The cult moves in
circle. Stargazing
starts. You lie buried in
wet retreat. Eyes protruding

The veil sends a sweet death.

The death. Only you would
know, what was the conversation
between the repentant
and priest.

Superfluous. To beautify
the grimace. The lips―
always cheat.

A black cloud devours the moon.

I like to rage on with
flying snakes. The fog deepens.
You skid on the ice of the bridge
after the freezing rain. Infidelity
becomes the pick of the day. I
look at my Goldie, the pug,
sitting on the step. Waiting for me
like a meditating Buddha, eyes
half-closed.

Let me see your hands. Your
bones are becoming frail, twisted.
You cannot lift the book, hold
the pen. When you write, your hands
start trembling, as if you are
being watched, to write your last
will or ready to jump in the river.

Life had been very cruel.
When you said, you are a dervish,
the hyenas started laughing.

It was a marathon race of
timeline. The days are bound and shot.
How do I come to you to express
my grief of the country
in tumult!

In shouting and screaming,
there was no magic wand to invoke
peace. Your mouth opens
and shuts like the shell valves. The
scollops― words, swim in
sea of burials.

The seriality was unconscionable.
It falls short of a stroke.
The blood splits. A riot erupts
to wet the lips of curved razor.
The sun retreats, to let
the stars find their sky.

Unmasking to remain
human. Listen, listen to my bane.
I am neither living, nor dead.

I am left with what I am not.
after you walked away with Agni.
My footfalls resound in water.

I am taking care of
lovebirds. They miss you when calls
don't come and food runs short.

Sometimes I would
look at the lame moon. For
whom you were faltering?

Perhaps, I was a
mirror. You trip, fall
and become a raw wound.

One day I will
touch you with my ragged
hands, to heal my knife.

My bronzed speech is available,
accepting the defeat of daffodils.
I will not write an elegy.

The postpartum blues are over,
I am coming out of the crib,
like a new born poem.

Floating the paper lanterns, at
night, on flowing river, to send the
message to moon. No more the beach will cry.

The triangular nuts will
speak of the hurricanes, protecting
the hairy seeds.

No resistance was needed
to stop the invading army of black
ants, ready to tear the dummies.

Moon hangs from
your eyes in black dreams.
Wolves run into the woods.

The human touch was
waning. I will follow the arc of
pain. Man becomes fish.

After the drill I ask to
dismantle all man made palaces.
It is time to worship rocks.

Your chair is unoccupied.
I am waiting for you to come.
But you will not.

Why does it happen?
When I touch you, you are not there.
A silent poem writes your name.

Untouchable was your
pain. An eagle hovers in the blue sky
to pick up the child of death.

You said this summer,
hold me tight,
when hanging lights―
go out.

I will heal your moon,
your cryptobiosis
of seeds―

at dawn, when you wake up
before the stars leave.

It would not be a day of mourning.

The quinces, japonica
irises were deeply disturbed.
Under the tongue
lies the religion of masses.

The menus are same, only
the taste was different.

When the family
unites, rains come and
ice starts melting.

The roaming leaves of
saddened trees, hopped earlier like
small birds, and then
landed on snow to make
their burial dives, with
the stalks dangling upside
down like legs.

You would find the holes
like bullets in the heaving chest
of dying earth.

A baby squirrel
scuttles on the deck for any
forgotten nuts.

You display a very primordial
secularism. There are different
skin colors, but
hunger is same.

Like a lingering doubt,
the moon stood on the maple tree―
for a relationship.

For my sake don't take a
downside, my liberalism
will suffer.

Killed in your own house
by lightning, have you
ever heard of self-immolation?

Let's make it simple.
Take it from the giver,
what he never had― and
don't ask the price.

Your eyes again befell
a giant. How would you live
without the fireflies?

You were not true to god.
I was playing with fire for resuscitation
to search violets in your eyes.

The sameness was very
typical. We cry at the same time.
to move away from burning calendars.

A single kiss of Agni
will make the ashes of bickering moons.
I want to die no more.

The valley holds on, to ******
of moon, behind the trees.
It is dark and clouds are meditating.

You think of a perfect horror
and a poisoned arrow flies straight
into heart of a blissful sun.

It is red, splattered on the wounded sky,
scrorched by shrill cries of crows.
It is dawn.

You feel intense ******* of separateness,
from the beauty of a drop,
reflecting the wholeness of an ocean.

The stress starts breaking you.
Can you take me to my home, into abeyance?
My wakefulness, reaching by silence?

When it drips
drop by drop, a burning candle
becomes a poem.

If you knew it,
time would stand still
to meet your integrity.

Come out some night
in moon, to watch the blue
love of lonely trees. The
melted dark becomes a song
of earth.

Tomorrow
you don't want it-
to come and yesterday to go.
If you can freeze this day
I will never ask for a requiem.

O god, will you
forget my name and
let it be a shrine of
unknown traveler.

When the roaring tiger
was behind the bars, there was
this otherness. So much voiceless
was that, it had wounded me.

Your life had entered my
dome to meet its darkness, my
sky, my moon and the
riot of color begins.

By unbecoming, dying
in every home, to write the
script of desire, you will take
the path, where my marrow went down.

The clocks, on every wall
to remind me the moving time.
Will you wait for the explosion
to stop the trembling hands?

Not giving an answer you shut the door.

Refusing to be
healed.
A wound will stay awake.

Mired in bitter controversy,
the captain said―
the war was not a deliberate act of
atoning for the soul.

That prevents the sun
to come out after a long night.

You walk in the light years,
gaunt and dazed,
in pain of hunger. The words
hang in shame.

A city fails, for
another voice of verse,
in favour of renunciation.

Clouds had veiled
the waning sun.
A topaz.

A blast,
becomes quite blasé at first
then becomes green.

With envy, the moon
gives no light.
My faith tumbles.

Sometimes I ask myself.
Why did you cover
your sore spots?

As a perfect pretext
of buying peace
why did you go for the lies?

This country divides us.
Only cameos were
displayed.

The ache of the holy river
was your body which
becomes a canoe.

The snow-clad peaks
would smash
the hikers.

Opinions differ,
when the tornado strikes.
You wanted to build a new house.

The black night.
A green silence would
rebel against the stars.

The animals are―
in solid fear,
of man.

Fauna was in distress,
delivering the offspring―
to unnamed creator.

Earthworms were
regrouping to start burrowing
under the mausoleums.

Stoicism would find
a new house. The mutiny had
collapsed in good weather.

Of winter and summer,
You know the discipline of
winds, when birds sing.

Becoming gold diggers,
the myths, without
ism and orthodoxy.

The creed will not observe.
I will say, I am the god
of ruins.I offer my inadequacies
to be punished.

The passions were rising.
You **** yourself to get the
space, the privacy.

Where the theme ends?
The religion has only absurd
quotations.You always involve the
Almighty- for any fall,
any bloodshed.

The tricks played by blessed
saints.You would always sleep in dark.
Eyes the faded gems.

Salt-of-the lips.
You never know, how it hurts
the bigotry.

It was not the might
of divinity, when you sentence
the child for blasphemy.

I would not kiss the―
stone, where the blood stained
the sun. Grey halo was collapsing.

It was the helplessness
of the river, accepting the guilt
of sunken boat.

Again I recite your name
in sleep. The sting was as cruel
as the tongue.

Sitting in the sun
preparing the relic, for
future visitation.

The geranium bleeds
for the god particle, which
always eludes
the man.

A tiger would sleep
in my bed, jettisoning
the fish of your eyes.

The glass eye breaks,
enters the tomb of the orb
sheltering the darkness.

There was no clear answer―
from the mask, as if why
the tryst with stars failed.

Without shadow
an agony, slits me open.
As when I bleed.
I write a poem.

It hurts,
when you touch the words,
the lines, the paragraph―
the page.

From teaching
to be a learner―
a long odyssey from―
innocence to scream.

My namesake, my akin
dies daily. I dig a mass grave
to find my twins,
where the god lived.

Multiple hurts― and
you still want to live
in this dystopia.

The queue was
lengthening to catch up
with moon.

The gate man will talk
of an apocalypse.
The repeat flame, which
does not die in the presence
of sun.

The thoughts. Will they
ever stop in dark? The
moonlight gathering the ashes.

The erotica fails to
cast the net. You want to
collect the venom of desire
capping the end blues.

Coming of age becomes
temporal, when
I start to speak.

It was my ancient wound―
which had come into being,
to bleed.

No mannerism,
idiosyncrasy or culture
was needed to stay dumb.

Time runs in a
narrow tunnel, to cross the enemy lines.
I will unmourn my death.

Like collecting the bluebells.
After the burial of candor,
there was no other ceremony.

My possessed belief
was cynical. May I ask a question?
Why do you escape from love?

You have to be true
and honest. There is a satan, and
a god in you. A black bird enters the bones.

Standing on a mosaic
of words you develop a glitch.
I was listening to my sparrows.

My logic
was not a part of belief.

The answer you proffered is
not, what it was
supposed to be.

The question sits like a
butterfly on my chest.

It was a sham exercise
to wipe out the dirt from the eyes.

Life, death and the
unknowing are the failures
of man.

I am ready to repatriate
my end from the noose, for
not accepting the award.

The dangling moon
behind the ornate gate
waits for beheading.

*

Indeed I had
called you in dark to change
the name of slaughter.

*

Blood tastes salty,
when words were sweet, slicing
the white lilies.

From ethics come silent
screams to reveal the innocent
suffering at the hands of cynic pains.

You take off the morality
of human faults, and prepare yourself
for martyrdom of no cause.

The trains move slowly
going nowhere carrying the bodies
of unknown disasters.

Brutal. Another lover
too. Four-letter words ****.
A self deception begins.
You shut up in yourself.

From meaningless trivia you
want to extract peace.

The leather was becoming feminist.

You can eat your partner
if conflict increases.

Will you like to read Camus
again? Especially- The Myth of Sisyphus?

The humming birds are
disappearing. No trumpet shaped flowers.

Half-naked in beachdress―
a truth was swept away.

You collapsed―
on the stairs in frenzy
falling into a debt trap.
The moon was asking back his pain.

This was a naked aggression.
Kitchen was not ready for roots
and flowers and footprints
of staggering price of being alive.

Riding in a Humvee, the
rhetoric fails. The lies become
spiteful. Your arms holding
a wavering testament.

Religion of sending
a young legate of death, to veiled
untouchables, to spread
the glitter of bones and red meat.

A gift of asking to become
blind, nothing less.

The milk run appears like
flesh trade. A bigamous
marriage with two ideologies.

The politics looks like
a fudged slogan. The silence
was broken by screams.

A dwindling faith, could
not revive the ancient Buddha.
There was no pity, no sorrow.

Activism wades on home―
turf. The colossal night
releases the lynx vision.

I am the cipher, you
said, will not connect
to any integer.

Bigotry, is that you with
the lost numbers?

Looking back, will not
light the road.

I could not haul myself
out, of the kitchen, of narrative.

Something makes me jittery,
counting my failures. You revert back
to the caravan.

After the love. The lines
burn and you set aside the goal―

of becoming free from writing off
the man.

A river was frozen in my chest, O god –
I choose a burning boat to reach you.
My planet has become a broken bridge.

Voiceless hymns are haunting me.
Standing in a remote village of words,
my poetry beside me.
I want to cross the thick woods.

The hairy legs of tarantula –
I am ready to meet them on my body.
A skylark ejects a lyric at my terrace,
I become a flame.

Pour honey, pour water
I will glow more. The sparks will stay hidden.
When the sky would be overcast and dark,
thousands of stars will come out.
Suddenly there will be light.

Banded I walk
on the dirt road,
when discreetly, your shadow falls behind me.

Melting the distance
a voice loses the sharp birthmark,
becomes perfectly an onlooker.
Where I was going?

Greed was splitting the fat.
An owl creaks.
I pick up some daisies to walk into a crypt.
New mind was some steps away.

Coming out of skin
nakedness, brings out the tears.
We have stopped speaking. Only whispers
are parting the blackness.

The causal effect
was the kiss of the blind spot.
I wake up every morning
smelling blood.

The space animates you,
leaving the truth outside.
An unwritten message was lost
in the watering eyes.

The aquaduct dries up. You
get the cramps of city,
after the memes of swollen eyes.
Do not open the umbrella,
sun was hiding.

Your brain becomes wired.
Someone slaps a sticker on your lips.
You cannot cry. A muffled scream,
shatters the windows of the capitol.

I believe, I had not arrived
when you were arbitrating
between naked steel and the truth.
Violence were you. I was watching
the burning pyres in a row. Small hands
were collecting the ashes,
casting glances on the falcons.

Why reincarnation of the reaper again and again
arching the helpless life in terror?
Half-filled cups of tears are spilled
on the marbled smoke.
We made the truce with slaughter
in moonlight pitying the survivors in sun.
The face watching from the window disappears.

An auburn dawn wakes with swollen eyes.
I might find a lost child of the empty womb –
wandering in wilderness of three dimensional sorrow.
O mother! somewhere the roots are waiting!

I want to be
eloquent, with myself―
to write a poem.

*

Do you have
a clean blade
as pure as a plum?

*

Not enough
were the seeds,
for green fingers.

*

A grivever―
comes back, to undo
the guilt of others.

In this cruel summer,
body becomes a river―
embroiled in sun.
Gnomes tied to our
bones dragging you down. You clasp the portal
of a feral cat.
Obsession rises.
You **** the petty thoughts
discreetly.
On the edge―
comes the thrifty moon
in night. No holds barred.
In desperation, you
call all the dead stanzas.
Nobody believed in *****'s tale.
The black eyes burn
without flames.

In western sky
hundreds of small birds were
flying in an arc,
synchronized in orange.

The grass, holding
the skirts, wants to cascade
in death of the
paramour.

Let the copper―
speak of hurt, in the
thighs of moon.
It will not climb tonight.

The breaths miss. I
look into your eyes. The natural
heart beats were losing the rhythm.

Would you go into the
gold mine? I started liking you.
Did you cross the boundaries of love?

Pain will not find you.
You come like a prayer. Moon's
ancestry has failed in the sun's path.

The first shot was
visceral to synchronize the zenith
and a plunge. The proxy invites disaster.

In my rare agony, I
have poured my lava of pain. I want
to scream to collect all the moments.

You imitate a sword to cut
from both the sides Will angels
live in heaven?

Float seamlessly in dark.
Come in my arms,
like a cloud―
like a moon.

The cult will live
on for eternity to
meet the challenger.

The objector had
the flatfoot. Will walk
overdressed.

In eerie silence―
an agile titan was going
to vilify himself.

Conscientiously I
wanted to feel you once
in my verses.

No virtue, no sin
was needed to come to
the lips of an abyss.

You tell me in no
ambiguity to hold on the solitude.
Life was overrating the return
of a prodigal saint.

In wet distance
would you plant the seeds
of spiritual lockup?

Was it not two timing?
Riding on the waves
and starting roots music?

Shot in the back
of head, you wanted to die quickly
being sincere towards life.

Self-abandonment,
it were you, which was, for
what it was not.

I am counting the tongues
of flames, licking
the acid burned virtues.

Incendiary. Water
was a charity in the beast temple.
The bells are ringing faintly.

I was always wrong.
Will not correct myself till my
blood boils. Give me the last page.

Who was the final culprit
in the submerged planet? I will be
mending a leaking boat in the dark.

Not a single word
wept, when sky was overcast.
Who wins ultimately?
The cell in the death,
or death in the cell?
I tried,
I tried not to do any wrong.
The centuries suffered.
The pollen in the wind
will not land. Each grain
was a harbinger of a relic.
The purple tears―
for bread and water. Who was
not hungry?
A peacock dance
goes waste―
without rains.

The great lines, you quote, don't
stir me... you know my vexation,
with the twinkling lights, that don't move.
The colors, don't mix... I move
from death to death, to understand
life, and fail miserably. The body
does not open. Seducers
ready to jump for a bite, to tear
off my columns, my domes.

Yes, I give, give away my precious
heart, time, my infallible attention
to heal you.I don't demand any
dough, remaining in penury, do not
ask for the factors. My arithmetic
has failed. Cannot solve the puzzles
lost in maze of juggleries.

It was your world. I am living
at a binary planet, scarcely habitable.
Yet I am happy in myself
looking at the grains of sand on my
hands. You know, you cannot
write like me... like me.

Would you bear the cost
of peace, if there was
no war, no country, no
personal gods?

We are not talking about―
a retropain of recent past.
It was there when we―
started walking, and
discovered a superhuman being.

The crowd swells every day, and
a new religion crops up
every now and then.

There was no fatal crash.
It makes you rich overnight.
The money grows―
from the barrel of the gun.

I refuse to celebrate the victory.

The dusk panics.
Molten ash stings, bearing
you down. Your enemy had penetrated
very deep.

Your pride shrinks.
Infinite pains from moonlit streets
climb up the palm trees
to count the dead.

You can not arbitrate in disputes
of wind and flags.

The night rolls down on the
battered past. Your face becomes
a broken clock.

Color-blind, you will never―
know the green recital
of the spokesman.

For you
I am walking on rocks
holding unburnt match sticks,
you want me to throw them
behind me.

To step down in lake
for washing sins
from the snuffed out
skylights.
Between green and blue I climb on leaves.

Remained pygmies
till end,
in frail human relationships.
All that we saw, was only for ourselves
in questions and replies.

Wasting shine of titles,
followed by empty looks.
Nothing remained to be said.
Food was left on the plate
untouched.