You burnish the moon
on an otherwise inveigh night
see I could still see ….
anew … of only
me and you;

Your body painting
with the innate brush
of my folded fingers;
Firm smooth paints -
and turpentine grease -
filling sense of your fragrance
slow stroking shocking lush
and sudden lurch of sea side rush;

My body craving
for the sustaining love;
Or is it aspersed lust -
to make up for something
that bears close resemblance;
But then red will red
and white will be white
forever with or without
the sprinkled thrust;

Our thrust ….
Your … mine … ours ….

scalding rills blubber
soldering thoughts together
hay carts after hay carts
over a pronged night’s fissure
what oasis - what water -
caravan’s restless demeanor ….

the granger moves rather
no vengeance thunders
even if lightning gallops
faster than cover;
fate is that so -
only if death was lateral ….

Some days skies look green
And water prop and preen
By turns I sing
Unceremoniously -
Romancing tunes unknowingly.

Friends tease
At ever growing silence -
And smiling humming deeds;
I don’t tell them – What else can I do
When days simply remembers you.

It's one of those gains
When clouds rain -
And unabashedly so;
Who cares for cries of wolf?
Its the life - -
Life that rains -
In no time frame.

Tiers of joy layered
In baskets of several tears;
Happiness counts stratus pebbles
And Bliss is dear;
And Dearer counts -
It’s those moments rather
Sweeter than sour.

Rain … Rain come and breathe
Let me try, if not reach-
Over the spire steep;
If I reach the steeples bell,
Who but me will count -
The scattered drops
Of my fallen sweat.

A folly is someone's gain
I thought it ignored me
of reasons only better explained.

Ethnic enclave ruined under besiege
seldom an uncommon spectacle -
of all creed …. frenzied herds of sheep.

Normalcy was soon gone
envious of its zealous friend -
abnormality masters how to reign.

Only when I thought
who needed a shelter to brave -
rooted off my own feet – surrendered and dead.

When pillows rumour of traitorous bed sheets
the blanket stands guard to the night,
The old blanket of yesteryears
still holds fragrance of our stride.

Almost like every other day,
the night looks upon pariah moon
and the braggart stars remembers its light,
When on an otherwise windy day
your skin for the first time smelt as mine.

The lights themselves were no more bright
and the sea rode the heavens and skies,
Conspired to coup de grace, and
through boundless surge of putsch
I was held forever in a moment’s veil.

Your touch is what I live for
it wasn’t indeed a night alone -
for I am no longer the same as before;
Like sods I wear upon your open heart
for all seasons of yesteryears to behold.

Don’t call me by names
Or by any means
In far deserts where I live
Beyond those continents I see
The mirage of my nascent dreams.

Don’t wake me up
Let me sleep
Just for another night; where
Dreams dance unsynchronized
And winds bear joyous whims.

Yes the cembalo breathes distinct
But I still need your swing
To feel subtle resonances
And in perpetual happiness do I see
The crystal shines of icy mountains.

Through chthonic realms of night
Dance ebulliently over effete dark
Hold me close as snail’s shells
My moment arrives over clapping shades.

Rise today through the strips of vim
Meander through ribbons of streams
Over the strings of anonymous rays
Let me grab a piece through gazelle’s rings.

I now see it through verdant hills
Then over the jouncing sea strips
Yes it’s here round that corner
Playing the regular hide and seek.

And I wait patiently ....
And I wait expectantly .....
Through silence of moon -
It will surely arrive soon.

Cold blade sheaths
Cleaves thin air
Pieces of salt
And sand ….
Eddying to shores
In calm representation.

“Is it fair?” He questions
“Was it fair?” I enquire
Who are you?
I don’t have an answer

Few remember me
I remember even fewer
To hearken to deeds
What futile aversions ….

He scoffs at the letters I wrote
And sometimes smiles angrily
My questions gauche
He bothers not to answer….

Belief mostly has no substance. Like fluidity of water it can flow like a stream often running the risk of crossing the path of other streams. It mostly takes the shape of an individual’s perceptions. There are certain beliefs that I never question. Courage is often a recluse and truth is repulsive. I never question the Truth. It is something that is beyond my capacity and I intend not to indulge in this blasphemy. Someone fashions over a drink to be atheist and often emphasizes the relativity of belief and exactness of science. Few questions that such vertical stream of education fails to answer is put sorely on psychometric conditions. They always seek an answer and I seek never to question.