiss black rose.

*

There was blood under
the eyes for writing unknown
truths about a fall.

*

Time was not for myths.
The traveler resumes journey
to meet failed god!

Do not expose the
suffering. Your fingers will quiver.
But this was not your failure.

The path makes itself
when truth walks with you. But the
wind will not be decisive.

The unknown questions
have answers. A supermacy of heart
is on mind when you stop thinking.

Like a snake
it moves.
My poem.

You are not, what you were
in the night, lightning
the grey moon.

I hear, what you
did not say or did―
not think.

Even dark
forebodings, move like red
ants, from the slit eyes.

I cover the faults
via songbird, which
was calling, desperately,
unwaitingly.

Not reaching somewhere,
I was not today,
what I was.

You seek a hand
for a handshake, and I watch
the dirt gathering
on the nails.

Sky does not give you
an award.The soot
collects on the windows.

The blue skulls dance
to defy the earth.No forehead
was formed.How would you
read the destiny?

I swear, I did not fathered
the deity in a-
monotheist gathering.
A black hijab covers
the moon.

Meeting my twin soul-
for the first time,
in abeyance of any evidence.

Cutting myself-
to know the truth of undoing
of a voodoo in random
violence.

Why you had many different
lives to lead a client-
heritage, paying debt of
wronged dreams?

While lying to yourself,
you fell in trap and moved
away from yourself?

I will be seeing
my counterpart daily in my
thoughts to solve the global puzzle.

Why didn't I bite the Apple?

Moving among the glittering―
crowns, as in glaciated valley.
once again, in capital of grief.
I am folding the twilight.

The viciousness of the hisses, zooms,
once you sleep on the bed of silence.
A blue light cuts you half.
I survive on the black tongues.

The assault was imminent now.
Flat foots will invade the afterthoughts.
The incline was treacherous―
You cannot climb up, nor down.

Give me a haiku after the sun.
There was no night work left and―
I am plotting not to **** myself.
I will burn an empty bark.

In my sanctum,
you walk in― like
my first child, to join
my innerness.

Trying to decipher―
the moral code of angels.
I just wanted an embrace
of a flame to kiss the sparks.

I hear your footsteps,
sometimes near, sometimes far away―
in the valley of burning tears.
This space and, a gouge hold the
secret of melting lips.

Still unborn, a voice in
cul-de-sac, waits for the grievers
to open the darkness―
for a ray of light. It was very

lonely where you had scripted the clouds.

Again, I remember you intensly
in dark night.

Fractious with myself
to fill in the void―
for not writing any end.

Trying to become human,
revenge for revenge―
life measures the exactness.

Like holding a firefly
in my palm, I was searching
the light.

Still trying to shake off
the dust, the ash, from the wings.
A long flight was ahead.

Being my other soul
would you go for-
a saddest kiss with a gold fish?

Nothing else matters.
Weaving blue flesh on
starched bones.

What else you need,
when the moon cries outside
the broken window?

And the sands and
palms and cacti had the
guts to take in trifecta.

And the blood
to remember the affinity
with the unknown.

A moment's pause
before the death dive,
I look back at stars.

You came as it was
to happen in a dark night,
to embed a pain.

A nowhere slips,
carrying a monolith
of your lineage.

King of ***,
the third gender
or hermaphrodite,
half male, half female,
existing on margin,
beheads the creator
to propitiate the deity of destruction,
starts a genocide
to create a new model,
new world, sexless, moonless
sunless.

How could you remain normal
when you were being robbed of every myth,
every truth?
And you were walking under the guilty sky
unmindful of the pouncing, long legged tarentulas
to bite off your elements?
All of your tongue?
And the heat will give up the slaughtered spring
dried up in eternal shade?
Within the memory will lie the pain
of million years?

You decline to speak―
to listen―
to see
like a meditating Buddha.

Like a sunflower
with moon seeds,
ready to explode at sunset.

Strangulated―
neck, hanged from a tree
to tell the tale―
that you were violated.

This was the principle of
cosmic order. Poor god
waits for the world
to show the rage.

I wake up the tree.
Leaves fall like unspoken words
from the decaying oak.

When saline drowns the lips,
my words tremble.

Almost I stumble upon
the fish house spilling the vertebrates.

I had given them, the name
to the swirling limbless thoughts.

One by one they come on the edge
and blow the ashes, towards me.

You always dream of a procession
of dead bodies under the window.

In the little study, you are
afraid of leaning walls.

And you say you were responsible
and to be held accountable.

Smitten by your holy
tongue, the muse melts
in the raging sun.

There was a deep
gorge between the hills.
My face turns blue.

Trembling hands will knit
splendent wreath for a
departing moon.

In the dark night, you
look afar- the stars, to know
the Buddha's full truth.

Walking on tiptoes,
sun opens the door gently
to ****** your tresses.

Can you stop your heart-
beats to listen the footsteps
of a beautiful poem?

Unnaming pro-lifers, I
was ready to imitate
the song of the ruins.

Rising like a phonex
from the spermaceti of flames,
a unisexual rage,
engulfs the smoke of burning homes.

I am painting you
black, O white god, your
devotees were coming in the ****.

Bend down angel; the eclectic
door was small and the beautiful
windows were closed.

No need to wait for
a lost moon. The godchild
had been laid to rest in scythe bed.

Come when you are
going to faint in the arms
of poems. I will stay for eternity.

The lazy eye,
staggers. Looks behind
the moon.

Retaining the uniqueness
that you were not.

The eagled-hoot.
Your spirit, muddles the air.
How much truth was there
under your skin?

I had always admired your stiff neck.

Only the veil was needed
to cover the green fears.

Would you ever know, how
I was killing myself in small poems?

The danger lurks.
Sparks, seagulls and blue lake.
The blaze never dims.

Eternity prowls around, cutting the ribbons.

There was nothing to
do, except moon gazing, by
us, shades apart.

*

The words drink tears
and dreams had a satanic touch.
Curse within a curse.

*

The sands of time slip.
Past inspires the present,
of unholy future.

Aquilla. Would you
carry the burden
of ungiving?

Transmuted, I
will find you in portrait
of sublime?

And I will see in your eyes
a cosmos, floating in void.

But a primal question
remained unanswered, who were you.

Through the blue sky
and legends of dark, the
constellations squirm.

And I start believing
in God dust.

It was not,
just a kiss of a zodiac sign.
You had become a stranger
between fight and flight.

The trick was capricious.
Albeit, a calligraphy
on a bare tree, engrafting
your name which keeps
on growing with broadening trunk.

You watch the sky
at night and start a monologue.
The stars were expanding,
filled with grief. The
despair of going back home
in dark.

Was trying to―
make eye contact with
unknown in dark.

Shadows become
real people, when I ask
who are you.

Remember to die
when you want to live
for eternity.

The giant ficus
smiles at woodpecker.
Buddha sleeps.

Will not put any claim.
Neonate my poem
has gone gray.

Black days and white
nights.I will recall my
ghost and ask, O god-
do you exist anywhere?

A thread of pain, makes
a family of feet, climbing
in smoke.

Vulnerable to theft, my
thoughts divert me towards
cemetery, where I will
bury my sins.

You remained a question
for me on calender date.I
will hold on the time,
which has thrown me back.

The wheels.
I decide to abandon―
the home.

*

The pain of darkness
returns. Wax
drips from a taper.

*

A sickle moon―
stirs,
my religion.

*

Deep anguish,
after the taste of
your own blood.

Adopt mannequins,
like aliens in frozen state-
for whispered crime.

*

Howling encircles
a saint in meditation. Where
did you hide your muse?

*

I will ask Rilke to
come back and to write new note
messaging to god.

The long tentacles return
to gather you,
in clawless loops.

What do you see in the godless
domain of winged
colts?

The colossus had
glaring flaws. Binary
curse falls like a barrel-bomb.

I remained oblivious
of the uncorrupted dawn,
rising from the ruins of fallen saints.

I am standing on the
grey rock, where black and
white meet. Time becomes a moment.

The brown rice were
not yet ready.
An old man turns in grave.

*

The thingness
was shapeless in dark
Like a sleeping Buddha.

*

Once I told a lie.
The snow started melting
releasing methane.

Like toothache.
Would hear the voices
of dark.

No beginning, no end.
I will not conclude.
Like the setting sun in west
dying beautifully―
without moon.

It is a chilling confession.
No offending. Trying to
understand unmoving lips.

In my suffering
there was no faith healing.
I won't ask your hand.

Every syntax, regenerates
the truth of the ***** mind.

Living amidst the
dangers of orthopedic blunders
you cannot walk straight.

The queen has gone insane.

Intercepting the random
poems, pick not
the holy water, in your palm.
I cannot lift the words.

Dark bellies, in moon's
autumn, will play with flutes.
You will swoon on the
sight of blood at the hands.

It was not the first time, a
lamb in the midair―
falls on the golden spear of
new theme, to bluff the naiveness.

Somebody takes a turn, to
find the bell, which will not send
any sound, on the death of
the poppies.

The summer moon with
poetry and musk.
I waited full evening
to become a coherent whole.

I wanted to quit, like
a Buddha, not to come back
in the baked mud house
where the sun would not break.

The earthen lamp with
a flickering flame, under the
holy basil, wants to die
before the moonrise.

Paralysed lower limbs
will make you sit like a god
on the altar, deaf and dumb.

You don't want to learn
about the red lips of the goddess.
Moon was bleeding heavily.

Sit in a lotus position.
Sky is going to fall.

I was rearranging
the things, in order
as if I will come back.

Ah! Life has
lynched my poems. I
feel- I cannot write
something beautiful.

A frenzied mob
calculates your height
and starts stoning at
an ***** totem.

The hardened rocks were
melting without fire
to submerge you and your
castle made of clay.

At sunset-point you
reach to stand in twilight
to morph into an alien!

A near cult glows/ on faces―
for harvesting peace,
saluting each other, without flame.

I have come so far
though you did not want the winds to move.

A new theme was
developing. The first wicket has fallen.
The collective suicide
will follow.

Invoking the sun, you stay in shadows,
without qualms to hear
the swish of swords.

The phenomenalist,
strides confidingly to read your mind.
Heart cries―
Uncontrollably.

Let it be,
you don't engage in dispute
with me, to make us complete
and whole.

Sharp stings leave
my skin singed. Barehanded
I will fight with a
hollowed tiger.

A dark fear still hangs
on the milked mind. The tunnel
was unlit. You wanted
to become a white god.

The dead wine spills
from the ceramics. With feet
of clay you run very fast
to catch your shadow.

One day you will
walk in, to take revenge
on kismet and blend with me.

To sell the half-truths―
of lies, you quit
the post to live with Stonehenges.

Assembling another
dream. I rearrange the thoughts
to save the trembling planet.

Sleepover very discreetly
with me. Find out, how
my flesh has turned into gold dust.

Some wee moments,
chase after you, to become immortal
with each poem.

O life, read me.
I want to go quietly,
climbing down in waters of blue lake.

That was not worth it.
To wait under the moon
for a Cleopatra, who would
not carry asp vipers.