A futile attempt to go
for a collection spree.
You got only the numbers.

It had to happen. The drums were beating.

The minority suffers
in the hands of many gods.

Between the black
and white, will it be last battle?

Temples were asked to
give the details of divine―
winds and the red moons.

There was a spiritual conflict,
without giving any purpose.
You cannot dissect
my poems.

Who ups the ante,
if you don't exist to catch the song
of sorrow to become immortal.

For a thousand years, the
iris waits for the light to dig and
redress the memory of gone spring.

The deaf and dumb leads
the voices coming from the active volcano
where the sparks are throwing lava.

Come and sleep with me,
I said to moon. We have to
talk about earth's fidelity.

Don't become a neo-rich.
I was afraid to
lose you in my songs.

A poet will always
remain contrarian. An enigma
covers the smile of a rose.

Then a tactical withdrawal
from the stars crowd. You had
wanted only the full moon.

A blood spill will
never tell you, why the blackbuck
was shot in broad daylight.

You freeze, will not move.
The gift of your bust lies in dust.

To recall a memory
at sundown will be painful.
Moon doesn't agree.

*

I assemble the words,
to tell the truth of blood-
on your trembling hands.

*

What was invisible,
would be known to unknown.
You remain silent.

Inviting yourself
for a kiss of wasp?

This was a hidden mood.

Being yourself,
you were insulting someone,
my poems, my theology.

Touching trees,
one by one, searching your
name on every leaf.

O God of half eaten
breads, why do you lie
on the petals only?

The tears fall
was becoming louder.
Frozen eyes are starting a
meltdown.

Where would you live
in autumn?

I want to forget
my gains of deliverance in―
reopening the economy of pain.

My logo was simple
to carry your own cross to prove―
that I can rise from dead.

The numbers hurt.
I cannot touch the awards for
throwing my dreams one by one.

I think not,
I am. Still blindfolded
carrying the rusted shovel
on my shoulder.

The old rage
refuses to die. What is that gene
which makes you shudder?
And you lie like a beached whale!

The eccentric words
wrap you up again and embrace
the moon for taking revenge.

Very little arsenal
was left in my blue-veined
arms. Nobody wins in our
daily war.

Some hidden wounds will
surfaces at night. I
come out in dark, cruising
the lanes to find my poem.

It reflects my agony.
I have no connectivity left
with the broken rainbow in the sky.

When I am shot at,
I tell my pain to my poems. No
more homicides of love.

The ******* of light
drinks the mantras. You invoke
the invisible future. I go inside.

Can love be ever noble?
I was death. You throw a stone
in an empty well to test the water.

The cult of constant
pain was a religion. But the ship
will not come into sight.

How much life was
in a dying moon? I am still walking
in a cave full of treasure.

Time speaks, I am
not sure, you have crossed many rivers.
It was the last as an axiom.

A zero can go to
infinity. The demons will come again.
Bells will toll loudly. You **** and make history.

Pray for any religious
ism. I remain in concern to save
humanity. The cheetahs have come.

The ethical dilemma,
and chaste abscenity,
were the game changers.

Vowel syncope was making it easier.

Let the most vulnerable
lie still. A pseudowar of words
is going to start.

A blast of vocabulary,
some smothering of smells,
will make the jaws, drop soundlessly.

And many would not
breath easily. It was catastrophe.

The language convulses.
In jungle of gatherings
there was no pond.

I was still searching, the inflection.
The creative touch.

Syllepsis. A story goes.
You can **** two―
birds with one eye.

Your charisma does
not work.
Solomon has failed.

Not difficult to live
in a shell, if you
are a white pearl.

In aloneness, you
meet yourself on the
way to morgue.

Like the cuttlefish
you throw the inky juice. I go blind.
Who will read the history of man.

The mockingbird follows
you, like of a military race. The collective
fall invites you for a new word.

Tonight the moon was
very low to repeat the audacity of
walking on singing coals.Who was a thief?

The suffering
was suffering.
You pay for it.

There was no point
in returning, to fumble.

Sodium or Potassium
fluoride will make it lethal.

New crack's open the
mind, like a walnut.

God's creation―
lies in halves.

Take it, or reject it,
the maze of words―

describing the brutality
of life's half-truths.

In your big eyes
my mission ends.
I lower the flag to half-mast.

The steps were small
to follow the footprints
of the demise of an affair.

Embracing the words,
you had felt pampered by
the demigoddess
of broken hills.

The white muslin, weaves into a wreath;
would be laid on the unbuttoned secrets.

The night watchman
stands guard till the last
candle burns out.

I want to make you feel my
presence, by my unease, with not mincing my
words to show my synchronicity.

The pain will not pay
heed. I continue to wash my wounds.
with blood. Can it be retrieved?

The vultures are descending.
I am collecting the cadavers. There
were no scars. Who washed them?

The footman was
unseen. I assume, the
new democracy comes
into being.

A steady stream
of thoughts, spread wordlessly.
You feel only the plodding.

The river knows
the integrity of banks. They
won't cave in dry spell.

The rainbow digs in.
There were no arrows
to shoot down the moon.

Time will teach you.
You can't hold on
the realization alone. It
was late to pull back the strings.

Trying to become you.
Nonplussed, still wanting
me to hold on.

In blue dawn
pure truth will hinge on the
personal moons.

I was ready to tell
you all rumors to learn the
art of mimicry.

The air smells of the
masks. Not fakes. Skin dries
up to dew emboss prints.

Weep every don.
All the translations were fake.

The yellow peaks do not burn the
sky, now at sunrise.

I am forgetting myself―
in the gathering of my foes.

The pilgrim's path is now *****.
You cannot transcend the―

dead remains of ancestry. In
the hutment, that was the end of view.

Nightblindness. I cannot fathom
out the saint descending a great depth.

From beastkinds I swim back
to save an unborn epic.

Tryst with nano was like burning in hell.
Headless body of truth,
turning into invisible particles
flaunts an absent God.

The mist envelops a rag picker –
sleeping on the payment.
Hunger fresh grown will be served,
when sun rises.

Indelible ink an yellow pages
bearing the burden of unborn grief
inherits this globe, the ashes
of burnt out words.

Random fall from moon
descending into riots
wants to err again.

Moonlight sleeps in my
room. I will ask her to go
back, after sunrise.

Will not accept your
unseen departure. It will
hurt, picking on me.

An apparition cultivated, was
a treason? You started brewing the light in
front of me impacted.

Very close to the moon
exquisitely? What do you see beyond
the end? Why did you turn into a beast?

Who will raise the voice
against the watchman of heaven? Will you
shed the penultimate ornaments?

Not reading your eyes
today, walking on
burning cinders.

In search of green
darkness, to sleep on the *******
of waiting moon.


The fear of woods, hiding
the tiger beetles. They
run very fast to ****** the prey.

No agenda. Outside is
very cold. The poet will
see the fall of veins.

The road still entices.
Endless dreams and―
no halts to get the kiss of eternal rest.

Talking to Morpheus
when moon was asleep.

I was not guilty of
waking you up.

In splinters, the man
goes deaf and dumb.

A violin was thrown
on the track to stop the music.

Death becomes a finger,
points at you.

The rodes become blind.
There was no D-Day for exit.

I will not pick your
cherries. O god, neither you kiss
nor you remove your lips.

Sitting on a rainbow you
send the wolves to catch the rabbits.
Butterflies are happy to fly away.

You will come to rescue me,
when the king cobra raises his head.
But I was ready to sip the venom.

It was just my time.

To become responsible for
me and I had become recluse,
to lose my memory,
to pay back my debt.

I am returning
the gifts,
of night, birth and
sacrifices.

The wheels―
had pulled me to slavery.
I am now floating,
wingless,
weightless,
for I cannot see―

the parental fall.

Like a walking fern, you were.
I was talking to you. Why
would you nose down to touch
my landscape and fall into my arms?

To protect you, I was
making a massive wall― encouraging
the revivalism. Predator
drones were intending to follow you.

The dirt― it will not
stain your innocence. Don't
stand on the ledge. Faceless
winds can topple you at night.

We are beasts, with no space
in between. Like sardines you
are packed without names. The
sea has dried up. How far

was the sun?

There was no ending
in sight. You were not
a participant in-
my sadness.

Some unseen pain
hovers around me. I return to
my surface tension, trying
to minimize my fragility.

And injuries tend to
expand in caves of black
lights. Wild thoughts invade the
tranquility.

I unleash the words
like pigeons to fly to their homes.
I will not play-
hide and seek.

Waist up, you seek
godliness, wearing a veil,
when only your eyes were
visible, ruthlessly dry.

Adam and Eve.
What was the magic of these words?
Mayflowers have a secret of divining love.

You go for a new journey.
Via commas and full stops. Under the
moon you drink the venom of love.

Who was connecting the
threads of pain? Making life heavy,
O god your name is fading.

Again my headache
starts. You were possessed by
the uselessness of humanity.

The man and the
bo tree. The message is clear.
You have to carry the ax now.

The goddess has met
you out of the temple to see
how the world is behaving.

A witch-hunting
starts, when you become
invisible from the centre
of trinity.

I ask the stranger,
what you hide from the
stars of galaxy?

When I am finally
alone. I will encounter your
ghost to know your intent.

For god sake do not go insane.
Word-by-word, I will read
your history of becoming
human.

Swimming like a
seahorse in water, your
pain stands ***** like
a totem to build
your own kind.

Who calls my name
when I am absent
from the stage?

Do you want me
for the endgame, my
future decided beforehand?

Until you come back
I will remain in
shadows of time to come.

The grape seed extract
and your brown
irises have, become water lilies.

And I catch fire
in midstream, when
night was feeding the moon.

A giant tear rolls
on the face of moon
and intend to ask, why did you crave for
the thing which you
don't get.

And then you would
smile to match the burning
lakes in the eyes of the distant star.

A void was coming up in
strange rituals. How will you
make a temple of panacea?

The hysteria erupts
in a mud dance, to plant the
lotus seeds, kissing water of god.

Smokeless flames
rise from the nameless
fire of the savage embrace.

Forthrightly a poem was ready to be boon.

An indecent
exposure. It was not
a game, to ****
a panther, moving
around in search
of prey.

And the basic instinct.

The fundamental trait defict
was between hunger
and ecstasy, between beast
and man.

You will chase a
butterfly, not for pleasure
but to become
an animal.

This was the observer,
and that was observed.

When the trigger goes
upside down, the rage attacks on
you, though imperfectly.

You don't wanna come
where there is sun. A prudent pain
won't sit in the cool shade.

Step out from the memes.
Unleash the meanings of my words,
where you want to live.

Your body, intense―
eats the sins,
dedicated to hunger OF temple.

Weeping windows
will speak for ground zero
from where you picked up the rosary.

Would you invoke
the spirits of owls, who would
not open their eyes in day light?

This was the thought
of the moment. I hail
the half-finished kiss.

There was an allegro
in the outskirts of moon.
I wanted to wear a mark.

My burning moment was
eternity of time in your hands. Can
you shut your eyes to see the world falling?

My abstract was god.
And the pain was very original. It had
no scars. The blood leaks from the heart.

The keynote is in your
brain. Time cheats you. Timelessly
you bid for only love.

There was something
between the lips.
You will not recite my name.

A muted word―
becomes a psalm at
execution. There was no
crowd to witness the grace.

If I prepare a book of
all my defeats, would you
write obituary.

The antiquities had become
alive. This was the beauty
of lunacy.

And the saint was dead
without meeting his god.

Incandescent―
the oil lamps floating
on the holy river, have
started bleeding.

So much blood had spilled
on the street, after
slitting the throats of a
runaway couple.

This was not my religion.

Do not steal me from my
footsteps, wounded by
the gifts given by you, I
will not come back.

I have stopped reading our gods.

It was the lynching of the savior.
Let me count the dots and―
dashes, the unsaid crimes
of opening the text books.

Less likely to be a truth,
let's celebrate the healing touch
of a hidden god.

It was an absolute
invasion, but I did't believe
in any war.

Timeless quest for the-
elixir of life and enigmatic
divinity.Answers were
always fragile.

I want none of your books.
In humbling pride I will
find my own solution.
Life was a question.

No birthdays.
Rolling thoughts- need
no sermons.

Let's go together
over the moon.
Death to death in
economy of tears.

God blessed-
in songs of violets, the
peonies bloom,
in full glare of white and pink.

Being to unbeing
I will wait for the shooting
stars. A grace, the poise
plummeting into pine trees.

We will return
one day to our sadness,
unraveling the truth of life
and secrets of hidden pains.

In sadness, a cuckoo
sings. Does not want to lay eggs in
others' nest. What is the secret of undying?

In my rival's eyes, my
name was written in blood. Give
something to hurt me. My poetica shines.

I want to feel like
a beautiful cherry weeping tree
with limp branches touching the earth.

I am taking birth
again on singed coals.The grinding
will light the colored sparks.

The tyranny gives
up fangs one day to get stigma
washed. The windows have been changed

My philosophy gambles.
Has no hypothesis to improve the
world. I want to burn the results.

O guardian pain,
when you sleep-I remember
of a sin to catch fireflies of love.

The listener has no
ears. Understands by eyes. You want
to write with the blood of a weeping god.

Are you a waister of
hungry stories of the werewolves?
The executioner waits for the offender.

The misery was in you,
as an element of energy to display
the dimorphism of erotica.

When I asked you to
stand, you stood, as a transcendent
for a rare empirical love.

Where was the big
field to **** the dancing mannequins?
It was a celestial game for the assassin.

I ask the kismet,
do you know how to die? It inundated
my heart and tired eyes.

Ah, the civility begs
the ending. You have to learn
from the burning pyre. It is sanctimonious.

The day becomes very long.
The Sun fails to dip and the ocean has
all the organisms blind in deep.

Under the cosmic
dust, an elite existence
wants to close the waterhole.

Hostility was increasing
between the same species.

But evil and good would
always co-sleep.

O Buddha
I will make the tree
walk and come to you
where you used to sit under.

And ask some stingy
questions. Why you want non-
violence when violence
would always exist?

And the light
hesitates to shine in pitch dark?
And the words remain quiet?

Why it was so impossible?

Not smiling back
to moon, I will say tonight
after impacted by a
dark cloud.

The naked script without
the staples becomes
a big powerful thing.

Do you agree to scientia
of bare minimum faith?
It had turned into a troubleshooter.

Both true and false,
without empathy remain
disloyal to pain.

This was insignia
of love, between conflict
and understanding.

A winner stoops
to pick up the coin from dirt,
which was tossed by holocaust.

Talking off the runway
moon― being you, a
gut feeling takes over.
You will not stay overnight.

Not cool enough, I was
learning in your calm, becoming
lynx-eyed shooter―
from panther.

Juggling the phrases,
the meltdown begins. A
bridge collapses. Stampede.
Mass panic. The train will
not come today.

Let's go and walk in a
sunflower field. Do you― love
Van Gogh? His studies?
‘A Starry Night ‘ and his interpretation
of self-violence.

Rest of life. I am going
to walk with a hurt.

A very crude question,
I will ask. What kind of
******* or a war―
you want to start, after a
little infidelity?

It was not a dumb
pleading. The orange moon
burns every night.

Some ****** deaths,
and conversations about
this side of murders are needed
to be addressed.

Water and earth, both
were becoming hot and cold.
Nothing was good,
nothing was bad.

The white gowned ghosts
wanted to become benign.

Who was playing God?