but the moon has many shades,
and the canoe still has to sail
distances traveled on plains.
lost raindrops never regained.

(even as thoughts erase memories
you walk on dead grass
leaving your imprints behind)

the iciness of thin air
hangs over the eaves; and
grey edges of the walled mirror
smiles unrevealingly;

and ...

the gaze of unredeemed
grips my whole body
made of flesh ...
or is it hollowed skin
wrapped around assembled bones
gathered through centuries;

there ...

over the window sills
where silvery moon shines
outside this vacant ….
dull ….. dreary …
oppressively soundless room
where silence .....
quietly ..... silently .....
proposes an unruffled gloom;

Shall we walk into the mist?
From where no one has ever returned
Where unexplored mysteries sleep
And a haze that explains nothing
Overshadows forlorn belongings;

This is the road that walks there
Where no shadows have ever followed
And no lover has stayed alone
Where with open arms they embrace
The abysses of unclaimed depth;

Where shadows that lived a life
No longer exist,
Where the trembling heart
No longer breathes,
Where journeys no longer pretend;

Let us hide once beyond recognition
Let's today walk into this mist.

I hold on to you as you fly
High over cerulean carpet sky
Like free, unchained desires
Far away from roadsteads
Tasting the salt of unbound water
Into open countenance of sea’s delight;

I think I hold your strings as you fly
Plunge into chasm of infinite heights
Over white flames where you travel
Caressing neighbourhood horizons; and
I stand augured on the shore watching
As you carouse with fire and winds’ whim.

And as merry a fool as there is one
You remind me of Prehensions and Strings
Whose hold would never matter
If you did not know how to fly -
- Partners in that flight
- Partners in this walk of life.

window vane -
unwarranted baggage
swaying ….
lost in thoughts -
questions which way to go
- mild winds ..

when young and relieved this evening
grows on to me ... to be a man
I will look back on his turgid days
and follow him sometime.

when virile sky of this elliptical night
chained and restless, elusive kind
questions me on busy carrefour
and leaps forward ... suddenly .. twofold.

when etch horizon of this folklore
nears the terminus of wrinkled floors
I will walk through caverns of dark light
and carry the bier, holding high.

(every silence sounds different
unrecognised ... unvoiced tales
ensconced in far crevices
so often, galloping miles away ......)

wrinkled causeries of eider-down duvet

blissful next morning -

testimonials of you and me.

I have hardly ever described you

but you remind me of rain,

whose purling beads of pure ecstasy

mildly paints

and easily

swoons by fragrance of spring

incepted of new breath

and wings my dream.

I never thought I needed to ……….

I never realised .... I could'nt ………

Night accepts the invitation of another day with seldom seen alacrity.

And the quiescence of sleep rests tatterdemalion blue skies above.

Through many continents my words wander ……

hesitantly through centuries.

The ennui fabric of epithelial prologue

seeks way of eminent tomorrow.

A virgule nonpareil light slants through his mind ....
--- whose looks can not deceive trained eyes.

Looking / searching through pliant mind on whose surface rusts the rust. And whose wallet searches for impecunious illumination.

It almost rhymed.

It didn’t.

Surely didn’t

But stood out as if its penurious lyricism was almost a blessing.

Almost an assumed freedom.

Dulcet winds of violoncello plays my room. It has already composed a quartet of an opera, embracing the silence of mutiny ..... of several instruments that propose lying scattered thereto.

Faint knocks on the front door. Listen. Recompense - a pledge not a mercy. Do not look beyond.

I seek not to ignore, not to look away into the distant. I wish not to armour myself against uncalled saccharine glee floating at the corner of my eyes. Smile with less scruple, as I am willing to.

I want to.

I have to.

I shall.

Celebrate.

“in questioning lies man’s downfall”
- whose rhythm I cannot apostatize
incalculable time spent on naught
whose productivity I cannot belie;

life that breathes after my death
Father will you not question
my meager existence without
betroth to own, in unearned request;

let me seek my own questions
through wastelands apprehend
- stunned by unvanquishable truths
- assume phoenix’s own willful request;

Favouring tongue bears favouring speech;
So did she tell me in Cantonese
and as difficult an art as crochet
easily differentiates a novice;

I smiled instead,
for words were none
almost like the empty coke can
holding to quench my thirst
on a blank summer afternoon –

Well so does it happen
my empty smile betrayed me
giving away secrets of soul
as always like a traitor;

How long have you been here –
in pure honey coated brisk mannered
English she speaks - - -
I still smile back at her
entranced .. well almost
smiling foolishly …

memories I come back to you
time and again
through countless tides
on aery sea face
where standing between two shores
we build a bridge of lost eons - - -

of the many years that I rendered you
pilfer my desires for me;

Despite his courage, the insurmountable effect of time’s prowess on his veins can be clearly seen. As they say much water has flown under the bridge and evidently so. I wish one could measure the essence of time. We say quality but then that is so subjective, so human and unscientific prone to hours of discussions, debates and later on comments which these days become so unmanly to most of us (yet we never refrain). He lived his life to the fullest (in all sense of the term) and even these days after 81 years when he speaks he tends to exude a sense of calm that is so inadequate in most of us.

of old flint efflorescent time
uplifting its stony head,
like a solitary star on black nights
amongst unseen, unheard spirits -
strike it bright with shining steel
on this raining night’s dancing ordeal;

of the many years that I rendered you
pilfer my dreams for me;

He does talk of death these days perhaps more than he has ever done in his entire life but then he talks of it as a certainty and not out of self pity. The death of his son in 1998, aged forty four, had left him shattered and weak. He perhaps would have wanted to die at that time yet he survived, survived with scars of time though as well as with all truths, the scars do lighten but never disappear. The fact remains that he grew old faster than he would have done otherwise. In fighting the malaise he showed a sense of resoluteness in overcoming it that is hardly seen these days. Remember he had lost a son whom he loved the most. But through all this he never lost his sense of calm which has always been associated with him. A great man who lives life on his own terms, does the right things and defines what is right, has seen zillions of ups and downs - fighting, surviving and still living with a legacy of how exactly to live a life like a true gentleman (and believe me there is still this concept that is viable).

like many a man past, man will outgrow you
and you will live through me fresh as green
like first rays on window sills
of moments enraptured in countless deeds
flesh in flesh who momentarily believes
where my soul rests, lies my memories;

of the many years that I rendered you
pilfer my moments for me;