You went blank on the line
between sand and water,
between seizure and assault.
The tribes have unwrapped their torches,
they are coming in numbers.
Who was going on trial?
Fierce fidelity is demanding vendetta.
The drummer announces the fight.
Justice parts the lips for
peace against tragedy!
The golden voice caves in.
Time moves as a profane octopus –
suckers clasping on the vital stomata.
Green blood oozes from eyes.
The truce was transient.
Childless earth throws up the flames.
He made me move on the rough edges
to the abyss of ‘ I ’, persuasive, but strong
for a thrilled journey, on the snow-clad
relationship between disquietening
follicles of wants.
Completely alert, still drowning in fear
of abstract river, of fire, of nodal pain
of self-destruction. Suicide was below dignity.
This was annihilation of the present, past and future
in realm of faith versus asexual love of sin.
Only one moment was sufficient to disturb me,
between me and my flips, between captive
and captor. The quiet honing of silence
for breeding vowels and petals of narcissus.
Black moon, I always loved you.
Living on margin he was deceived again.
A grasshopper was perched on door
shedding green pigment.
Granary was empty and he was,
worried about the health of nation.
Glare and splendor always hurt his eyes.
In the name of prosperity, leftovers
set the dirty houses apart
from polished faces.
He was again afraid of interior –
bursting with statements of elegance,
releasing the bald answers to nettled questions.
The stench was glorified discreetly,
giving a pause to sorrow.
Who was destroying the sweetness?
Trying to follow truth
his journey was nightmarish.
Alchemic fusion with past and future failed –
his bowl was still empty.
In the inner space
a largesse, free of present,
becomes the pain of perfection!
Now what to do next?
More afraid of life than death
he tried to manage the fear,
the futility of becoming somebody,
the nihility of ripening in celebrations.
In the darkness, an eye looks
beyond the stars, at timeless silences
of hope, waking, slits of dreams
like lasers, creating new designs.
Tryst with nano was like burning in hell.
Headless body of truth,
turning into invisible particles
flaunts an absent God.
The mist envelops a rag picker –
sleeping on the payment.
Hunger fresh grown will be served,
when sun rises.
Indelible ink an yellow pages
bearing the burden of unborn grief
inherits this globe, the ashes
of burnt out words.
To slice a hope in stark terror
he thought to bid holy goodbye
to destiny, and let himself go
in the shadow of weeping deads.
The orange moon looked mutilated.
Quietly stood a suicide bomber,
ready to get killed for a home in white heaven
and destroying the leaping stars.
Who had the blood on the hands?
Hiding in the white gown,
crossing the shelter, to dropp the guilt
on the road, never to look back.
Century of oppression, like baked blood
shines on the coffins of martyrs.
At dawn the pariahs promise to lead
the band towards democracy.
Children of stink, cannot smell the rose.
Lithium in their blood
fathers were happy.
Power over the fire of groins,
was a music to ears.
Everything else was secondary.
The wishes squealed
on the mattresses.
Grief was served in the bed.
Big tears flowing
on the cheeks of ice.
Antarctica was crying.
Sexed up vendetta
did not kill a fly.
Bee was hovering over the heads.
I will expand till infinity.
Life will take care
of ferocious clauses.
Poaching on the brooding landscape
you crashed while scaling the flame.
A togetherness became a half-truth.
I had been for basics.
Then shifting loyalties for petty things
you were holding up my soul,
and I did not move with the changing times.
For the rivers
to walk with green trees.
If the words had the answers
to rebel against the eternal guilt,
to beat the death with pain.
for the faded truths.
My experiments with lies will continue!
How far? How far the goodness will survive?
Born to suffer, a troubled mind
was punished, for melting down.
Livid with revenge sun bleaches
the man made God, a personal anger.
Executioner was on the street
lighting bonfires of your principles.
A silent hope revolts, like green fire,
evergreen, possessing the pride spurts
of hot flames, as the age grows,
the grieving will stop, and when the borders sleep,
it will rise on the horizon, a new moon on
a majestic innocence
of pure hills in sky!
Throwing the prosthesis, he jumped for
numericals, refusing to expand,
walk with father of sorrow
He wanted to talk as an equal
in interpretation of truth about death
and God, the new incumbent
An aptness to spill the blood on
your face, of some recent slaughter,
as a witness of dying for peace,
as soothing law of nature.
He wears the fabric of inspiration:
the city and streets are empty
weaving the welts of pain,