The moth that burned the flame

O thou lady moth,

Holding 'this' and 'that'

in your hands both,

Accuse thou me the flame

and put all the blame

on my burning male flame.

You say,

keeping your own mischief at bay,

that I burned your wings,

How stoutly self-justification sings!

You blame

fully aflame

that you scalded your skin

in going around my fiery orbit's din.

Dear, let me share this,

Lies lie buried under your kiss 

and a selfish hiss

under thy whisper soft

and the best fakery held aloft.

You complain of scalded skin

and bruised wing,

But what of me?

If you could ever feel and see!

You just feel the heat

of the fire,

o thou liar,

The fire that burns in my heart's each beat,

It was merely warmth,

as your miseries swarmth,

to melt your rigid icicles of pain,

And amazing was the gain,

You bloomed and flowed,

Your face glowed

with a new lovely hue,

And now thou rue

that it was a scalding, furious fire,

O thou my sweet liar,

Know this that,

my wily cat,

you pierced my heart

with your sweet poison's dart,

And drilled a hole in my flame,

putting on me all the blame.

Thou proudly walk away

with all coquettish sway,

leaving a hole in me,

which nobody can see,

A hole more fiery

than my entire flame,

And the crown of shame.

You hurl accusations

with a shine in your eyes,

But you should know the flame dies

hundred times

for each little scald of yours. 

A morning walk in a misty vale

I feel reborn,

After a dark night all forlorn,
When the sunrays come, 

embracing me as a chum,
kissing the early morning mist,

opening the darkness' fist,
The beads of dew

lying like scattered bridal jewellery
after the conjugal night,
The remnants of mischievous bite,
Now they shine under light,
Glittering diamond is the dew,
Real gems left so few,
The air fresh and cool,
Refreshing pool,
There I go,
Birdy songs in tow,
Walk on the little path,
Feeling freshest after the bath,
Silence, peace embracing me,
Softly whispering, 'Dear, just be!
Everything is yours to see, 

Walk your journey,
Sing your song,
Own your feelings,
Accept your wrongs,
Forgive those who hurt you,
Own the choice that went wrong,
See then how light you feel,
As light as this sunlit, misty veil,
Then you will just flow,
with a beautiful glow,
Walk slow
and shake hands with this little flower
beautifully burdened under dewy shower,
Smile, greet as they line up
by your almost untrodden path,
They are the loving, lauding audience
as you reach home
after that puzzling, tiring roam.' 

A deal

Why do most of the
relationships fall apart?

Because a fake buyer

met a simple but eager seller.

When two people meet,

a man and a woman,

and woo each other 

to win their respective favours,--

Some body's delight,

Some balm for the heart in plight.

They tease and bait

testing their fate,

To catch the coveted fish of pleasure,

or gems from heart's hidden treasure,

But baiting naturally involves attraction,

A cute hypnotism and some innocent distraction,

The hook needs a tasty worm,

It's a claw disguised as food

waiting in the stream of varying mood.

It's a sweet tussle of flesh and spirit,

One catches

and the other gets caught

after a nice extravagantly battle fought,

It's a complete play

involving dialogues, drama and plot,

The pursuit should be hot.

For her, the ignition of initial chemistry needs 

a handsome knight in shiny armour

capable of carrying all the colors of her dreams,

While she has to be a beautiful princess

full of promises 

carrying fidelity, pleasure, care and share,

The expectations are high

as both vie 

to fit in the other's eye,

So both adorn a nice costume

befitting the other's brightest dreams.

The man comes with more fakery

than the woman

because he has to catch the huge whale 

of her expectations of a complete man,

He thus dons a glittering costume

to match the stars in her eyes,

While a woman need not fake at all

beyond faint brushing of her physical charms,

as that is all that swarms

the infatuated man's brain and brawn,

Her beauty is all that is there to see,

The man is eying only that with a glee.

Thus a fake customer meets

a simple, coquettish seller,

Promising to buy the entirety of her dream,

Leaves that her in an ecstatic stream,

The deal thus gets done,

Proceeds then all fun,

Sadly, after the pleasure-run

his costumes come off gradually,

She is now surrounded by her broken dreams,

The naked stranger stands affront,

Now she can hardly recognise 

the purchaser of her dreams,

Her soul screams

as she realises that

she'd sold herself on fake promissory notes.

The strangers then fight,

The love-flower bugged with blight,

Darkness where it was all bright,

Hopes now out of sight,

They now bargain a separation,

Guilt, anger, accusations, justifications fly

not leaving any space even for a smiling bye. 

The broken boulder

The promises were all rosy
to make my dreamy world all cosy,

And I believed you,

Believed the blushing hue

on your face

whispered as 'love you' in my embrace.

Believed the honesty of light

in those eyes, big, dark and deep,

They looked a clam, balmy sea

for me

to swim, sunbathe and reach home

to that island bearing the love-dome.

Believed the purity of that kiss

purred with a seductive soft hiss

on my lips

with ecstatic coquettish drips.

Promises are made to be broken,

I should have known,

You think you just broke a little vow,

A tiny promise,

A dewy fragile word,

Or just the brittle assurance of a kiss,

Or a few stars in the eyes,

You think these are small cuts,

not amounting to a big sin or murder,

Dear let me tell you,

These are the major cleavages

in the dam,

Every stone has a brittle seam,

Hit it there with the tiny chisels of

unkept promises, fake stars in the eyes,

lying kisses and feigned whispers

caressing the earlobes,

Hit the mightiest stone with them,

And its stoniness lays bare,

There it lies broken,

It'll withstand a strike

by the head-on strike of a bull,

But it will fall apart 

by the strike of a tiny chisel

that knows where to strike the softest spot.

Clever are the feminine strikes,

They hit deep,

The masculine blind force hits

just the surface to give a skin-bruise,

But yours lays bare the entire structure loose.

All done 

and moving ahead for more fun, 

And clever enough to put all blame on me,

Using the male's kitty of stereotyped blames,

Judged yourself to be the victim

and me the culprit 

in your own court

using your own laws

your own arguments

shouted by your own lawyers 

and the smart verdict by your own judge.

Confidently you broke the stone

and left it scattered with its painful moan. 

A new day

Masculine dark with its handsome, callused charms
melting in the arms

of soft, gauzy traces of feminine light,

to conceive a morning twilight,

Give they birth then to a day bright,

Warm sunrays for

the leaves suffering frostbite,

The soft petals that

stood against the icy might

during the night,

The stars all out of sight,

Now the morning sun arrives 

for a dewy delight.

I also come down from some lonely height

and open my senses

to what is their natural right.

It's lovely to see

and just be

with all that was lost

when darkness was the host,

It's an assurance to find

the same world behind

the night's curtain blind,

Walk, hop, jog and run,

Fatherly smiles the sun,

Dance on the stage till you're done,

Draw all the sweet pun

and ensure grudges are left none. 

The mighty puppeteer

Love makes
then breaks,

From the pleasure pool

goes into a teary sea the fool,

Love, the tireless fiction writer seeking glory,

Writes it then another story,

The stage shifts,

The protagonists drift,

The characters move

in full groove

with the new stage,

And pain in hearts rage

of those who are left out,

Give they nostalgic shout.

It's now a new drama and fresh game,

But the story's moral stays the same,

Love is the puppeteer,

Juggles and shuffles

various characters from different stories,

Old ones pushed away,

New dreams hold sway

for the fresh arrivals,

They excitedly brush against each other,

Spins it out more stories,

They look all different and fresh,

But are essentially the same

boosted by the new crush.

All this while,

love shapes

then reshapes

the same clay 

for its titillating play,

Some tears of pain

to pay for someone's pleasure and gain,

A teary rain

goes in vain

in the eyes now turned a stranger's,

A sad, resigned smile

to pay for someone's new guile,

A cry

for someone's heart gone dry,

Some pieces broken

for someone's completion.

Love, the master, is never short of carriers,--

the vast effulgent sea of emotions

seething, boiling in many a heart,

So many volunteers to bear the burden

on their shoulders with glory and glee,

It's a sadistic delight to be its prisoner,

Privileged feels the carrier,

the poor bearer

of the royal palanquin.

And the show goes on

amidst joyful shouts and many a painful moan,

Some eyes lose their stars

that shoot off and find new

fresh dew

on the flowers in fresher eyes,

The old one just sadly sighs,

Thus, the show of love goes on,

The same old story

but the characters heartlessly ruffled 

and mindlessly shuffled. 

 

A full moon night in a forest

The full moon
smiles through a canopied, leafy screen
of the chir-pine forest

to light a tiny lamp

for some soul caught in depressing swamp,

To light a heart gone all dark and damp.

The crickets jingle

to mingle

with a broken dream's notes stale,

And compose songs to fill up the little dale.

The mountain wind drums,

Silence hums

a song using hardly pine needles,

An owl mischievously twiddles

the brooding shadows with its hoot,

Unconcerned the wind plays its song,

Unbothered of the mysterious shadows

that throng

the looming swabs of darkness

around the moony raylets

filtering through the canopy,

It's a tune of mother nature's

unbound hilarity

unmatched in parity.

The dew-crowned wilderness,

The music fragrant,

Intoxicating,

A natural brew against dark fate's bite,

A soft, fragrant heart's culinary delight,

The bushy growths looking up at the trees' height

to become a stalwart tree

and kiss someday the air all free.

There are corners where 

no sunrays come kissing earth,

They miss the morning mists of the valley,

Life and living longing to bloom up

with joy and energetic girth,

The secluded corners look at the moon

for some solace and soul's boon,

The sun is too shiny and still shuns them,

The moon they can cajole and caress.

The peaks around

looming with a pride unbound,

Then the moony beauty caresses

their hard edges,

They melt and abandon their arrogance's badges,

The highest of the high

surrender their arrogance 

with a palpable sigh.

The play of the moon on the darkness,

A mystical combo of white and dark,

Light gently creeps into

the folds of darkness,

Not trying to annihilate it,

Just zestfully temper with it a bit,

So that it melts somewhat

to pleasant shades of gray.

A lovely transformation in a mountain forest

on this full moon night,

There are hearts that can delight

in these subtle shades,

The day hides so many things

which now come out for freedom and liberation,

Free from all prying eyes

and dry, dreadful sighs.