Far beyond the light years,
I will seek the darkness―
where the hope was born,
and night had the faith.

The trust not betyrayed, become
meniscus, when the crowds
start coming. Dog bitten you scowl.
A half-written poem was ripped away.

An inside truth comes too close
to flames. Something limbless―
moves in empty mind. In the
falling snow a dove flutters like a myth.

Half-truths are touted now as,
a new brand of secular religion.
Something was amiss. Man was
afraid of himself, becoming semi-god.

Skinned alive, as
an aftermath of speaking
against the unhinged
blue gods.

Like cacti: growing
straight towards the sky
exploring the questions,
you open a can of paint.

The secret spills. In
happenings, you will find
some poems, written
for tribes of flowers.

The colors sings at the
feast of tearfalls.

Without narrating
yourself, when and how
will you perform the ritual suicide?

Blindfolded, I
open the destiny of man.

Your thoughts make a hole
in the giant feet.

Who would let me, be dark,
to find the light of truth?
O God, take me to wilderness to embark on my journey back,
or become a tree man.

Let the tree-hugging start again.

Very prudently, I need to color my eyes.
Don't want you to begin crying.

I would not make
excuses. My nothingness let
me go beyond myself.

Sometimes I ask
otherself, why I find you in
pain and sorrow in love and peace.

Will you find freedom
from change, from power
and slavery of the past?

I was not there
when omentum was incinerated.
No unparing was called for
digging your own grave.

In eerie silence, I
start collecting the shells
of forlorn pearls.

It would be a miracle
if I can read the invisible.
I can become a killer when you
are not there.

The mute girl will not―
give her lips.
Only eyes. I must lift my
poem from there.

The Hamlet's dilemma. You
will, will not taste the
hemlock.

Your roses drink the
sun in dewy dawn. I catch the
speed of dying moon.

The rains bring in new
asterisks to anoint the verses
before their burial.

One more mercy to let
the shadows of swallows fall
on my blank pages.

Your lips are like hinged
leaves of Venus flytrap. Become shut
when you trap the words.

A diminutive moon
will ask about the infinity
of blackness, when I
was waiting in November night
of a toothed fall
in a missing success.

Ahead of time, you
punch the wailing trunk
of the fallen tree. I had the taste
of honey, but who am I,
a giver of anonymity?

Withering in a fire house
without door. I have come back
to know my ancestory. This
was my home once, in the
ancient history of man. This
was the gift, this was the dawn.

Advent of strange
sign on forehead was asking
for the laughing eye.

A cessation of
botched therapy was a need.
God was still alive.

The birth pangs
were becoming stronger
with every fall of trust.

The gravest thing
was the love of moon.
It keeps you smiling.

There were involuntary
pauses.
When you stretch at the sheets.

Those were scorching
questions, about my identity.
I tell, I don't have any name.

The body was partitioned.
My head belongs
to psalms, which I don't understand.

My torso to the lost
ship which went down
without a torpedo.

My legs were my own
taking me, to places, where
I did not want to go.

You are not what
love was. The moon never sets
to burn the barn. A god may arrive.

The kissed mark is
still glowing, making a birth
mark of an unknown deity.

I will call the property
of the priest to make full the
jar of tears after the death of the sun.

There was no return.
You were a huge mirage of a
golden effigy. The incantation begins.

The pain is severe.
Age factor was a killer. You were like
a river, witnessing the sinking of a burning ship.

A cruel elegy. Do
you think it was monumental
to write down my saga with a burning candle.

I was once again―
angry with me, for
cheating the smile and
wading into violence of tears.

It was ******* me.
You will not find any remains
of my departure.

Like a cuckoo
breaking its flights in mid air
and falling from the sky.

It was not that simple―
to embrace the solitude. I
was your dream and I was
your pain.

A pithy moon―
in all-out night, smothering
the wet lips. I want
no more affairs.

A ripened age wants only
a handshake to finalize an exit.

Paying back the debt
of virility. A lame duck
hobbles on the moon.

As far as, you can,
travel on my body, to―
catch the boat.

River was on spate,
sinking the groves,
bushes and fireflies.

Don't walk on
the clouds. You will fall
violently, when it rains at night.

The globes rotate
the world. You come back
to the poles, from where
you started.

Not a dog day―
after snapping. In
fatigues, you get a parole
to start sowing sunflowers.

A butterfly skips,
the roundabout and lands
on your lips―

after spending entire
life from flower-to-flower
from bush-to-bush.

I was a witness to history
in making. There was
no togetherness. Will you
believe that?

I am a flame now. All
night I will burn,
to read the explosions―
reaching the bottom of fear.

Where do I place you
declassified?
O my boundless thirst-
you have made me cry again.

The haters
were many. Like myriad
thorns in flesh. Cannot stop the blood.
You smile.

In your beak. Carrying the
death- fire bird. Where you are going?
Past lake, past hills. The hunchback
stoops further, to get the award.

Who was the enemy of
body art? Birthmarks were becoming
****. You want to exhibit
all the wounds of earth.

O god, your hairs are growing.

Moon was mixing the colors.
The black hole does not exist.
I was hearing about the quantum,
something was amiss.

Purple grapes had turned black.

I am trying to understand
the damages. A discreet thought hole
permits the escape of energy.

Imagination was at risk.
Can you hold on to life,
without a shock?

Somewhere you go back
to a concentration camp to collect the ashes.

The art of wooing
the moon. Will you
actualize for me, this floating
in sky?

This obsession
will not go― ever, never.
Like the everblooming Van Gogh, haunts
me.Moon in the wheat fields?

Great, I will find
some brown sugar to make
life sweet.

A poem has the
prowess of a tiger in rage.
It takes hold of you like
a carnivore.

This was the crisis of
sacred fig. My ****** pain and
suffering were indigenous.

I adore the beauty of
night blooming jasmine. Unpaid death
follows in day. The milk dries up.

Before Nietzche walks in
I will divide the body of my dream.
A panic takes over the truth.

You filter time.
Time filters you.
I catch the words.

The empty bowl
of a fakir betrays the fabric
of life, without seeking.

Mid winter I will ask-
the moon not to freeze.
Some sounds you will not hear.

Tearing the fog, I
wanted to teach you the language
of pain, becoming cold.

Like meteor of
a melting star, you were moving
away faster than light.

It was unreal. Will
not matter. I am still in mode to
accept the lies of distant twilight.

O honey, why the
comb was built in my poems to
sweeten the words hired from pain.

I will not know it for
a while. A face was planted on
your lips. You sing like a nightingale.

Mysterious weather.
You cannot breath in rose
garden. Time crawls.

You cannot smile.
The raid on cuckoo's nest was
disastrous. No eggs.

You can see through
walls. ******* was a ritual
to shed all the norms.

Was it a calculated
risk, when it was poetry,

falling like rains
on the parched lips

of yellowing pages.
Like the stones of a

grey mountain,
singing a hymn to blasts,

pick pocketing the sun?
I start reading the anatomy

of violence, ever, never
easy to understand.

Lots of red blotches
were spread on the tiny figures.

Partly clad
full moon
was taking a bath on hills.
Trees were waiting
for the curtains to rise.

Scented stars would make
giant scars on the clouds,
I would make peace with the sky.
Lids of human greed were laden
with golden dust, I was hoisting the skull.

Of a ****** god who did not
want to live for the blotched up creation.
The decline was obvious. Truth
had refused to climb
on the sky-blue, salted peaks of springs.

Body had arrived,
mourners quietly wailing.
Gouged eyes could not decipher
the script on the halved pyramid.
Sun was ******* the clay.

You had dropped
the moon like a burning coal
in my courtyard to
ignite me.

A splitting image
to prove that the ontogeny
will not repeat the history.

Sun tilts to spite
the magic of rainbow
in the eyes of Ovid.

This was the moment
of love between gun and
the bleeding poems.

Perhaps the exiled
poet's error becomes a sage
to spread the incense of erotica.

The vampire opens
the wings to go for benign bites.

Lion's tooth, dandelion
in dead winter,
holds on to your dress.

*

for warmth. The oranges
are not meant
for sale.

*

The obituary was short
and sweet.
When would you die for me?

*

Wolves in white,
were very smart. A rose,
red rose for every martyr.

*

Behind the bars
you try to catch the sky
for the lilies.

Though it is always
summer between us, I will mend
the broken heart, under grey clouds.

Why the midnight landscape.
looks beautiful? The lonely eyes blink
to identify the shadows.

I will love you too
long. O God, why I remained
unchanged, the blood changes the color.

Again I sat down to
open the book of sufferings. What is
equation of a corpse and the god?

What was a unique
morph from Kalidas to Beethoven?
Read the best thoughts of Vedanta.

Why did you fall on fire?
Walk slowly on ice, which was not
corrupt. Her colour is pure white.

My little ***** moon,
why were you hiding―
when the vulture-poems had
an uncanny similarity with
raging road show?

The volatility would not exit.
It rises in flames to make
a ******* hole in the sky.
Sometimes I hate you,
sometimes I, love you,
my elusive, beautiful karma.

At night when I disappear
what poem you will read?
In fast-running stream, your
croaking will not be heard.
Try to begin a dance of democracy.

You need a permanent
truth. I don't want to learn anything.
My world is not sober.

I am meeting Buddha
daily. How to take out the blood
from the dead god? The bones melt.

At random, one chooses
hemlockbetter than you putting your
hand in a vessel full of venomous snakes.

A racial profile begins
between black and white.
A silver moon ambles
as a prelude to dark music.

A winter night tosses hundred
excuses,
for not lighting the lamps.

Words were still trying to
find the ropes.

You should know your boundaries.
The honeysuckle will
not graze your lips.

The salt of earth settles
in tears of dawn.

Belong to yourself in―
green flames and wait for
the hibiscus of September.

Meanwhile you will
break the silence of deathless
moon. I will watch the dark
night till then.

The yes woman walks
on water. I stay on the shore
to see the bones drown.

It was great worthy of the
digitalis. Fingers of gloves
will measure the beats of heart.

Attending the funeral was
waste. You will rise again
from ashes to beat revenge.

Polis intercepts
the palace, grieving on the
body of an old horse.

You don't appear of
this world, with your invisible
wings of majenta flames.

Listen now soundlessly
I drink hawthorn daily for the
sake of unborn poems.

Waiting for the unwaiting
to appear. The green pigeons
will reduce the palace to rubble.

Could it be like― the
first man to die has become
a savior?

I hold your tender
face in my hands to
read the axioms.

Mumbling something―
Inaudible, I will address,
the upright past.

An unborn love child
Kicks at the walls of the womb.
It was time to see the world.

The founder will not find
the copper to cast the history.

It has not begun to hear
the farewell to summer.

Arms were coming out
to end the war, to seal the fractures.

Not my pen, not my tongue
will know the secret deals.

Frontiers are being redrawn,
between the guns and the books.

After centuries of reverie―
a dream breaks, falls
like a mirror in ink, splintering
into thousand thoughts. Somewhere
words start flying.

Oh god!
your feet of clay are crumbling.
I wanted to write a new script
on your body,
slashing my wrists.

How much the truth was
lying? Ask the shades alluding
to moon. Patchy and opaque
in forest of maple, I was counting
the red-lobed leaves.

Your eyes were telling a
soulful tale. On beach were
sitting some youngmen in a row in orange jump
suits waiting to meet
their gods.

Over the shoulder
you fling the pang away
and move on with-
pockets empty.

Sitting aside a-
mausoleum- listening to
the songbirds.

Why do you build a huge
crypt for your love? In summer
noon I will keep on thinking.

From thumb to thumb
I will ask of the ambience-
while building this place.

In your land now grows hate
and anger. The finish is gone,
and finesse suffers.

The **** faces still haunt me.

Something― you wanted to
say, which you would not.
Planet breaks― disheveled, weeping
being― unbeing.

Sometimes you play a game
of trembling legs―
waiting to run away
from your anguished inside.

The last hour of night
blinks. A baby sun about
to be born, and you find yourself
unprepared.

The black letters, on yellow
pages, under the streetlight
dance. A fat dream burns.
A book bleeds.

Moon down I will
give a putsch to forget
a fiercely contested
claim.

Silent defeats had
the deepest wounds.

Like miniature paintings
were framed in
dried tears.

Why the ethnic divide had
stolen the skin of the teeth?

In fragments, I was
collecting the gifts not
given to you.

O god, make an ordinary
will for me I don't
want to see you dead.

A trembling voice wakens the sun.

They swim like tadpoles.
Thoughts!
I was waiting at the far end of pond.

Heartburn increases at dusk,
fierce battle of blazing stripes
on blankets.

On the scarlet face
a bridge was burning
in wide open eyes.

Somebody takes an aim
hauling a runaway bruise.
Blood comes out roaring.

Weep, my stars,
ice was thin –
drowning the lake.

Disappointed.
I look at my hands to
read your destiny.

I fall to kiss the
moon dust. You were
my desire in sleep.

The spirit hovers
like the golden eagle
to rest the talons.

I stop the game.
Some cards had remained
undealt. I win, I lose.

You were not the
angel. You were not the mortal.
Where do I put my relief?

Wearing raw beef,
speaking Buddha,
it was real time in dystopia.

I was wondering,
how to cheat life.
Crypts were empty.

Think, keep quite,
I would say, watching
the river go by.

The feral look, will
teach you suffer. There
was no ending.

Half-bird, half-mount―
You carry the burden
of undoing nemesis.

There was something
more in comparison to eternal
love. It was a golden trap.

Between explicit and
covered meaning I want to see
you as you are. One long time will dedicate love.

Nobody likes a lesson.
I see myself empty. Will not collect
the tears of a tall tree to cut down.

In advanced love, where
was the fault in catching the words?
Half-bread was not sufficient.

The mirrors tell lies.
Rings in fingers were fattening. I
was not able to measure the distance.

O round moon and the sun,
our earth is breaking. All night
it was raining on the flames.

Come inside
me and explore god of
fire burning the world.

A miracle was
not the answer. The pathless
trek ends in water.

To live or not
to live like light
in eyes of moon.

I will die with dignity.
Beauty, you cut me crisply. I
stand on the bank. Shiner swims.

Pinned to flowers like
butterflies for colorful unearthing, when
you are never too old to ****.

I was hit in the garden.
My roses bleed. The moon, my
lover, hesitates to open wounds.

Sometimes words
are very cruel. You
cannot chew them.

For the spirit of―
dying moon, you
wear a death mask.

Sitting on a wind cheater, in
tower of pain, you
want to understand the breed
of conflicts, fuelling the duels.

Yes or no, you have
to come with me. Stones
will not shame you anymore.

The black spots―
of dream-dropped roses,
smell of family dust in the
eyes of white ghosts.

You fatten the flames.

Exploring the voyage of
a stairway. The trees would take
to learn the truth in the dark.

The mercy of water
speaks. We will not talk about
the ending of a trip in space.

The moral face appears
again in lingual pain. The dumb skin
chokes the trigger. No thought survives.

How will you go from
moon to god? Sometimes I feel like
drinking hemlock. Easy to die.

But this is denying the
god. This thinking is very cruel. Preparing
for invasion? Are you ready to open?

Flowers are coming near the
flames. Who will call honey bees?
It will be a collective suicide.

Today you were
not you, sitting in your
cozy nest.

Talking of ethics
of pomp and rituals.

Your pageant was
fake. A disquieted observer
was being observed.

Everything is not true.
Sometimes human judgment fails.
You revert ―
to your native sense.

Morality again was nailed
on the stake. You are burned
alive for putting up the acoustics.

You hear nothing
because nothing was said.
A lull before the half-saints appear.

Wearing a straitjacket
you come out in open.
This was a black day.
You were not invited.

The economy smells of stale fever.

A pungent smoke rises
from the joints.

A decision drifts. Scare of
paper bomb stills―
the flow of tea.

There was a party.
People come and go. Skullcaps
galore. White on brown sugar.

There is no love lost between us.