a tryst with the colossal fluid

I did not perceive the ocean but saw the tiring waves trying to veil some thing, just as the blue, the ether and the words, the truth.The salty tang and the fishy reek lingered as a few unshaken rocks stood like some frozen primeval thoughts. An adolescent moon hung around waiting to be seen.

The sun went down in to explore, blushing red, now quicker, and closer and burning with desire. The enormous liquid glistened and quivered in the dark, like a majestic Apsaras, the lovely seductress, as hidden enticements seemed to work. The abrupt initiative of the Sun shook to wrest the vague, frigid gloom, to workout a grand celebration. The vast deeps were dug through the core of it’s being; and the potency of the space time confluence breached the dams of sublime swells. The obscure, touched the abstract curves and concaves of the element, the roar, yells, the aura, pervasive and powerful, thrashing the physical, to a wild climax, quenching the thirsty, erogenous zones of the sinuous ego. Few drops of sweaty salt touched my lips in the course of the stirring convulsions of the massive humps, as waves after waves of ecstasy striven and stretched to reach new heights of release.

Brutal power, now, heaved me in, enveloped, as snake like cool frothy edges touched my feet unawares, giving shock of a mysterious presence, dwarfing the physical, echoing a great mystery of the spirit, submerging Me, the only Witness to the secretive, amorous and fierce passions of fluid Love…….

a night of beautiful madness

waxing confessions, melting away, liquefying, messing up the altar; dreary candles too fragile to burn away sins lingering as frozen sermons, equidistant from me and you.

Tonight I will sneak a look at you through the crack,you wreaked in my mind; jealousy nakedly shaping the voyeur in me with a vengeance waiting for those silken robes to move away. I will keep the windows open for your primeval blemish to deflect from the glassy cupboard of books in the corner,in to my amorous heat standing alone in a crook. I will eavesdrop with an ear close to the pane for the warped wails wilting in to stripped shadows on the wall.But you are several silences away. Instead I hear the hushed chants of the owl seducing in its pallid day;I hear them escaping the flue, blending with my obsession’s lingering glue; Now you are here touching me too close at the edge of the window, the blemish, hidden by an unfocused love’s foliage;you smelt of night flowers, in full blush, encircling, madly taking over, straddling my being with a sensation,an ecstasy so ancient.

Then you ran off with me in a lunatic dream whetting my nocturnal illusion - the scarred one up in the heavens.

A Flawed Finale

The murky bundles of sin wove drapes around the heavens. Black tresses-like, dense, curly fur lazily spread in front, partly covering the mount. The features now remained hidden by design, from view, though the flashes of light revealed the crevices; dried-up channels like nail marks tapered down up to the valleys. The drums beat like the heart, audible in the nervous silence, gradually mounting in tempo. The blazing light was too flickering like in a night club; soft breezy caresses callously rousing frivolous expectations overflowing with the sensual prospects, rubbing out the pent- up fretfulness, giving space for indulgence; like the bushy dry grass vainly waiting for trickles of releasing wetness; the cleft, below the mounts seemed to quiver in bare anticipation of a surging torrent. The fields were scorched and separated by thin skinned boundaries, which served as the passage. In dry nakedness earth lay back in the blissful prospect of moisture in its arid bushy haunches.

I looked up at the array of hills brushing the horizon. I heard a distant rumble. Rain clouds had gathered and covered the hills.I walked and waited for the rain to stream my parched mind.The bundles of black cotton peeking from the tips of the south east horizon carried a breezy cheerfulness, amorous and frivolous. Dogs now changed to elephants as bearded fakirs got converted to old model cars. The rest of the vast expanse remained a faded blue where a flock of crows crossed hurriedly.A blurred, unsure moon, sans scars, lazily lingered.I walked; my nostrils craving for the muddy reek and body, the slashes of gushing rainwater.Three forth of the firmament was now covered with the black thunder clouds. Lightning flashed like so many dragons splitting the ether to pieces .The palm trees did not budge in the wind that was slowly gathering momentum; may be the vampires were still asleep on it.

Then abruptly the rain clouds had disappeared as strong winds herded them off to more virtuous places where righteous people lived and waited. I saw remnants of its trail in the far nook of the horizon. I felt sad and dejected as I walked my way back the winding path leaving behind, the dried-up hopes. The sky seemed downcast as one, who couldn’t weep, like the eye that couldn’t shed a tear

I looked back and the hills stood abandoned, barren and apathetic as a gust passed me by like a sigh that exhausted a suppressed desire.

off the perch

dark nebulous room, no moon, eyelids can’t bat,
taut clutch of its density, gasp in the grasp; destiny
tied with last hope, time taking place,
in the non-breathing dreams, day-trapped fireflies,
locked in mislaid doorjambs, wedging fallow womb’s,
in the strait for flight, a sticking night overlies
a black claret vein, giving off a self’s getaways,
evading, in vain, ill fated ways,
in to the essential dark night,
vivid as darkness, a spot with an abated intellect,
remote in a small makeshift night of deceit;
tapping me with my body trapped
in the cerebral portholes, gaping neurotic Elysium,
where, there is a nowhere,
a night’s perceiver alternating, now, here.

Recycling Delusion

at times,
an orgiastic butterfly’s gnaw,
turns buds into rocks,
on top of bountiful hills.
with the lightning touch,
the crevices befall full-blown;
a zephyr, kissing
calm into a storm.
and for a song,
rambling cries swap
timeless waste.
vapor gilding down
the waist,
probing the trails of
parched ferns
thirsting for dewdrops.
the frissons, welled up,
beautifully weave
blushes on
maniacal visages
meddling
the origins of the whole,
in the navel.
lazing around,
in wrapped up truth,
gaze seemingly begging ,
for wicked mercy;
enacting surrender,
swelling the bliss;
in the snake’s stranglehold,
the breath gets sucked away,
by hot spewing grins.
the restrained wail
of a mute tree,
in the wilds, yielding
to a python’s
winding squeeze
echoes
in to the spinal caves.
the seeds of the fruit,
awaiting, once again
to be recycled
in to the gutter of release,
or salvation?

Deliverance

The chants were audible only to the serpents. The wails of the trapped moon in the mossy pond were muted by green envious claws. Then, lunacy turned into a bubble and escaped through the orifice, before it closed and positioned on the ancient, dim alleyways; it grew aged and gray like a man and howled. The fallen souls gathered around the mossy covers developed tentacles to reach the submerged moon.

The chants transpired and became manifested as snakes. They slithered over and unsheathed the mossy blocks with serpentine ruptures.

A rapturous moon waited for darkness to fall to stealthily make its way.

The terrain shrugged as the hiding ones behind the betel leaves became bats, now perched on the vines, unwarily jumped in to the crystal pond in ravenous spirits, to drown in absolute freedom.

The chants had not stopped but the howls had. The snakes crawled into the wholes of its subtle, unseen presence.

The moon, reluctant to depart, lingered in the pond and reflected on another one, up in the skies.

Erratic Dreams

Apertures held on to the limits
reluctantly acquiescing to the invading existence.
sensuous dreams, quivering screams,
voyeurs, vampires and well-off wasps,
seething obsessions and sneaking snakes,
-names trafficking the gaping wholes,
fell off from unknown crevices,
stripping garbs off from form.
the deeps were still,
trying to shake off the skin.
when the twilight sand changed to coal,
shimmering black reptiles lengthened
to reach the aloofness of the invisible quay,
clad in fleshly gorgeous wastes of shells
thrown away by probing hands.
the scene, a silent scheme,
as dressed voids stole in;
tides stretched out to touch the trees
to flee with, untied from tedium,
pleading consent from yet another
unnamed survival.
the night would still be here
and now in the present
for a few more ticking seconds,
cloaked as hope,
in the black holes of slumber.

The rain-affected

I looked up at the sky roofed by a black gloom that trickled out glistening foils. In a procession, the drops hugged the electric wire, gliding hesitantly, clinging desperately before falling down. Rain plainly fortified my being, the rumble sinking the dissonance of a muted barrenness. Delights blossomed like flowers flying like birds through the apertures of my mind’s barricades. Like a cocktail the distant whine of an aircraft (carrying many dreams) merged with the murmur of water spattering on the tin roof of the shed, giving me the needed exhilaration that expelled all inhibitions. Collected water in the roof kept tumbling in a fall to the plastic can now overflowing with cool wrinkles.
The sharp odor of an old paint fine-tuned my senses to a strange familiarity, coloring an indolent blue to my awareness. A lone crow sat hiding in the grove trapped by the torrential pour, a dull futility reflecting in its eyes. Images of the inhabitants of a distant nest insensitively flashed in its reconciled manner.
The rain stopped but the ether acquired a resolute blackness, at once obstinate and prepared for the next battle.
The crow flew away. I felt cheerless; a breeze chafed past a puddle in the country road, goose pimples becoming miniature waves hitting the small shores. I heard cries of small children..
Old news papers that reported droughts changed to boats sunk and stuck in the mud, little grass in the banks danced in the gentle wind quivering in the sides, tiny feet trampling upon..
I saw drenched sparrows perched on wet scarecrows in the damp soil fluttering in mock glean of hollow seeds,now flying away to become dreams waiting on the dusty windowsill of my stuffy room in the attic;cluttered and smelly but absurdly secure from the dead chameleon’s curse (I remember another rainy day as a child) still lingering as sorrow, sleeping on my burrowed eyebrows...

nightfall on the aged factory

shadows and echoes silhouetted amid weeds
on well-dressed windows, hindering, the view
of stripped auditors with CEOs,
in the introverted night-light,
the fading moths in the shadows,
a satiated cat, in the meadows,
the factory, a raven lacking in wings,
eager to take off ,
wind bouncing off unhinged tin sheets
shrieking a howl of grouses, quivering
in a stunning spasm akin to a fake frisson,
the inexplicable insides
murmuring an old contraption’s stutter;
crunched credits lay side by side
with unwashed linen in a bunch,
among bank badges,
wrenching- hooks, ‘black holed’ sledge hammers,
mindless and tainted
among pledged stocks ; salt-rubbed ,
branded goodies, abandoned,
oiled, greased and tattered skirts, under the table,
skeleton of a skirted albatross in the neck.
culpable fallow rubbers, inflatable,
making a child’s innocence afloat,
lingering, lacy longings unvoiced
among the umpteen pads of invoices.
the silent phone with saturated giggles,
the corroded columns, like so many phalluses,
incomplete, pending stimulus.

Eternal Masquerades

The umpteen icons stayed secreted in the rocks, like so many fetuses united in consciousness. The sky endured blues in the earthen pots. The night whispered in the shade, as a horse’s neigh muffled the feigns of the galloping desire’s reign. The breathless ether tried to break the facades. The rocks became shores when destroyed to pull out idols to be tamed to eternal shackles; to lead a relic’s life. The sky was masked by blue and the sea obscured by waves. Pretentious clouds performed like quacks hastily disappearing to shelter. A chameleon’s rebirth as star was an apparent redundancy in the northeastern firmament; though the ever changing hues freed me from the clutches of many a symbol’s fetters. The dissonance of noises hushed the truth of silence. Then, ice was ultimately broken to make salt dolls to be bathed in infinite oceans. The sheaths, peeled off and heaped in, now became trees for men to perch on as birds.

The Face of the Witness

My rapport, primeval,
touched me too close
at the edge of the windowpane.
The blemish, hidden
by the unfocused
love’s foliage.
Dark phases dripped
through the tunnels of the ether.
The gentle wind’s shining scent
cached a star’s remembrance.
The sky, having been pushed in,
sneaked in through the north east.
The stress was on
the concave of the senses,
mind panting, in the rapid intelligence.
The panicking oceans looked east
for the shade of the sun.
Being was all over the place, on time,
in many names and forms.
In the depth of the whole
I was the sole witness.

The Dull Aftermath

The worn-out dawn did not whine;
stains of the old wine’s red,
smeared the edge of gray.
The shady hill stood like a phallus
penetrating the frigid blues.
Orgy of the preceding night’s black
had sapped away the blush
from the overexerted spheres,
satiated and now colorless.
The batter of the lover
out of the blue,
the electrifying caresses
flaming the crevices
in to a yearning exhibition
of stunning outlines.
The incessant rumble
of drums in the dreams
of the lovesick soldier.
The sky came near to the ground
to partake the earth’s quake,
gasping in ache and the lust’s reek.
The deep gorges thrusting out
in craving submission
and the gushing flow of
thundering love filling
the wild vales now given in.
The languorous, gray sky
reflected another dreary mind.

Dried out Oceans

Darkness absorbed her black tresses
inept to mask the deep seas
that looked intently at me.
This impenetrable night was deeper
than the black oceans in my garden
The squall had drowned and the tide ebbed,
the taste of the salty drops still lingered.

The oceans desiccated to the last tear,
left no evidence of presence
in the excuse of the cloaked night
the immensity of vast spaces
weighed me down,
as embodied lust disguised as love
rubbed salt on future wounds;
a gentle wind mimicked the muffled sighs,
the whining moment’s
Elusive entwinements.

The heartless train’s howl far-off,
left desolation's tiny scraps
in the retreating station.
Her eyes soaked up distances,
the intervals stretching the strings of heart.
Melancholic baits of the scarred gait
swelled agony’s torture
The mind powerless to cope,
lonely-heart’s yearning for hope.

The dawn will lie to me
with out a hint of betrayal;
‘a dream within the dream’
where I will hear
a desertion’s tearing scream.

The Vanishing Causeway

The concrete bridge is melting
and the undulating reflections try
to trespass and take away the here and now.
The upstream and downstream merged
like the mislaid extremes of beginning and end,
being and becoming,
overlapping the pane of perception.
The embodied subtlety,
encircled the infinity.
And beyond the circles, more infinity lay
under mysterious circumstances.
I reached beyond where the eye could reach
trying to feel some resistant partitions
that would enhance the futility of my search
beyond perpetuity
gaining some meaning to the edges
of my intelligence.
A dream would intercept my deep sleep
waking me up to more unreality of wakefulness
where I am awakened to juggle the time and space
on my small palms,
when the coiled serpent has reached its destination
traveling up the tunnel of surprises.
Infinity appeared staring at me in awe
measuring up to my imaginations.
Relativity went pale [having caught in the act]
in the face, for the dramatic enactments
backstage. There were only words
and only many syllables like faded graffiti in a ghetto,
well written on a sheet of contaminated water
having lost all connotations.
The flip side of the coin shaped like an octagon
lost it’s edges to the great circle ever expanding.
For the first time I saw standing there,
beyond which was neither void
nor the mystifying space, Me.

A Stifled Night’s Silence

The muted light that slept
in the shack of the Electricity Department
in the distance
shed the color of silence.
A single moth threw itself to make things sparkling
at this moment of squander.
The zoomed- in visions carried wraiths
yearning to exist yet another night of hidden plots.
The rusted iron gate, the old electric lines
the two stars hung in between
looked like suspended hopes,
even the darkness couldn’t light up.
Pieces of ashen thoughts camouflaged as vapor
tried to cover up the pointless flicker above,
none to behold.
At this hour of black futility,
the glimmer in the ether seemed superfluous
which the moon generously frittered away.
A breeze over passed me, knowing my thoughts well,
touching a few insignificant leaves
up on the tamarind tree,
unsolicited.
This wakeful night was appropriate,
for dreams- of old generators
and broad high tension wires,
cold and powerless and filled with cowardice.
Up in the room in the attic I was smeared
by the dust on the windowsill,
spreading in me a sense of refuge;
in the stuffy enclosure,
the smell of burned leather and old paint
sheltered me from the senseless redundancy
that lay outside.

unfeigned zones

They weren’t dreams; they were distended, liquefied images. I looked for the shore, sans foot marks, but knew, they have been sucked in, without leaving a faint trace, by snakes, cold and frothy, resembling entwined mysteries.Interlaced remains of carnal gloom under the gray nightfall, waited just round the corner behind dark boulders of rocks cursed and doomed to be frozen in time.The presence of the gargantuan finale didn’t preclude a cool breeze from counseling me in hushed whisper of the many masked proofs. Visages emerged from the recesses of the deep, definable and otherwise, dark like my slumber on the threshold of the door that opened in to the vast, roaring waters. Clouds now entered the room in the attic and slipped down the stairs, like a prelude to nature’s splendid wakefulness.Silence was like chaff in the gaining roar, trying to contain the many grumbles and moans of love and hate,climaxing;but the song evaded it.I fought back swimming through the sand, wading through shells of existence, seeing the reflection of my city in a mirror. I looked back; the winding road seemed never to end.The few grains of sand trapped in my pocket still seemed to listen…….to the roar.

the moonlit junkyard

gloominess above, shone on
the talcum powder tin [with a dim cologne?]
laid away from the mound,
the meadow hiding its brand
and the old transistor radio’s band,
in-tact and young
heaving hopes of an elapsed song,
the shells of the unsorted, trouncing
the expectations of the still bouncing,
thrown away hastily for the standby
time packed capsules, waiting expiry,
near clammy bottled expectorants
coughing sick of windless hollows,
the cat yawning near the old hat
smelling baldness
and brief skin-deep holds
among burned incriminations
akin to dead arid sperms.

the remains of a busted conscience

I felt wretched for what I had done and stood, staring at the stone,

pensive but repentant as a felon, trying in vain to repress a moan.

Stubs of dehydrated grass had buried the aged trail, at the end of which was the pit. I retraced the lost path with the aid of the sign post- the tree, still breathing. A few dry leaves huddled and held onto the twig on the edge, in obvious unwillingness to leave, indifferent to the breeze. The mirth of the ignorant ones in green seemed eternal. The same old sky stood gaping, bored by the weariness of being and like an unfocused mind. The graying daylight accepted the quarter of an insecure recluse in a fading white rag. Now my curiosity made way to nervousness as the edges of the ditch became visible through a maze of overgrowth. Time moved. I saw it moving backwards touching many spaces previously passed through .The sky looked alert and interested. I bent over and stared in with the faltering eye of an immoral. I saw the one boulder. Then I saw it. I saw the remains of the bone.

I swear, it was a feigned hunt,
an easy kill in front, a child’s mere stunt
just dropping a flat stone on the
entrapped chameleon.

I returned with the heart of a child, relieved, with the many children now getting back home after a game of football. The sky had vanished and the moon now watched over many other buried skeletons.

a tryst with the moon

The round glow hid my dreams on the flip side and raced away from my vaporized moan; then out of the blue it hung around to gaze down at me, chasing me in my lawn. I lay down on my back to swallow the breezy radiance above. Love was in the air with a tinge of ache for the many beautiful moments stolen by the cloaked time.
A million love-drenched lakes and blushed cheeks sent out melancholic reflections, back to the scarred romantic.
Then I saw, hastily cruising past two dark wings, the petrified face of a lunatic, throwing ominous glances down at the creepy cemeteries where fearful dogs howled; and emitted ethereal rays for the crazy minds to seize.
It emerged cool and gentle having bathed in a thousand earthen water pots in diverse forms. The awareness of the impact of entire oceans lifting up to touch its invisible rim dazed my mind which saw mountains, valleys and great walls under its magic charm.

As I was still gazing at it and searching for the traces of the cotton seed that was blown up by the child in me, over the coconut tree to merge with it, a drop of dew fell on my cheek trapping its reflection.

sound effects silent thoughts

Noise enslaved silence in its lap with a cord of correlation; effects of which were present since 'I was'. Susceptible to ruptures, silence appeared to be visibly brittle and breakable unable to show off its existence, but deftly obscured all worlds with a sheet of perceptible nothingness, hiding away all hints of its amorphous being. Amazingly unfathomable, though, became sweet-smelling, fine-looking and easy on the ear, the more one delved in ;as the inevitable Nearness drew in and assumed sovereignty over black and white,day and night, heat and cold, pleasure and pain,time and space .....and silence and noise.

a stifled sigh’s smolder

the weathered, rugged recesses,
raked up the
reek of firewood
and dry orange peels.
an ant racing
the dusty windowsill’s
cluttered mustiness;
wrenched wings in apertures
of busted glassy windows
reflecting broken expressions;
the stench of old smears,
burning charcoal
fanned by fumes of aches,
sad and longing,
the small niches
molding thoughts
of tangible abstractions
of a disheveled past,
reviving a wistful day
of damp dreams
where, time, an arid river
of vagueness,
filled the dream I saw
of my room
adjacent to the barn
in the northern side
of the old house .

An unearthly hour’s anecdote.

I sat at the balcony and surveyed the gray night that spread like a shroud. The rain had just stopped, bringing up a heat that lay secretive underground, with a band of moths that circled the gloomy streetlight. The flutter of its wings betrayed what was to come with in a few moments but the relative time, the illusion’s partner, gave, as usual, a confidence to them as it does to all, about the imbibed concept of eternal life. They seemed to escalate the brightness of the idle light that reflected off their wings. The dynamism impressed me more than their presence of mind.

I held back thoughts, about life’s fleeting nature, stirred by the circling moths and looked beyond the opposite street. A few lights haven’t yet ‘slumbered’ in the blocks at a distance. Aloof in a corner of the firmament an aircraft flew silently, at times giving a faint murmur not quite audible to a languid mind. The rotating lights blinking and disappearing in to a world of fantasy. I tried to fancy the kind of people inside it, their images were as vague as the dreams they carried with them.

The strains of an old song long forgotten floated in the air. A cool breeze caressed me to make me comfortable in my indolence. Wasn’t there a pale shadow of emptiness that enveloped me? I could not discriminate between the feelings of monotony and weariness, the stillness of time had instilled. I looked further than and saw in the dim light the visage of an old man moving around in his room a few blocks away. I wondered what occupied his mind at that point of time. The river of time had flowed past, the last drops about to reach the destination. The old man now sat at a place and began writing some thing.

The moths were not many now. Some of them were now lying under the post, waiting, their wings lost. The neighbor’s cat so familiar with my household was loitering around the electric post playing foolish pranks. All cats behave like strangers outside their houses.

The blaring of a siren far away roused me from my thoughts. A fire engine or an ambulance? I gazed casually at the opposite house. The old man was still writing. The night sky turned to a dull gray. A few stars emerged .I didn’t know where the moon was. I looked at the cedar now fresh and clean from the rains. The tree seemed to rain, the lingering thoughts of the past. A bat flew in and hung on it. Wondered what it felt about this night, or day? It must be living where the world ended, only conscious of itself. I thought the bat was fortunate to be basking in the absolute truth of being. Who knows?

All lights in the houses in front except the old man’s went off. The night was beautiful. I could see it, feel it. There was a hint of fragrance of the night flowers in the air mixed with one reeking fish from the deeps a few miles away. The night sea would be magnificent and dreadful with snakelike frothy edges touching one unawares. Coming back to ‘the here and now’ my mind fell into a lull. An owl’s persistent drone rent the air. A scarred moon was now faintly visible through the veil of a dark cloud as the last of the moths disappeared. An old dog howled fearfully. I woke up abruptly; the dawn was about to break but it was still black. I gazed carelessly in front. The light in the old man’s house was still on.

a third from duality

molecules far between,
a few light-years
feeble to enfold time and space,
tried the fallopian vestibules
flocking in to bud new worlds,
as time masked as mind
hemmed in legroom for space
through a runnel of desire,
heaved in by a rope of blood;
however broke away from freedom
to become the ironic third,
fashioned from duality.

the oblivion

hidden behind the gaze
basking in where the bats flew
bearing a black mantle
through a tunnel in the spine,
the misnomer
ignored the palpable truth
of the knower and
flew where ignorance lived
with the nocturnal perceptions
of the inebriated,
merging with dark ‘unawareness’,
nonetheless conscious
of the ‘unconscious’

The old photograph

A frozen point in infinity
The lifeless flower’s vanity
And the ever-smiling faces’
Arrested moments fading.

Left behind to stand, constant
Many left the scene, hesitant
Pointless images, Irrelevant
Showcase of absurd life, transient

Strange faces near stained vases
Stagnant shadows and rigid gazes
The eyes forever waiting
Wistfully anticipating

Black distorting the white
Like the night the day
The child’s innocence, sweet
Like an eternal pretense’s sheet.

The Ether in the Earthen Pot

What's common between
The sky in the pot
And the icons suffocating in the rock
The clouds without name and form
And the dead clock put backwards

The mould gone, water and fire withdrawn
Broken in to five, the pot
Longing to merge, the ether,
Like me, in to freedom
From thought, time and place.

Monumental Blocks

The stack of yesterdays
Suspended in columns, lay
Like leaning pillars gray
Stuck in mind’s darker bay

Bricks of memories lay
Precariously in harms way
The formation of time swayed
As in an earthquake, astray

Like in futures deal, Judgments
Assailed the life’s only Present
Building mammoth monuments
Out of mental blocks of mirage

SURREAL CLOUDS

The sky entered through the north east and ran over all rooms inside my house,including pots, but not those foot balls, I guess, inside of which, my mind didn't seem to discern the hidden; But marveled at what came about to the ether displaced by the great ball under my feet and the trees and mountains and oceans, on it. Emptiness is absorbed by substance, which in turn is gobbled up by the void, made of mind stuff.It expanded all over, in eight directions, linked by the invisible rings of imagination, wild and abandoned, while trying to reach the farthest; swallowing up the unseen, impenetrable and apparently forceful Time.

TIME,CLOAKS

The old, tired clock ticks on and tries to splinter the present with its two arms. Why do dead clocks fascinate me? I think they are stuck in stark truth, more than any thing else and they seem to read your mind and remain in rapport with you. They make you piece together bits of your traumatized being and make you at peace with existence; its conceptual design seeping in to your micro consciousness, stilling everything that disturbs the identity, with the motionless truth .The ever fluttering mind is shocked and stilled for an abrupt [moment?], before relapsing to its tremulous nature .The idea of time, cloaks the truth, more than any thing else, commemorating illusion.

THE WITLESS WITNESS

Slumber, pitch black
Body dead weighing
Covered by dark
Ignorance's cloak
The veil of
Lethargy of a million
Frozen thoughts
Hiding from view
Me, just watching
The great sport of
Dipping in and out
Of the pigment of black ether
Blind, unaware
Of the color of abstract darkness
Like a witless witness

THE MOON AND MY MIND

An ancient moon lay warped, fluttering,
In the moss-reeking fishy pond, flickering.
The cool night air raking archaic sentiments,
Stale, evoked only hollow consequences,
And it looked as though my mind was reflecting
In the rippling glassy darkness,
As I searched for the two,
the mind and the moon.
A frog-like thought leaped in on to the surface,
Deranging and scattering the images.
The water seemed uneasy and nervous,
Incompetent to deflect radiance and
The darkened glitter basked in the gloominess.
Up in the heavens the clouds shrouded the glow,
The firmament a black blanket of holes.
Reality of life, the sheaths, the five domains
Prohibited love to enter the remains
Of old age's distrustful psyche, to which, a breeze,
Now tried to respond in vain, to mellow.
The facade of the make believe, made no efforts
To defend and delude with its time worn enticements
Lasting only the life span of the trembling moths.
Looking up and down, there was no trace,
Inside the blanket or under the rippling glass,
The dismal haze,of a round, scarred face.

THE ROPE, POST AND MOONLIGHT

The rays of the moon played hide and seek, through the foliage. Dark, smooth, and curved, the snake lay motionless. Disgust filled my heart. Shadows swayed, as an eerie silence deafened my inner ear. A cloud hid the sky, sending chills up my spine; I saw the ghost.

Dogs did not bark.Moonlight's milk filtered through the window's hole. The cat was licking it, weird like in a dream. Cool breeze caressed my face with the silken claws of sleep.

I woke up hearing the chirping of sweet birds; relief dawned, in the form of the sunlight, fearless and bright. Then I saw the cat, mewing with a foolish yawn, staring at the black rope, its tail brushing the wooden post.

The morning light reflected, a mischievous smile giving me the shock of sudden intelligence of liberation, from the world of illusion.

AN UNGUARDED MOMENT’S INDULGENCE

One of the five horses severed the harness and flew in to the night in the direction of the sensuous reflection. I looked up at the darkness and saw a scarred face hastily hiding away behind the silken edged shroud, like a jealous voyeur. The voluptuous waves from the apartment window across the street entered through my eyes to reach where I held the reins- my intellect- to send shudders down the spine.

The rain had just stopped, bringing up a heat that lay secretive underground; with a band of moths that circled the gloomy streetlight. I held back thoughts, about life’s fleeting nature, stirred by the circling moths and looked away, beyond the opposite street, as the moment’s hankering prospect was too special to distract and ‘indulge’ in philosophic truths.

The horse’s soft neigh held an ache that betrayed an indignity which for a moment appeared like a sacrifice; vital for the opportune time of gratification. Brute compulsions, giving flesh to cravings, the enchanting flashes of naked light from across hid a smile entrapping a part of my sublime psyche. Carnality created plausible excuses for the release of shock waves of illusion.

The trees still rained, like the lingering thoughts of mind’s contempt, dropping and draining ....Lights were on in the dwelling of enticing portraits that moved behind my translucent visions. A swell was building up which sought to engulf and sink me in a quagmire of fluid desire…….. to drown my soul……..

High above, a round beautiful face appeared with milky white aura as the fragrance of night flowers filled the air. The gentle cool breeze carried the fragment of an old song and a lucid sky .The heat had disappeared as sublime love returned as I held firmly the reins of the five horses and traversed the swells of transcendent beauty and bliss again.

DESERTED HOUSES

Deserted houses invoke a fascination,
The mind in love with the inexplicable,
Seek out rooms for ingenious exploration
Of the contours of delegated extroversion.

Removing the cloak hiding the inside,
Find the old clock hung on the gray wall
Time over and arms stuck of old age
Antiquated furniture burnished in the psyche.

Obsolete thoughts of the ordinary
Going up staircase holding the archaic
Banisters supporting fragile men and women
Paintings of who adorn the walls of introversion.

The old newspapers stacked like a pillar of Times
The tattered books on shelves of derangement
And the dining table helping no food for thought
The fireplaces burning desires, sighing and moaning

No room for any more surmises, the languid mind
Fall in to a deep slumber in one of the bedrooms
On a well laid out bed of red roses still fragrant.

CARESSING LOVE

The submitting whiteness,
Flawless,smooth and square,
In tempting anticipation
Of pouring love's blue,
Laid down arms and given in
Waiting for the uncapped fountain.

Long ring less white fingers
Wielding the most powerful tool,
Carve and caress with soft rubs
Of scratchy yet smooth nibs,
The sighs and whispers audible
Of love filled shapely outlines
United in creative fulfillment.

Writing on a crystal white paper with an ink pen is an experience of sheer pleasure.......

THE UNREAL

I tagged the nameless
And maimed my consciousness
A slave of distracting forms, false,
Turned my mind clockwise
Got bonded like a trapped mouse
Yet the body moved in places
In concert with the chimera's hazes
Forming illusion's basis.

BRIDGE ON THE RIVER DEAD

I stood on the bridge over the dead river
Time stayed in the present as I looked
At past and future on either side
No stream up or down,
The past had merged with eternity
The last drop reaching its destination
Losing its identity like the salt doll in a sea
To be reborn in future in to another stream

Much water had flown under
Each grain of sand had stories to tell
About seeped- in suns and moons
And the fishy romantic exploits
Of Aqua brushing and caressing
Transporting it to places new and exciting
Safe and secure in the coolness of being

The sun reflected in the vast sandy emptiness
As a lone dog ran across to no where
The desiccation below made me thirsty
With a lump in my throat, lost and desolate
Leaving the redundancy of the bridge to itself
I over passed the fissure of my parched mind
To the buoyancy of a pond near by.