Unrequited

It was raining again
Rain that deludes solitude
Solitude that imposes a grinning self-assurance
The void's rheology that grasps again
And on such a night
I miss your floral scarf
And the imaginary brush of your hair
On my delightful eyelids, that would not shut
For the vision and touch of such purity
Solitude is restiveness i must submit to
But the flurries of thought of your nearness
The sting of time, the cloud of eiderdown
Where alien sickness pervades
And words , like randomness keep on pouring
Till the candle burns out, the last vestige of warmth

The November letter

The first letter of Spring,
First hint of magnolia on a summer so blue
A far fetched flight across the lime drenched noon
Fell, like a red leaf of Fall
So did the fragrance of her nailpolish
Flew from the olive hued letter
Every fresh morning, draped in white
Every little tread , flurry of anxiety
Seeks shelter, may be in forlorn scribbles
Away from the glance of the universe
Thread of mortality gleams still
The first drench of monsoon
Warm tears that fell on my shoulders
But never so warm again, only
More distant than reality can fathom

Fleeting


We can go anywhere,
From the dingy suburbia
To the jostling city
May be nowhere, just you and me
Till the smoke runs out
Beyond whispers and million laughters
We will start from zero, under a starlit night
Pass the neon lights, holding hands
Painting the town, lost in the windshield
Scuffling, shuffling , breathing and sighing
Your meek fingertips, lonesome insanity
Talking about revolution , minutes
May be not with words, but with silence
Stealing the mystical dews of the night

Return

May be I will return on a windy night
Amongst the green meadows, smelling the wheat and corn
May be not as a man, but in the guise of a lark
Dressed in mists, dissolved in the fog
As the tears of the idiot wind.

Appeal

It glittered around half past ten. Still cold , numb fingers needed some warmth-delicate and less promising. Images keep coming, sans source, just cluttering the brain, making it more lonesome than usual. Tried to interpret them, and in that effort extrapolated it to some scattered day in future. Unusually colored it was, I could hear a faint laughter, could see an unvanquished smile, the world was slowly brightening up. A world I seemed to have less knowledge of. A little speck of dust struck my eyes, floated in the humor, as if it was its home. And it swum, oblivious of its terminal fate. The eye became more viscous, and visions fainter. It felt like pain, could have only guessed it, being totally unaware of what pain is. Perhaps just a word ,coined to address a class of desperation poets feel in their parallel universe. Well, mine seemed more real, and less cosmic. Didn't want to redeem myself of that unnamed feeling, and its humble intercourse. Without any semblance of subordination the matrix engulfed the life that was still running. The warmth imploded in my veins, the hand felt a soft touch, perhaps more enigmatic than the decadent vision....

To be continued

Any colour you Like

Choose any colour of confession
Or of the fury of the Indian summer
I have oil green , ethnic blue
cultural red, tribal orange
Cyan delight of Memphis blues
Fragmentary black crows of Nebraska
Paint as you will, or use them all
Make the sketch lonesome, flickering
Speak of tired horses, or of cosmic weariness
Of buckets of rain, of chimes of freedom
And the dancing child of white shadows
Walk away further, away from my vision
Let not my weariness be framed
In the bare grace truth of acrylic
But free my mortality, in your brushstrokes
And decline I must these colorful glories
Six hundred acres deep criticized fears

Unbereft orchards

We can borrow the cracking of the wind
And the those silent lilies, bare in the vast landscape
Obscured to calmness, hitchhiking to the empty sky
I smell home in your archaic gypsy suit,
And the magnolia blues of the childhood afternoons
Before the summer rain, you would read Rainer
And as the monsoon washed out the green meadows
Paranoia crept in your lines, in your desolate lillies
Whiskey drenched, my weathered arms reached out
Only to find you sting again.

Palo Cortado : The waltz


Under the cage of violet moon
That stir of time and eternity
Raising glasses on the Spanish night
The vibrant flamenco, feel of psaltery
The shining meek Cuban Cajon
And your liquid finesse , silent and starving.
Spiral black orchid of the Celtic night
Smooth, lascivious you waltzed
Transitory, caught in a net of kisses
My unease annihilated, as you glittered
And brushed your Napoli scarf
Smelling Fiori di capri, encumbered Carthusian delight
Starry child , incite the immutable poet
To a cascade of ricochet, delicate as Sherry..

Poetess IV : North Country and Bob Dylan


Thunder on the crooked highway
As you strolled , and the storm brewed across
Restless, lonesome vision of June
You feared the liquor roads, the green miles
And my tobacco firm, slain in the gutter
An empty ashtray , where you would once poke
With your slender fingers, stingy disapproval
And as the freewheeling poet sang in the radio
You would stumble, in merry
Rain would be falling, on my broken window panes
Seething down the ceiling, creeping along your skin
You and I never talked much,
But as the storm would die on the jingles and tangos
Your weariness flew across the empty North country roads
You preached conscience, depravity and love, that
The smoke rings of my vacant mind refused -
The cricket chirping alleys, lonely North country meadows
Not even a note, you left with the monsoon..

Poetess III : Merciless

Nothing but the dark room stared at me
And in that comfort, my spirit went somewhere
In that damned civilization, where you live
With imagination, without realms of past.
Crosslinked, immobile , chained
Encumbered to the infinite imageries
Tangled to Victorian decadence
Wrapped in the surge of poetry
And when it arrives to you
formless, on forgotten eves
You would write to me -
Unabated, fracturing the night
And my shapeless ego would crumble
Perished in that merciless infinity.

Poetess II : Oblivion

You still remember the leaping streams
The tremulous murmuring of leaves -
And bouquet of words that you wrote
Percolating through shadows
Like an easy summer breeze,
A sudden bustle in the lonely twig
Peeling the bare forest of its silence
And as the twilight came, I erased
My fruitless signatures , 'cause all my infinitesimal being
Was nothing but a crater of your riddles.

Poetess I : wilderness

For two years I walked the earth
As the chaos ridden years took you away
To some formless cloudy blood red sky
No phone, no words, no pets, no cigarettes.
Ultimate freedom.
I was no longer poisoned by the civilization you fled
The freedom in simple beauty was too good to pass up
For some unanswered questions and cadaverous wounds
Your only gifts are harsh blows,
And occasionally the waves to feel strong.
Now I don't know much about you,
but I do know that that's the way it is here
When the calm is setting in -
In the most ancient of human conditions,
Facing the blind death stone alone,
With nothing to help you but your hands
And your own flickering dreams