The Spring life

Spring is a month unto undivided by colour

to untie the skies with a fragrance of flowers

and there grows the moths sillyly nibbling at dawn

And the dusk is a flower-pot in which to arrange the hues

of the Upper house of God to array  the lines of flowers

where randomness is the cue for the cure of the decimated leg

upon which the earth stands

and the earth is a pillage of matter in space, as a pale blue dot

emerging to decorate the house of God yet undivided and

easy to meld with the fragrance of Spring,

the undisputed rector stands tall in God Himself



Haloed Love

The vein drawn taut and the blood oozes

there is amorphous cloud in the making

as the angels sing the hymns of devotional love

And the squirrels burrow holes in the maiden’s house

she parks the car as by the noon there is light

to lit the garden in the aftermath of haloed sun

which has pitched obeisance under the chimney of love

She was silent when the blood flowed and she was empty

of movement and the body.


The chained moon

With the sight of chained moon there is no hope for the day

Mark what hath happened to the silken route of Afghan People

Till trade was fine there seemed no loss of smile for the goods

Till the men burrowed deep to toil under the Afghan sun

There smitten love wound up in the alleys on the Khyber

There was a penny shift in the thoughts on the noon

I am sitting on a pile of dusk for a modern vehicle for the Gods on the moon

And there lone moon shone its husky light on what ploughed down on the ground

In the rough Afghan terrain where plenty of wounds open their mouths

And I must resign myself to the wondrous rain and fall silent forever!


The Hunger

I am well unfed

there is nothing made from the dough

the days that I have though tread

make me feel vain to rest at the bough


Silence is begotten in the roots

of the marching armies of the nation

but I slouch on the sofa without boots

and ten thousand soldiers clamor for ration


The world is one food basket yet the hungry mouths yell loud

and the tinkering bells tinkle over the meandering cloud

The sounds fickle and feeble

my stomach empty yet my tongue is able


to sing the symphonies for the ponies in the stable

who though fed like to fight the races

I run through the streets without laces.

Only to return to the hungry yards of the fable.





Dreary rituals

The catcall was impressive,

The minnows threw out their fists as if dead corpse is seen in naked light

The huge show was a fluster, everybody knew the host, nobody knew the time

Or the space they were visiting was from my previous birth

On Sunday the catcall finished, my birthday in this birth

So called the deeds if the men when the showroom opened

A dressed gentleman put the garlanding as if student of life by heart

A single dove perched on the hands of Buddha, meditating yet thinking

Love is on the way, so many centuries hence the buddhas’ day

This day came frying open to the public in distress

And the maidens’ in obsessed of the sunlight

In the end the day was hopping on the clairvoyant’s shoulders

The giants appearing pygmies and the pygmies the giants

The Jupiter in its outer shell was calmed by a Pundit

Seen staring at the fire and the hoop was well advanced into the final hour.

Moon walk

I heard the faint sound

the sound of angels rushing

and see the moon transforming

into a giant hut which hangs

over the German streets

People coming across a bridge

waiting in the salon for a coffee

And I drinking the wine from

a chalice from the holy Troika

having roots on a German street

The people looking at flying shadows

projected white images on the wall

and the farmers eating potatoes

while the domestic dogs on the unleash

barking into the face of the moon

a German businessman drawing smoke

from a cigar, glares at the stairs to the moon

how far the love could go? asked the giant Solomon

The sluts emerging from the roof

and walking tip-toe to the cemetery

a few flowers strewn there

and a wine of the forgotten land

laden by the side all forgotten in the sun

My memory of you melding with snow

and appetite for love growing wild

as is the column of man who has lost

the game of cards to the ducks

the chatter of girls unfolding into

a prater of nonsense, the moon

forming the love statue for the whores

who chatter on and on like a stale German wine!

August of 2018 to be

The wind howled all day long, unusual for August

When the child from the neighbourhood was blowing whistles

to calm the horsemen falling from the horses one by one

the day had come for reckoning of the king of the woods

Who shall be? The child had two friends who desired

to rule the woods but for this howling the sun had eloped

to the west under the thick shroud of the clouds,

It began to rain, and one by one the horsemen entered

the village’s guest house to smoke tobacco they had brought

from the faraway lands, the child too sniffed the tobacco

and rolled under the spell of the Gods, now rain had turned into sleet

and as the capping woods were becoming resplendent with water

she rolled the sleeves to let the day pass wholly, madly into the east

and into her folded skirt fell the diamond of the blue nest

and she became the queen of the woods, it was the tobacco

that plunged into the nostrils of the dove that let off the diamond

fall into the skirt of the dandy girl- a male malevolent annoyance

to the woods, she was crowned by the fire and the wine to taste

the last days of August – the queen of the woods an endearing cuckoo!