Just as you opened the door
I turned from beast to a man,
Through my face whirled
                    A tall yellow joy.

You might not have let me in
Could have called it inappropriate,
By mercy of that ferberance,
The day turns gold on my desire
Falls a blessed rain of petals.

You live now at impossible distance
Put distance at a remote
Near, don’t you recall
the far palisades of heavenly mirror?

The breeze, garlanded in jasmine
Wafted solitarily in afternoon
Only the homeless and stray mangy dogs
are my companions now

Upon your breast I’ll rest my thirsty mouth
My warm breath will touch your heart
is such a simple need a luxury
Instead of the bread of want?

Thwarted, it’ll root amid offal
Beat its heat at public ferry
Don’t remember that midnight
Who it was, disguised as a giant
Who broke down your door.

From within oblivion came/flesh of color
Like a shed of flax
Just as you opened the door

I turned from beast to a man

Rememberance
Old sorrows return like
tiny waves these days,
Return like bliss
They have ears and bodies now
Have wish and indifference
They don’t even speak face to face
They wander the blue ocean like white desire
And turn monsoon winds towards hills.

You may hear their soft talk
At the still horizons of night
They pick up the fallen ankle bells,
of the royal danseuse
and put them
upon a beggars palm.
They drown me under a
myriad yellow letter
An explosion shakes within my dream.

Emulation
Oh! God
Have you ever
experienced, in alone
such an intimate sorrow

The drowning of
Cups & cups of blood
from the heart,
Enough inn on the back
& crossfire on the stomach

Have you experienced
such an intimate repentance?
Do you know?
Only on the incomplete emulation
the sky loses some words
New news of living
are written on the pages of earth.

Land
Guns lay bare on the naked land
They all have a gun, perhaps a grain
Would they strive within sagacity’s laws
Or build the edifice of greed and lore.

As orators tried to constitute rulership
Loyalists stalked the execution of justice
As the widow lit her candle of anguish
A mass of rubble, tried to rise from injustice

Ashes of wealth lay buried in the sand
But what was ash? And what was sand?
Would it emerge from its ashes or sand?
Had the dead died for and idle land?
I ask myself, would it emerge at all
Remaining a myriad broken minarets
Possessed by powers of abundant fantasy
And the children of divided dreams.

Helpless
The river which started
by loosing its way from Himalayas
The postcard of the absconding son
sent from Benaras,
Nothing, Nothing ever
remains in the midway.

May be it gets little late
Many paddy fields burn in between
Holding two kids on the lap
A deceased woman stands on the way.

How come the sandy deer
gets the fragrance of
budding gram from the sun?
If that was known
perhaps there won’t be so much loss.

Seeing a patch of burnt grass
on the mango garden
We wouldn’t have thought
that fire has spread
in the whole world..