O My Partner, thou art Beautiful than a Flower

 

April hast it, thus love springths;

For, whatever nature has to offer,–

Perfume! Flower crushed to suffer,

Vow! beauty’s oozes man bringths.

 

Tryst further; driplets for love draught,

Sprinkles the petals sacrificed on body fairer,

Which lusty lips lick from the bearer,

Ha! Tasty tongue now sought

The beauty which eyes once praised.

And the love processor from nature

Eyes many more bounties on offer:

New names for beauties bruised,–

Transformations new for the love cure:

More love licks from the graved door.

When I Love Thee Most

 

Beloved, when thou shrink in my arms,

And put thy lips on my thumping heart,

I feel sucked to celestial charms,

While thy long hair, like jasmine flirt.

 

Aha that twist of thy slender body!

Creeps which immeasurable lengths,

Infinite I feel, O my great lady,

Time’s measure lost; a second worth months!

 

Those wide voluptuous eyes closing

And parting somewhat betwix eyelids,

For other world they are opening;

In that fainting look heaven glides.

 

Still, I love thee not for such forgetfulness,

I do, of course, when remember thy bodylessness.

Kisses of Now and Afore

 

Beloved, don’t think that I’m

Speaking it out of ebriation;

Heart’s depth wine can’t fathom,

Only distilled souls scent gyration

Of body, heart; and her figurine

Moving, inspiring, cajoling for conception,

Which minds never normally design.

Oh! My unfaithful lover,

Me pine for thee as afore,

When thou flooded this heart with thy shower,

Whose wavering tinkles reached this mortal’s core,

Mortal still I’m; yet immortal!

For thy love always kindles soul,

Sleep thou now amidst that bliss marital,

And slap me as only destiny’s play foul.

Thy love lightly flickers still;

Thou adorn heart’s treasure tree,

Me, but, on the verge of fall from the hill,

Still, during the fall pray I’ll for thee.

Fate may qualify me as a lover failed,

Yet in defeat lies my greatest win,

For, my sweet failure destiny hast hailed

As the success of the Lord’s grin.

My drunken selfless heart wishes

Thou all the best in thy new start!

Worry not for the ‘meant to be ashes,’

Forget the kiss last and that falling apart,–

Now, thou lick sensuously for a cause,

And me left apart

Like the whisper of an unrequited prayer;

A dry wish that makest not any noise,

Thy voluptuous smacks sound liar;–

Lying to hide someone thou loved,

Who from destiny’s path never moved.

Ode to the Spring

 

Labour is in the air around;

Spring sun fades the wheat green,

Their grainy tops; ripening and ageing;

Million crowns from the clown’s kingdom,

Prepares as he for the labour duty.

Spring, the season of fruition, procreation,–

Nature’s ejaculations for kama-mahautsava,

Now when cold father makest love to mother warm,

First cries of numerous infants chirp around;

Picturesque gift, merge as they in one:

Spring is here, mature and blown full.

 

What a great time it is;

New comers smile first; do they cry!?

Flowers wild, isolated, conceived hastily–

Nettle, clover, primrose, thistle–

Worry they not uncaring parents,

Who, too sensuous, flow blindly,

And these small daughters or sons

Scent the solitude, wilderness around,

Play they with hurrying swallow tails

And fear not moths in the dark,

Mature as if, welcome they bees.

 

More flowers than eatables around,

The season with the message:

‘Reality lies in eyes, not mouth,’

New leaves, new colours, and hopes new,

Bunchgrass, weather beaten by the cold, relive new,

Reed warbler gets sinews new,

Hangs as it among lengthy stalks,

And nature lulls them through skylark’s beak,

Seemst it if a virgin maiden

Sings, dances wildly like grassy ‘wavy hair’,

Would be mother!

Enters the conjugal threshold now.

 

What if one fade in, and the other fade out,

Colours emerging or going out care not,–

The days are just matchless,

Spring, the season balanced; the day and nights

Cool warmed, or warm cooled.

The landscape becomes a garden,

Lie where so many beauties;

Each and everything beautiful,

Need not they, thus, caring special,

Urge is just to create new,

While, spring tracks the parental escapades.

 

Now, when waters go heavens,

Except the dewy rain of nights;

Waterbodies—puddles to ponds—start slimming,

Slimming like a narrow curve around the back;

The back of springy damsel.

More are seekers now; drops becoming divine!

Thirst forces more walks over banks transitory.

Smallest grassy worlds, tiny flowers, insects

Anguish not the hierarchy above:

Spring flowering from man’s to His kingdom,

Hides as the burying beetle; passes a foot near by.

Gypsy Girl

 

Like the mystical flower, seen here then there,

The lovely wild maiden, spring laden

Showst its non-periodic rare; not to care,

Stupefied eyes gaze but settlement ridden.

 

O flowery lass, thy breeze-driven gyrations

Prop winy drops upon tongues,

Still, thou unapproachable to focussed vibrations,

Through thy escapements caravan moves, singths.

 

How can thou be so heartless!

Not to fix eye somewhere for someone,

And always fly away without bestowing a single kiss!

What a classy heart to be won!

 

Gypsy girl, thou spread beauty’s message:

Sudden full arrival, lost then in a haze.

Sister

 

O my dear sis,

Time was then all bliss,

This once home thine, now miss

All that growing, evolving care and wish

Thy sweet happy return

To the place where you were born.

 

Thou for a greater purpose gone

To nurture life in some home,

Still, thy place becomes a shrine here;

Down to dusk, work with so much care,

I can still sense thee in this air,

Circulates which orderly, like my sis fair.

 

Thy virtues sing, commit when we mistake,

Great are the homes whom sisters make.

Some Lines for Some Time in Future

 

When thy eyes begin to glow dimly

And walk form not a rhyme with the body;

Flowers when gone for a single lily

And world's eyes see not once fair lady;

When even cup loathes thy shaky pout

And time engraves its loath on thy rosy cheeks;

Eyelids drop when for vision out

And life only but leaks;

When thy grey hair die day by day

And all crests shrink to troughs;

See thou not when a single ray

And violently shake thee those coughs.

 

Then dear, pick my book up,–

Where thy youth shines immortally,

Unhampered by the time's hand rough.