The God’s Son


Ravenously life proposes the dictums of love,
What there could be without love of a lady?
and the stars foretell the white umbrella,
Beneath which the God sits in heavens,
Marking the days of the calendar when,
Beautiful ladies meet their shadows in September,
The Sun dial would report the activity,
of visible light shedding the whiteness,
on edges where the ladies’ parasol rests,
in their white slender and puny hands,
playing ghosts to the blue light arcing,
on the third district of love,
in the southern skies, God’s son drinking Bacardi,
and getting light on the emotion of love,
for he has lost his heart to a damsel,
who lives on the sunny side of heaven,
What could be the fate of God men?
who are busy fanning the love to God,
as if God’s son is the last of the lovers,
dreaming of the velvety sand besides heavens,
With her hand in the bell jar , the fairy who
stole God’s son’s heart is serving five trays,
punishment in the hell,
This could be the fate of ladies who,
swear by thundering to see the light instead.


About Time

What of misfortune I talk about,

love and death are part of the same prime,

that inhabit the tribes of the world to route,

desolation and hunger,

to each’s locale,

and accord a living record,

to a solemn soul listening to life in umpteen types,

Thus love engulfed the mind with sacred fire of knowledge,

foregoing the algae and to pick up the domains which.

time put up as its fancies to talk to the humans,

if perchance,

and I venture to listen to time to say,

nothing ever would exist but the dust of the universe



When the earth was stardust waiting to form itself,

time must be there bending everything on its way,

but the earth struggled the steep slopes of time,

and formed till the man came around with consciousness,

to bend spacetime ever to live what once was stardust,

From where else the molecules of man came around,

but the stardust that once was everywhere the earth is now,

And then came she a billion years later in the scheme of things,

and stood at the corner waiting for love to arrive like light,

enlightening everything around her till she saw him coming.

and the moon shone its light far away a four billion years later

The Soccer match

Zombies stare out in the evening gleam,

Sunset having found its life stream on the horizon,

Luckily romance is a little wilder in the cafe,

That is showing a flick called Casablanca,

The neutrino star billion of miles away burn its core,

While he watches soccer at a mute destination called a bar,

Where from the roof is hung a football medallion,

And down under Inter Milan faces the German giants,

The star is stunned with the presence of Jove,

Who showed up his lucky face to watch the soccer contest,

I guzzle a beer,

And look at the orchestra now announcing the welcome of God,

There is no room for silence,

As she bakes a pie to enchant the guests,

Having taken their seats to watch the game,

There is no room for mediocre play,

All the bigwigs of Uefa hope the pope watches his watch,

There is silence in Cathedral as well as Bazaar,

My cousin feverishly pulled some vegetables from the Bazaar,

As I make myself comfortable with Bacardi and coke,

To celebrate as Maria had called the sun her lovely Beau,

The neutrino star is silent and aliens queue up in the space,

To watch the game,

God must be in his heaven,

As the zombie thought,

And underwent the game.

The Alien streak

The aliens we think are dots on the heavenly bodies far away,

transmuting to their coveted homes if they ever live like humans,

But still their techniques could be pyrotechnic engulfing the winds,

if they blow like solar storms on their planets, like a smoke from chimney,

they cook their wondrous food like a slew of plasma rays if they could,

chew the way we do, nonetheless fire in the skies might indicate,

their cities build for boom in their eternal lives ruled by compact discs,

that are pre-programmed when they are born to rule their destines,

Then sending signals from the earth could detect them in their acts,

and what is for the man a Paradise Lost could be for them regained.

The Sunken

There is death that puts end to all means,

whether glaring in the sky, the light shuns,

first the mountains, then the meadows and finally the sea,

it comes over in like a rush for the Violin,

that puts up dumb charade to singing,

The rain emotes all the feelings as if sunken in black,

the  death is awakening to sing the cheers of men,

there is no more life remaining but the ghost of one


In the middle of the night the flame was lit,

Only to be snuffed within an hour,

She wept by the window sill with a drink in her hand,

Much courage is of no use till you live grand,


He was a silent hero of another cage,

Where all wept profusely for mammoth age,

The stories of his courage was popular fiction,

He having mastered the unsurpassed diction,


She still was biding night,

When he knocked on the door,

There she opened the chamber,

Into her bedroom like never before,


They fell silent into the solemn night,

Nor ever there was a sound,

But the electric beat of mandolin,

Mixed with hard feet stretched around,


They were like frozen lake,

Having run off the frozen ground,

There they rested in each other’s arms,

To be paupers on starry alms,


Till the day arose,

And he having a lamentation spoke,

Forbid this land as golden haunt,

I live no more off your love rose,


The flame is long gone,

Now her chamber bore of no more love,

While she spends her covetous days,

In the memory of his lamentations like doves.