Half flowers

I besought a pot of flowers

a medley of colour, tones and shapes

I pick a flower from the bottle

it is a half flower, root stemmed like

a Lily without a water, the petals moist

like a rose in shrubbery of desire

I flinch to call her a name, Rose-Lily,

she darts back to the open window

there’s the garden in panorama

long lasting stretch empty of horses

while the mud on the path stigmatised

the corpses of the weed, I am growing older

older and older till the dawn comes with

a  blessing of the youth, I open my whiskey bottle

there’s a scream of Rose-Lily, the magic flower pot

has produced a flower, a half of rose and lily

with a face of desiring love, there’s a flower

that has come on to the stem and I call the half-flower

A cross between the weed and the rosary

She is silent as listening to the noise of colour

smudged she puts on the half-flower on her hair

Rose-Lily has got a voice-over- the love pot.


The Spooky Guitar

Wanted a tambourine sound on a guitar

silently to pluck the real power off the chords

and play the Nordic song of separation

As is the air waft with the scent of eloping rain

Wait! Listen to my heartbeat and then strum the wire

to the exact melody of fortune for the businessman

becoming something else, an igloo to begin with and dance

forlorn with a long face drawn in favor of rendezvous

under the railway bridge where we light the fire with a beer

and  to close the pugmarks, we sprinkle the snowy residue

and it is abandoned to the Guitar beat, the gypsy song

which you shared with and rushed off with coffee

while I kept on beating the guitar till the morning

I supress the kiss of the woods under my feet

as the last song is played on the spooky Guitar beat!

Art or Artless

What use is the argument?

To rouse sensibility or to douse banality

the tone having restricted to homeliness

she resembled more a peacock’s head than a Madonna

to which she brushed aside all the malevolent drama

and uttered the words ‘I Sleep by you’

not that you are a dead meat when sleeping

but me a dead leaf turned upon and laid off the hands

on the parchment to see art by Sylvia!

The chance

All there was a chance driving her mad

whether to choose wine or a hemlock

was all she could consider in a moment’s

respite at the altar of Juno, the merciful Goddess

The roses sparingly left with a purpose  on the altar

and a hankerchief to wipe the brow with a heart for the summer

the sweat telling time and days at hour why love is a flower?

And the boom of lillies litter the street and She holds

the dynamic feet from tumbling over the waves as if to unfold

the love for casino and call it a meek renewal of time

to loose fortune over the dance of dice and call the God

a lame man who would induce all the fame of mime

and now on the ocean where nothing preserves but tide

she gave herself to the vastness of pouring water and chance

to finally sort out her life!




The Lyrical Painter

He painted hollow and the hollowed men

An empty eye and an emptied face for the urn

in which the fate would dissolve love like a foam

of a wizard who would induce more of lyrical love

and then the queen who wished to be a ballerina

to steal a place into the heart of the audience


He would paint the queen and the ballerina

given to the artist as stranglers of thought

and then again to strangle the mob and

win the war against the third rike till the death

of innocence in the painter and, he would produce a marvel

of colour upon colours like staking claims on the playing cards

to guess the card the queen had,

the plum of hearts but not a chance for the ballerina

for she had a knight to herself as shinning armour


and he painted a lyrical ballad of yore on to the canvas

the ballerina having come to dance and the queen

as a dying morph of the dance both as one.

The Abstract

The abstract that we run away from for we do understand the meaning of abstract as something that is attained through imagination and imagination for every indivdual is different from any other. So we run away from abstract whether it is art or computer science. And if we take into consideration beauty then we all know what we are talking about but fail to reach any consensus.

Something what is abstract attracts the society as an old acquaintance. The society plays with the frivolity of an abstract idea like an old overcoat of an actor. The abstract has something to do with the money the society is about to make from a frivolous idea of an abstract meaning.

Sinking knee deep into the abstract

finding the meaning of the art and love

to write letters to the patient of heart

as if love is a soldier’s abstract-

to kill the mockingbird and walk off

An arty soul

One rose was full of perfume that She fainted in her own arms

as if perfume had undone the airs of her form


She plucked the song from a twig of her perfumed memory

as if it was her sixteenth birthday stirring two decades


She hesitated with the thought inducing coffee

as if it was her two decades gone on cloud nine


She blew a whistle to dig out the unconscious mind

as if a thousand clouds like herself were hidden beneath the thought


She gave up the final chase of a pretty job

as if her hidden thoughts have found the little Buddha


She didn’t give up the Buddha then