In the wind, the light pages in my calendar fly up,turn next and last, and give a scrambled view.
My first taste was that of my mother's breast... My first touch was her skin ere I opened my eyes...
The season changes.
The tar of showers scratches into the clouds.
With my branches, I can touch the black.
The sky is concealed
and I love black.
I hear the taps of raindrops
drizzling down from yesters…
I don’t write when I am happy.
I tend to laugh it out,
And imbibe the tears that roll
GOD, STAY THERE.
You have the trial today.
The gambling of diaspora.
Each place is an imagined solace where
peace sojourns… just sojourns.
My shadow departs.
To all my questions
A dream wakes me up.
It oozes out the last drop
Priorities break away.
The option remains.
In the verge of decay,
arely these windows get opened.
Now it is such another time…
A small branch which my mother gave
Memories scramble over the tenses I use.
Past, present, future… all become the same
At some point of a simple grammar mistake.
I’ve written so much!
O God, it’s really too much!
My emotions, my frustrations,
May it be a nuance
of the syllabic silence
This day, the sun turns black
to herald the shine
on the other zenith.
Hear my right person, my driver!
You lead me through my roads
and drive for me my turnings.
I was like that moon then, alone in the dark.
The stars blinked, my wait was tranquil.
I got withered away with every snor of earth.
Oh, my friend!
What’s death that scares you
and sets your heart’s mighty sun!
The earth gets stuck for a minute.
The clouds are still.
For this was on seynt Volantynys day
Whan euery bryd comyth there to chese his make.
[For this was Saint Valentine’s Day,
The cool palm of this rain
drew some sweet picture
on my forehead…
Death is the ultimate equalizer
that puts end to the unequalled destinies,
to the unequalled construction of living bodies,
“Passed aeons, since we spoke the last”
I scrawled it in the wall that is raised between us,
The temple celebrates grace.
The hard rocks are there in the centre, called idols.
Gold ornaments adorn those black structures.
Against the common,
My emotions will speak
With the smoke whirling up from the hot pages of my diary,
a nude face shows up, expressions torn off.