The illegal migrant

 

In tune with coquettish cooing,

you take a refreshing plunge

into the pool of love,

Excitement hooks you,

making you a not-so-elegant reveler,

But forget it not o thou journeyman

going boastfully on the path of love,

Remember that by falling in love

you have simply booked

a round-trip ticket

with an open return date,

Return you’ll with a reversed fate,

It’s just a stamp of limited visa

on the passport of your heart,

You will have to come back

and squirm like an irascible caterpillar

once the adventure fever is gone.  

Distances

 

You might be embracing someone

but still that person

might be miles away from you in heart.

And someone might be miles away

yet be there right in heart’s center.

Be a generative canvas

 

With its impish quirks

the darkness that was seeking

the silvery rivulets of shape

from its shapeless mass,

Now it finds a form

in his heart.

 

Never forget that

even light is seeking

shape, form, embodiment,

Allow it,

Open up,

It will sneak in,

Filling you up

Safe zones

 

A fish’s drowning is on the land

where you stand

safe on the lovely sand,

And you drown

like a miserly pathetic clown

where she swims,

We are kings in our zone safe

but paupers in other’s territory.

The song of life

 

A sweltering tropical night,

The electric saw of her heartlessness,

cutting my dead heart’s woods,

I salvage a fragment of myself

from the slaughter house,

I carry the cutting like a treasure,

The melody is still alive

in its wooden fibers,

That’s where my tapasya lies,

I’ve to work like a passionate artist

and shape the flute

to bring it closer to life,

Then like a flautist

touch my lips to the flute

to come still closer to life,--

to love, to hope, to smile.

Cosmic crash

 

Among the clatter and chatter,

Shifting specks and pulsating ripples,

Wavy swirls and mournful elegy of emotions

in the vast recesses of heart,

the generous dimensions of her presence

give me a differently abled self,

Wherein I measure my time differently,--

the heart pierced by the arrows of linear time dies

and its spirit flies in loops of cyclical time:

past pushing into the present;

the present barging into the future;

the future stabbing the past from behind,

It’s a grand collision,

A marvelous crash.

The endless stream of pain

 

Serrated with the pain of survival,

a man cuts a tree,

Resin and sap oozing from the

cut on the tree’s bark,--

coagulated tears,

It’s a tiny stream of pain

that started in a human heart

and changed to the tree’s tears,

The stream of pain proceeds further,

It now becomes

the sad words of a poet

on the paper made of tree’s flesh,

The sad verse then chimes

with the inaudible whisper of pain

in some reader’s heart.