Trembling…
the burning coal has gone to sleep,
before igniting the dry grass.

Eye to eye colliding
turning you into ophelian mess.
Light had gone back to black matter.

It was a frisk season―
in sick society. The hidden plaques
have come out in the blood stream.

You are now backtracking
on the uphill, ready to fall
from the green heights to connect with ground.

For keepsake I will
again unwrite the book
not mentioning the stillbirth of freedom.

A bohemian moon
was following me,
playing in the hands
of dark night.

Man's marrow, the
essence of truth,
drips from the wordless
poem.

Hanged from the
gate, a wreath of capsicums
and citruses to ward off
the evil eyes.

You avoid the debate.
I wanted the perfect answers.
Wearing a hawthorn crown
does not make a Christ.

Every religion has its own pain.

No, I don't think,
when I write. My poem
finds its own words.

The thought
moves stealthily. You put
your hand on my hand.

Your eyes now
search the lost kingdom
of trembling nostalgia.

Will I remain
human? Living amidst
the burials? Do the dead
laugh?

Was there a casualty
at beach? You will not swim
nor drown, for becoming
a nightingale.

My eminent revere
was to live, waiting for
you!

Age was selling the
home. O god unravel my pains.
A limited hand drops the curtsey.

Carrying the bier of
past, keep the fear at bay. Lifelong
the love will ask the death to wait.

Why do you go for sale?
The richness of truth was not sufficient?
The uncertainty will teach you one day.

You never forget
the fat preemie.
A perfect revenge of the curse―
at ungiving.


Streaking in
snow, when it
was frighteningly dark.

The moon-bathed
body of the thumb king
running without feet.

How would you―
climb, the black hills
of desire in tragic land
of skulls?

The living god was to
become a marbled statue.

In moonscape, a flower
remedy, enters the white
smoke of your eyes. An open―
house shuts.

The coal writes its name on
blue skin. We were slaves of our
own deeds. I want to go back to
my ancestors, to learn the clock.

Unheard the suicide of
a viper, eating its own venom.
The fat people will come in line―
to pay homage.

White caps and black caps in
thick silence, drink the empty glasses,
cutting the meat of the books―
and reading again the sky.

I have lived my poems.
The truth walks between knowledge
and existence. In split -second comes moon.

It filters the metaphysics
What pain I have, not asked for it.
The mud stream moves on to ****.

What my love was, to
do any sin. Make a red comet to
burn away my wax palace.

An unborn poem wants
a name to make a poet of me
to discover the black truths.

To lacerate, the moon was
running shirtless. Why was there
devastation of culture. religion and morality?

What was the merit of
karma? You were digging the farm land
to bring out all the grave sins.

Only two words you
need to die or live. Do not love you
O god. When Ganges will meet you?

Ethics, science and
religion are searching for peace. I had
asked for the distance not absence.

I understand, I am
killing myself for the sake of the
moon falling on the burning lake.

I was preparing myself
for a Socratic dialogue, when
you come unannounced.

If lie was the answer,
then where was the truth.

Meet me night before
night with naked names,
smashing the space and time.

The invisible particles at last are in view.
Can you count after the
trillionth number, eighteenth
digits and beyond.

Nothing gives me peace.
I want to say, I am the God
to end the discussion.

That ignites an explosion
and we begin our journey again.

Memories on edge
one after the other―
salted, dried and smoked.

On green sea―
in a sail boat.
You do not know, where to go.

Hot and humid night.
Half moon, sitting
on a royal palm.

2.

A violent sun
was rising. Knocking down
the unending music of night.

The purple flight
of fish, clams and *****,
overrides. Tomorrow they would be
on table and white sand in your eyes.

The waves, come one by one.
To die on the receding shore.
Your hands tremble, holding the sea.

3.

China rose. Evergreen.
You will find its glory
petal by petal
at every step.

On a tropical beach―
at sensual dawn.
You come out
to pick up the poems.

Love is the arrival of carnations.
Do you mind the nameless pain,
When you walk Matilda?

4.

Earth breaks here
into palms, like spread hands
and hibiscus blooms.

I find the red lips
on burning globes.
of honeysuckle shades―

the sand, sky and moon.
They will meet tonight
at beach for parting kisses.


5.

Something climbs your bones
like an invisible wave
of primeval lust.

A blood feel―
from the ****** of Duranta,
the secret of land's native instinct.

6.

It falls like a quivering leaf:
the sultry night.
A salty wind slaps and tickles.

Walking under the royal
palms, escorted by
lined cycads.

Full moon hangs
overhead, watching the sensual
dance of light and shadows.

7.

The absolute stillness,
hisses. A vicious assault.
Your hands fly to ward off the evil.

A savage storm
of whirling thoughts―
uprooting the dream of wholeness.

8.

I spread rose petals
on your frame.
You smell―
like a garden.

Around the moons
I will draw the Caribbean sea
with a roving eye.

The lush green, your body
of domes and hairless seeds.
Skin starts burning like a peach.

9.

The flames
now leap. Sabotaging the surging blood.
A subtle and delicate presence begins.

The ism has a silent
fall. You can hear the turbulence
before the poem is born.

10.

The age
unwraps you.
Listening to the sounds of sea.
You are ready to face the ageless.

Time takes its
pound of flesh.
You bleed in grass.

Wind smears the pages with dust.
You were writing―
in praise of absence.

And when the full moon
gives a call, you
become speechless.

I have lost my home
again.

This was a pain night.
All the candles have refused to burn
on the weeping path.

Differences with love
of a blind river not meeting the ocean,
and enters into a desert of cacti.

Is it the way to
invite God to make other humans with
not the knowledge of killing?

Leaning against the shadow
of self, starting the
monologue. With the fall
I don't want to think of the other.

The beasts.
I give a call, to someone
over there,
who will listen.

A systematic peel, opens
the doorless cage and
sets free the malignancy―

to spread. Now multiple argan
failure, stares at you,
celebrating the anniversary
of the ****.

We are made up of
charcoal, writing on the walls
with dark fingers―
name of the victim.

You had tasted the
salt of a viviparous.
There was no asterisk
no bluff to cross.

Why did you turned yourself in,
when the rock was
melting? Was't it an act
of surrender, of sort?

At the end of the road―
moon was waiting for
you. Could you climb the
night for a rendezvous?

Coming of age,
you will not exit the stadium
till the **** victim is shot dead.

You shut to it―
the window, on watching
a row of walking stones
without feet.

Pouting,
scowling―
in a mile of tears.

(A pink lotus spills
the colors on water)

Let me talk
to my wilderness. The
script was incomplete
in shadows of greyhounds.

You crawl on the grass to find a four-leaf clover.

You lived in me.
Pure words. Passion changes the
climate, when death is in the care of flowers.

You are playing a
pivotal role to mix hate and love.
Meanwhile I search for the light in darkness.

Ah, grace was not enough
What is mercy? We forget our religion.
Can you recite the sacred mantras?

I am borrowing-
your smile.
Hold my hand to the end
of my pain.

Collecting the stone fruits
for a ritual. I will
skin the pink-yellow shade
for your eyes.

Like fire ants- moonlight
stings. Smothering all
the embers. Some flames won't die.
The crazy affair empties a poem.

Croci will go wild. But you
want to wear a rainbow.
Your delicate arch of eyebrows
drains the tears.

Something was strange.
Breakwaters were melting away.

Walk with me, till moon rises
on the griefs of the dark,
and the tongue tastes the pain of centuries.

On the erected dome
when the golden leaves start a flame
which throws up an image of a prophet.

My nightingale was giving a call
of a very sad tune, on the death of peacocks -
but for the poisoned feed, they were dancing.

A green pride has no ambition now,
roses were wilting.
Fever was rising in the roots.

Do not give it to me, my award.
Could I have shut up like a fame
when my house was being ransacked?

Annihilating your
own minarets to meet
the god once.

Little time left to make the score.

The climbdown has started
absolute and final.

The methane was
spilling out.You need a matchstick.

Awful.You cannot see
the kitchen fire.Where was
the sanctity?

A noble cause.Dousing
the flames, to leave a naked
body of truth.

Don't split the hearts.Only
give the shrouds.Faces
must not be seen

Don't interpret the light's
reach, on the longest
pain of summer.

There was no chaste tree
left for giving you shade
to sit and meditate.

You will not miss
a perfect sleep at dawn with
song birds sailing over your head.

A green snake has
dropped its skin bearing the trail
to copycat the detachment.

The backache returns
to dig out the hot moon
from the dark bushes.

I will sit and wait at the deck
for the cool fireflies to appear.

Nothing to say. A
wilting rose was calling you. Hold
my arm in red. Do not hurt my fingers.

The struggle of love
demands action. You have to read
once, the Rosetta Stone.

Everything has an alphabet.
In our breast the wars have a history
of wild love. God does not watch.

Nothing to think for,
at this moment. Faceless fears―
like pine needles,
***** the toes in walk.

You cannot―
collect the white roses
in blue rains.

You remember precisely, a toothless―
poised tiger. The prey
tied to a pole gives a
long whimper, before being mauled.

The game continues. You
cannot do anything. Violence was
real, the pen becomes the
weapon.

You start drawing vultures.

The seamstress
fails to stitch the moon,
when it was raining poverty.

Would you come near me,
looking in the eyes of sun?
You should make a move.

There was no god's will
when the truth was being
laid to rest, after it was shot dead.

This grief is not only mine.
You will have to open
the wounds to dignity.

Glamour,
sparkle and show.
It was disgusting.

There was a mass burning.
Blackened and singed
bodies, don't speak.

Blessed dying
like a fading moon―
with no watermark.

A candle's flame
makes a hole in your shaking hand.

Skids off― on the
unpaved dirt road, a sleep catcher.

Climbing on moon shaped
rocks for the final jump.

Comes like a throwback
dialogue, what you did not say.

I will go in the wings now.
It is your turn to come
on the stage.

A nameless baby was born
on paper. It has
become an epic.

You break me in four
pieces like a cross. The pause, space
and arrows wait for the red setting sun.

The script was twisted
Death comes before the birth. Power
of mud culture has no vision.

The hypocrisy invokes the
god's hands. I tend to remain
unconscious to dig my foundation.

Hunting calm, without
a ****, without a
mirage.

A momentary lapse
and you suffer
for centuries.

The pangs of separation
were rising.No birth.
You become a white mausoleum.

And the ancient
bloodshed will take care
of the pearls in your eyes.

Ask the moon
to lift the veil.Bonfires
of sharp pains have begun.

The halo around
your face quivers.I was
not a god.You were not mortal.

I am, because
you are not there.

In cold blood
you slice the moon
and drink the tears.

The forest path
opens for the shot
tigress. She will
survive.

A mysterious hand
picks up my name to
write a wounded
poem.

There was no war
between the gatherers
of blood-soaked shirts.

Will you come back
bone, flesh, heart?

The cannibalism was back.
You were eating yourself
alive.

The guts spilt,
would meet the dust,
in abode of earthworms.

They creep and burrow
and bury the organic themes.
Unpolluted, untouched.

The bowels undulate,
to the thumping rhythm,
of greedy feet. White eagles?

How far this digging
of gold mines will go?
Someone had swallowed the glitter.

Black birds are joining
the procession of
empty hearses.

Wanted to pay
debts of gratitude.
There was a call from evergreens,
he was not ready to go.

Standing in pit of snakes
he was preparing himself for a random fang,
throat like a blue-bird
waiting for a song.

The solid waste of numerals
across the thinking,
developed plaques, while philosophy
was accepting innovation.

The authority had started
reading the couplets.
Glory came earlier
sea cracked into shells.

Charred―
blueberries.
I am returning your gifts
of cruel times,
when none was crying.

Chewed―
evidences.
I don't want to look at them―
to provide the measurement
of face.

A demoniac―
version,
of a sweet dialogue, stuck
in your throat.
You bend double.

Epitaphs
demand justice.
Nobody dies for his god, you
want to disappear to
take revenge.

Poaching on the brooding landscape
you crashed while scaling the flame.
A togetherness became a half-truth.
How troubled
I had been for basics.

Then shifting loyalties for petty things
you were holding up my soul,
and I did not move with the changing times.
For the rivers
to walk with green trees.

If the words had the answers
to rebel against the eternal guilt,
to beat the death with pain.
Fighting
for the faded truths.

My experiments with lies will continue!

The becoming,
before your sudden
surge of emotions
to finish the half written
message.

That was,
when the words were
getting wings.

Artificial vision?
I cannot look beyond
the exodermis.

A sizzling search
for the Venus
in wraps.

Who is going to
announce the fall of the system?

A hangman
does not need the
weeping tree to finish the job.

The ambrosial ending
of the day. I was not sure
of myself. How would the
thumb mould the pen
in internal search
of cavities?

You are not going to live
hundred years. Falling from
the terrace, with a thud,
lying in the pool of blood, till you
find the celibate truth?

Between the dust and dawn
lies the dark. The oesophageal
reflux makes a hole
in each eye. Can you
read in the thick fog
of absent faces?

Now my needs are few.
I think in my mother tongue, that I will
give my broken body a torn note.

In my loneliness I call truth.
Where lies the shrine of an immortal?
After all, death was taking revenge.

On white paper I want
to write the history of demolition of the truth,
so that the sun behaves like a slave.

Reigniting blood moon,
I have come to
seek my abdication.

After a long haul of
dark clouds, I come face to
face with my failures.

My experiments with faith
and disbeliefs did not help
to understand the mysterious self.

Now the significant hurts have
become my strength, accepting
the challenge of changed winds.

I meet you O god―
midway, one day to
settle the scores.

It was revenge on you
by unknown.
You were sentenced to live before
the ashes arrive from thumb to thumb.

The onset of grief
was caliberated. I would
not live with a mad weaver
who will not heal the moral bleeds.

A line delimits the dots.
The dance will not begin tonight,
of democracy. The sparrows
were frightened. There was blood on the road.

You want to go into a long sleep.
The moon had an excuse to rise late.
The seeds will observe the silence,
before they come out of the asphalt.

A wreath of skulls
you want to hang on the wall.

I don't want to
lose the skin.
The land was bleeding.

Mars mission. A very
lonely flight, pulls me down.

Do you have a
pearl knife?
Small talisman, you used to wear
when you were a child
to ward off the evil spirits.

A buttonless chest. The map
you drew on the torso was tense.
The woods were nowhere. Only
the dry sands.

I wanted to make a slit in the stone,
to release the holy water,
but it was only tears―

I sleep, I wake
for a vigil.
What was time?

The godhood
fails, when you
become a beast.

The thick cloud
of sulphur,
after the blast―

rains limbs. To
meet god, this
was so easy?

The candle burns
your thumb.Night will
not contain the light.

How you will write
the beginning of a tragic tale,
when you don't know the end?

Your voice was buried
in the soundscape of howling winds.
No star was ready to lift the veil.
The shadows of unseen are legthening.
I cross your boundaries
to know my destiny.

The woods are smouldering
without sparks..My fingers are
singed and feet blackened.The unknown path
will receive your footprints
and you would start seeing
in the rage of night.

The ostrich problem
of catalepsy.
You go into a cocooned
opacity.

I will wait, till you
come out, ready to take a flight
for an oath ceremony.

The land suffers,
the sky weeps.

The shotguns would now decide
the boundaries of speech.

I will walk into the
sea of heads, to find the sunken ship,
to retrieve the faded road map.

I have to face a new testament,
how to remove this poverty
of right words.

A fear stalks me on the road.
Sun was very aloof and cold.
Cannot stop the decline,
give me prayers of your lips.
You talk of dark children dying
when I was losing consciousness.

Will not question the ink of death
or silence of night.
The random greed of man walks
in golden ruins without listening.
I am counting my years wasted
in pursuit of crazy dreams of climbing a watchtower.

Hunger had become a great teacher.
Pain becomes a face. Limbs and shadows
seek justice after **** and ******.
Something seeps in me. Wounds bleeding
on my hands, I dig the floor of the moon
where God was sleeping.

When you stay away
a short while, I
start searching myself.

The torn pages of―
my book flutter through the
dirt track.

You leave footprints
of sacrilege, unmasking
the absolute white
of the lonely death of moon.
The night will become
sleep-deprived. I will wake up
the cherries to celebrate
the bloodbath.

How come, there was
no mercy for the killer? It
was god's message?

The holy book has become
a cleaver in the hands of faithfull.

I want to unread all my wisdom.

No final goodbye. No poetic
apology. No introduction
to a frightening joke of
a blue Buddha.

The neonates were blind.
There was no alternative, except
to wish them luck. I wanted
to leave my pangs with razor points.

Morality and hunted crimes.
It was a shadow boxing
in cryptobiosis. A bleak day
invites no more clouds.

You talk to the solitary moon.
The silence enters the reeds.
A whistling wakes up the night.
Death goes for a walk.

Do not count.
Do not return my poems―
written for you,
in memory of hot pink
flamingoes, that had not returned
to their abodes.

Flashbacks. Fear of colors
arises. You shut your eyes.
Idolatry soaring. Night
will ask the stars. Why am I
carrying the burden of a rock
on my shoulders?
Moon laughs.

You stay quiet,
will not commit any ****.
A train whistles by. Evening
plays a thief, stealing your demeanor.
Inside you burn. No smoke was
coming out. No reference―
to smiles and tears.

I plant my last kiss
on the wall of mausoleum,
and turn back to face the
inevitable transparency.

Like a birthmark―
you stick to me for an eternity.
Honeyed tongue swaps
a blue. I am not a path,
only a candle in the wind.

Moon-washed your face
swims in my black eyes.
I search my genes
in you, for an answer.

In poetic jargon, with
broken wings, I take a flight
to that horizon, where
my aura ends and your spell begins.

Blameless-you spin,
and break into hundred of shards.
They become stars. I remain
stranded at sunset.

A single line,
undefined, hangs
to make your life vulnerable.

The drifting starts.
You fumble for the right―
text,

to convey the urgency
of a moratorium. The
dew on the grass,

was not ready to
accept the rainbow of
false promises.

Flat refusal comes
from the deprived homes.
The poverty has become a sin.

The elegant procession
of the king was throwing
dust in our eyes.

When you *****, I
write a poem. I talk to you
even in your absentia.

When I held your hand,
you were not there and you went
on talking about your love for me.

Life has many faces.
Dashes and dots. You run after the moon
and light the candles in line.

The shadows sit,
under the words, to torture,
to bring,
perse memories.

A downfall,
precedes,
before the crash of
existence.

Ah, you know,
what makes your saints
blue? The sematic shooting
stars?

The anxiety was,
how to stop thinking
of becoming,
a vigilante.

The mid-night raid
was most unsuccessful attempt
to ****.

You will find one day,
water footprints, when
seismic events stop in eyes.

Don't you think a system
of mutual respect should―
be followed, before the
conception of a new rage.

Moons come and go.
You upturn the clock racing
the time to―
reach infinity.

Where the hundred stars
die daily, do you still
want to become a blue light
in the misty house―
of headstones?

When I make a heap
of all my killer pains,
rains come.
A half-moon casts
a spell. Hope used to
have many colors.
A black magic
ruffles the feathers, casually.
Peacock forgets to dance.
Rocks. Like rare earths.
Difficult to separate you
from me. The call of the mountain
rattles me again. Will
that continue, unending
path, towards non-existence?
In the dark greens, it
was a ******, I cannot find
the blue moon.