Deep and black were
pains, making an arch to give you
presence of roses.

Portraying the slavery of
love. No need of heart's moon.
A thorn whisks away the wish.

I warn you to bury
the knife along with the burial of
my poems. I have never seen the blood.

From uncultured to
subcultured, I was made to―
feel responsible.

My coffers remained
empty. The nightmares had
squirreled away my peace.

And I was always
steeling for a reply. Embracing
the dark woods for support.

Everyday you changed
the mask to become innocent,
separating the sparks from the ash.

Paralysed like sea―
anemone without water. The
sea had receded in haste.

In moments of hubris,
of artificial hip,
the most unknowable thing was
the blood thought.

An invisible ink, of late
marks the error
of autumn. A lone survivor
of leaves of time, would not
break the word.

The donated eyes will not
see the dreams. You can
boil the bones to get the truth.
Somewhere a guilt prospers.

It is what you don't think.

Enfant terrible.
I disown myself,
and try to follow my
occult intution.

Crossing the magnetic
field, I become neutral.
You will have to
collect my tears.

There will be no anniversary
of the funeral,
I will die imperfectly.

Failed to kiss the uninviting
throat of the knife. It
went straight into
my unread anthology.

Your smile will chase me
like a black spider. Its lethal
venom was painless.

Black and blue, if
I could perspire in the
freezing snow of the flames.

Blazing in my blood,
you were coming down, yellow moon.
No, not you were my enemy.

With you gone, I was
living in marrow-bone to shut my
door of love, to hurt myself.

My encounters with words
were failing. I see your unkissed
lips losing their pink colors.

Was it kosher to wake
up a sleeping poem, when
someone has burned the book?
A rite of passage
between the poppies?

The soaked swans
were not ready to accept
the challenge of the defining moment.

A smart moon walks
behind me, snooping around the pines,
to drink the brazen lips.

Why small girl walks on the snow
to get the blessing
of the bells?

What you heard was
not true. I am writing my will
after you lost charisma.

I am dying daily after
reading the smoke signs
coming out of your books.

Can you sing the
Ghazal of Ghalib? How will you
agree when you don't want to agree?

A hard drink of
heartache, and you blink.
It was very difficult
to understand blues.

In black sky
you whimper and ask
only for the love to happen between
the sweaty hands.

The stings have
a job to do. They breed the
wasps amidst us. So your
signs bleed.

The night terrors
return. I touch the toxic
insignia. Such pure flesh
will kiss the poem.

Listening to the voices of silence―
of beautiful triangles,
plagiarizing the
straight lines from nowhere
I lost my way to
find you.

I don't have numbers
nor zeroes. Only angles
to solve my pathless destiny.

In spiral mysteries,
would you ever climb the
stairs of a minaret, reaching moon?

You wanted a black rose
without barbs.

How does the blood flow without veins
on the cheeks of sun?

A hurt activist
disappears in the clouds
without wings.

Eyeing the pale moon
I will grace the path
of neutrality.

Piercing red
a current pulses through
the vacant eyes.

You always
curl the lips to remain unsaid
about the embrace of fire.

Conversing with
the waterfall, you forget
that you were standing on edge.

Invisible undercurrents
have a ritual. They appear like
glazed cleavers when there
is no crowd of thoughts.

Like indigo child you
extend the purple hands
to heal the bruised ego.

In moon-hung
sky, I repeat the
sacrilege of forgetting
my autumn.

The detachment,
the unholiness, lacerate
the ****** marks.
Clouds do the scary things.
I panic. Something rings the bell
in head.

The trees go into
delirium tremens, drinking their own sap.
A new Milky Way was taking
shape. You don't want to
move the crescent.

October is ending.
The bridge will become icy.
You let go the unspoken
words to build a phrase, that
glitters like a sword.

I bear the loss. Accept
you with all the fringes.

Sometimes, unwittingly-
I want to take you
to beginning- not to lose
you again-by unwriting.

Like a drop of ocean
waiting for the sun to quench
the thirst of night.

The quencher wants
to taste the salt of the
eternal wounds jutting out of the earth.

One day I will tear
you off like fresco from the
wall of memory and place it
in the pages of my book.

I will not seek any
apology from you, for not
bringing any flame.

You brought the ashes of
the bo tree.

Constrained.
The starlings will
not fly today.

There was a hole
in the sky.
The god particles will fall.

Drawing out
the blood of fallen―
angles, on the street.

Can you count
the sins of man?
We still celebrate the hate.

Come November-
I will wear the fall
of varied colors.
Crunching on withered leaves
of your memories.

There was no birthday.
When the world sleeps-
I write a poem, looking
at the rubble of life.

Opinionated, the time
**** like a beast-
brazenly.

It was a stunning defeat
of the dawn, of the nonviolent
sprouts under the scorching sun
of the gaze.

Trying to assuage the
realization. I am no more me.

Let me do what I want
to do, Lights on the street are gone
and I have to meet my last hope.

Don't bring any wealth
before my eyes. I become blind.
Will not be able to read God's verdict.

Where is my
universal pain? I want to walk in
burning woods to find sacred seeds.

Was it necessary to see,
what you wanted me to see,
when I was keeping open my wound
to hear the unheard scream?
What was that which was getting in air?
A little disjointed time, asking
peace for the land
to stop the moulding on the medallions?

The divide and hate the hate and divide
the **** the **** the **** of mercy
and this was to be believed, not to believe
in the grim fate of the fall.
Pain was you was me was him
the guilt of chewing polluted words
to accept the uncertain,
the naked lies.

Blood was on shirt blood was on sheet
blood was on paper blood was in eyes.

There was a trust deficit
between the rose petals, under
the wheels and the moving feet.

It does not resolve the ancient
conflict of man with
the machine via perfume.

The smell of the pungent smoke,
sits in the empty chairs,
when you were left alone on the burning deck.

Where the sky meets
the ocean, my ship had sunk
amidst the blood and the blaze.

In absentia, I am baffled
by the time's minute, when the search
of the self goes unending.

Will ask hibiscus―
in twilight, to let moth
live its one night.

*

The bougainvillea
leaves, falling one by one,
always frighten you.

*

Bends like a bow,
the sickle moon, to pick up
its child in water.

You put up a price on all
the gifted items.
I was not ready to pay back in dreams.
Wanted to tell you
without telling.
Lips to lips we talk of a stillborn
space which does not crack.
Betraying the anger, words feel sick.

I was trying to decipher the moist
corners of eyes.
I will wait till sunset, when
I will call for the night and take off
my shadows and dropp petals
one by one and come out
in hot sun to receive the
burns of hatred.

It was not easy. Tulips were in full bloom
and my tracks were warm.
There were false shades
all around the garden.

You let go, of me
to wear the hawthorn's
crown, to probe, what I
wouldn't know.

In the ending was
beginning of a fragile
kiss of waning moon, before
the daffodils fall on ground.

I try to forget
the number of steps you
have not taken towards
the moment of enormity.

The laced wounds
prepare to make water
thin for the sleetof
salt water in red eyes.

O Zero man! you come
with a continuous denial,
of thirst of war,
a habit, predation.

When would you cross the blood lines?

The night blooms.
******* stars, moon
and chaste boundaries.

Nothing moves in the
stillness of voice, words.
A green light floats.

When there will be peace?

en face, I was ready to
fold the words, the sky.

I can only offer you small things―
like a coma,
a full stop.
Parenthesis―
or a hyphen.

To lit up the sparks
in visuals.
And no page was left unread
of my life.

Walk and talk
with me― to unsolve
the twisted humps
of times.

Your assets
had failed you.

You stand alone not to return back.

When the cut glass bleeds,
you cannot decide
for yourself, what was the truth of-
occultation?

Fleeing from dark
home of erudition,
trapped in rubble of karma
you want to forget the
pride of sin.

How would you know that
somebody loves you
so intensly that his
water mark does not fade?

Like a titan, a priest
holds you in palm, to protect
you from vicious eyes,
before saying the prayer.

The sun wants to take
a refuge.

It was a sane apology,
for not forgetting you.
Concealing your tears,
you come to land
in my poems.

You are crazy-
trying to teach bloodless affinity
with milkweed butterflies.

I think of not anyone else,
when I am thoughtless.
You creep into my veins like
cobra love.

The scream remains trapped
between sharp teeth.
I eject the mercy of venom.

And I step down as
trooper of Magenta.

You throw me the rope to cross the river.

Unmasked from
face to consciousness. Transition always
hurts. Pans out in blood.

You cannot sing in the
throes of selfism. The sacred water
reignites the love. You put ashes aside.

The words are nomadic.
Kissing or burning the cracked lips.
I may be hot or cold.

Are you there, I would
say to my conscience?
A perfect faulted future
was the vision.

The ragged present
depicts the cold ****** of
the dream land.

I do not want to
interfere with the past. You paint
the god as the victim.

Lithesome, pure as milk
your words flow-
from the steaming eyes.

Do we take a side
with violence and axe, and
keep on beheading the
dynasty?

Ah, it was not a diamond
ring. In your palm was sitting
a god, watching you disintegrate.

Your hands, tell the
agony of lifting darkness, when
the full moon was rising.

The author speaks.
Not the ink, about the nomadic words
which have come to bleed on paper.

Tortured leaves of―
autumn are gathering to celebrate,
this side of the fall.

Like attaining the liberation
of sea urchins, reaching
the table to sip water.

There was no saliva.

A repeat lover,
moon comes back
every night in different robes.

It was a question
of your conscience, when
you were being eaten alive.

Hyenas will come again-
to unearth the bones, to
give you the message.

Remaining poor was a great
bliss.You don't
need to pay for anything.

The hunger goes deep.
Fathomless.Your eyes roam
in search of a face after the hanging.
Was he smiling?

You hanker to touch
the eyes, which were burning
like coals.

Just wanted to be
myself today, ripped after
the apocalypse―

of stainless bodies.
You pull down the era of
earthen lamps from ruins.

Give me a wrapped
guilt. I am a boat in water
without wooden oars.

Black eyes stitched
to dolls. They were going to
wed the white gods.

A knife's cult invokes
the barren cave. You had planted
the severed heads.

A retrograde flow
of subtlety. The
letters have gone out of shape.

Can you read the
fog, when night stalls
the moon?

How do I express
my agony, this huge precipice
of denials?

Love your enemy
was not my cake. A
tender no was enough to subtract.

Suddenly you start
flirting with yourself. After all
you melt in the picture
of fall.

Tracing ancestory,
my poem will talk to you one day
under wolf moon.

The skin starts burning.
Singed hands will collect some
salt from god's kitchen.

No new meaning has
come out from book after
desacralization.

Water has the wisdom,
the bones may not agree.

No commentary today. There was no
eternal friend or enemy.
Listen to your breath, your heart.
No qualms. Hands are not mine.

Charcoal. A voiceless man
wants to write, something on the snow.
The cold-eyed moon will watch.

The chimney's soot, gets buried
under the white sheet, ice.

In holy land. You have come to
pray, to wipe out the nose-bleed.

There was nothing to hide
in house of fire.

In a singed ocean
a dew drop wants to live in peace.
I welcome the pouring bliss
from the gale.

In the raw, tormented
questions a paperboat sinks.
You float the earthen lamps
on glacier.

Why do you respect the
dazzle of mirrors? They don't
accept the gratitude. Give
you back your fakes.

Can your think sane and
beautiful? It has stirred a hornet's nest
which was not ugly?

Everyone wants to wear
a full face mask.

The fractured core,
a broken faith, there was
no life after death.

The colossus was drowned
in white, stunning
the men in black.

You cannot encircle
the sun-spots with
bare dogmas.

The tear's salt is found
scrapped on lips, will not
find a place to sink.

How deep you will go
in the tattoos? The sun
wanted to check in the dementia.

You were not choosing
the right words, being reticent
for a seasoned yes.

The hurts of intimate
symphonies― don't bleed.
Only scars were left in triangles.

The chilled morality
of summer stream, was eating
away the banks of amnesties.

It was a sublime touch
of unseen fingers moving into
the trees and sky of dark spaces.

Days were slipping
away. I cannot put my
memories on flame.

There were explosions
on the crossroads.

The tall, dense, tree of life
divides the culture, ages.
Will witness―
the gorgeous, ruinous and
hideous days.

How would I claim
the legacy of a deaf and dumb
sky?

The fragile bones of the
earth, break.
Blackberries burn under
the eyes.

The hidden herons
fall involuntarily, when you
trim the tree for a
new moon.

Bliss of blue
and white, balancing
the dark.

This was my curse,
and this was my fate―
mixing the colors.

Do not go farther,
in sea, the fishes
have swallowed the sun.

The park-teachers
and path finders were
not aware of foot-faults.

The word stoppers
were abound. I have yet
to find an ear, drunk as water lily.

The shallow incursions
grow louder. I have
burnt my fingers, lighting
the moon.

The future of currency
was changing hands. You
start bargaining for―
the water, the air.

Armageddon: will it take
place in the modern times?
Where are the titans
and the hill?

It slows the search for
the truth. The mudslide was
rising and the buried will
not speak, at peace with themselves.

The hymn, an unentered
temple, you come in pause.
There was uncanny space between words.

I let it go my sleep.
The angst. I have to pay price my love,
for sharing the blanket of life.

We will look at moon
together to abdicate the throne of
thorns and find out peace between the knives.

Time was short
and I was in hurry.

In Prophet of grief―
humility of pain was evident,
when you bit your tongue,
chewing unsavory words.

It was the trouble.
You wanted me to wait―
till eternity.

Someone throws an incendiary
device towards me.
I am burnt alive.

There was no need to invite
a moon. When talking to
you, I need a dark night.

Counting annual rings
of a felled fig tree,
Buddha becames very sad.

I have nothing to give
except my heart to live in your
eyes. I will not tell what I will do.

Near god some saboteurs,
or carnivores are awakened. It should
not have happened, would never be.

You author the ephemeral
muse, changing the times. You always see
the sun and moon sees you.

Talking of doors
without walls. They shut
and open, but don't lead
you anywhere.
This was no insult to the house of cards.

I will ask the rains
to stop for a while.
Don't you be wet for any hurt,
before knowing who you were.

In quietus, your
thoughts move like serrated knives.
There will be blood, on the paper and a
trace of guilt.

Learning to sink
like a log tied to a huge
stone. Will it matter? Then,
from where the energy comes?

The untold secret
was heavier, than the
vocal denial. Was there a
reticent surrender.

Another tear rolled down, on time's cheek.

It was not meant to be
like this. Undaunted,
you open the fire towards the moon.

In your madness-
there was a discipline.
A psychological withdrawal-

from the nesting niche.
Believe me-it was not a fake,
I will not reclaim my gifts.

Lesser known was the
spiritual inadequacy.
The hawk will not come to land.

Death-be not a child.
Breathing is slowing down.
I will wait for the sunset.

Telling the truth
was becoming difficult. You want to
become a cult.

A sinister design takes
hold of a satanic urge. You
start throwing the limbs.

Was it an emotional upheaval?

The train whistles by.
You are ready to board. Unsleeping
you will rhyme with the wheels.
Home was left behind. A hollow
tree waits for you to become another Buddha.
Fantasy moves beyond the fiction.

Irises move to close
the pupils. They want to become nuns.

The coffin was empty.
A cadaver morphs into an angel.

We talk about the ruins
without a war. What was that *****,
that there was no love in eyes.

Albeit your passion was
unique intriguing. I will sigh my
last poems, if my pain disappears.

Who will condone the green
fire? How long will it burn to
make the ashes sit on my forehead.

Roping in, as if―
all my defeats, creating―
a tiara for a royal fall.

Being hurled
towards the enormous black hole,
chased by the sun.

Like an old thinker
I was putting myself in a
violent comet's pathway.

Not being a whole religion
why did I worship a walking stone?

How would I communicate
with my destiny?
I was not born a shining star.

An individual becomes,
an androgyne, unsure
to name the gender.

I am going to honour the talent.

I felt you, through your
words. Tight and
crisp. But you remained untouchable.

For thousand of years
a lity of valley
cried, to get a dove's cooing voice.

The musk deer will not
leave its domain. Some
poems were hungery of its hideout.

An ordinary day of fall
starts the inferno. Syllable
by syllable in colors.

The dilemma of drinking
the hemlock at one go.
How would I describe the ascending paralysis?

Too personal. Rose
garden. Caged in the eyes of atrocity.
If I have a question, you have an answer.

Between wilting and a
kiss, I will choose death. You become
a bit of a sleeping philosopher.

Words will not ****.
A dream becomes a medusa. You
can start reading on the wall.

When your name
drops in the wish lake
like a golden ring as numen,
I accept my defeat.

Like nanoprints, permeating
in my every poem.

Here I catch a swaying
scent to locate your
home in the jungle of denials.

Till my script is
completed, I will explore
all my options not to forget
you even for once.

Will you make it
easy for me to stop the tortuous
self-flagellation?

Who was better of
us with a magic wand
to turn either into a statue?

Trending like a
dog walker, the disheveled
moon, comes out
from the cocoon, to welcome
the new year.

This was a flash point
of pure sulphur,
to steal the kisses in rose valley
of violence.

And you stand at crossbones
to ****, or get killed.

The leader climbs down
to sin, to predate
the celebration of womb's disaster.

Earth trembles
in anticipation. A merciless
shreak comes out from the
man-of-war.