Tuesday, January 9, 2018

A Thing called Humility


Footing in front of the Thing, 
How many times we set out, 
to mission the inward tour,
in the spillway to downcast,
we play others to outcast. 

Will there be a time for it
to come forward and 
anthropomorphise the feral?
Can we... can we come out of the label?

Expecting it from other
while vetoing it for another,
We do game the latter,
lunging at the demeaning platter. 

I now rest the case of this Thing,
For Word and Wave are a pattern,
With the variable man like a Satan, 
There was once, a Thing called Humility!



Monday, July 15, 2013

OFFSHORE




Lost in clouds, when back to senses,
For it wasn't too late, putting,
And in the way of it, admitting,
When thought, were my resemblances.

Never was there, his inner bent,
Though, somewhere haunting,
And dust-ups, partly resolving
Ready, to come on another argument.

Here is the time of flow in fetters,

where matters deep run and float,
Often to resolve a buried play, 
to function and dote.

Where have these matters been staying?
An attempt lost in brazening those out,
Forgiveness does not work anymore,
Those clocks crumble and clout!
He, blinked the eyes as if drawing hers,
Moving in images, imagining,
The beats rested, yet pounding,
Nothing was much to say in whispers.

So on he went to pour tears galore,
In the seam, the space seeing,
For that, the eyes pinning,
In verity, he, somewhere offshore!

The Picture





The Mirror muzzles
the picture it presents,
The heart receives,
What it pretends.

Often I see
the picture inside me,
The razor removes,
The character evolves me.

The stigma annexed,
Crumbles with fever,
The want subsided,
Me, that raising-river.

Don’t want to mess
the gears I’ve got,
The stockades still little,
I play with fiddle.

The waves go
and dash the shore,
The depth sand bar,
I die for more.

May be, this I call uncertain,
Cause of the alarm I have:
The figure moves in me,
Bending the blight I have!

STORY





Story then leans forward to foretell, 
The mere glimpse promised to rewind,
The ways divided to consummate hell when own mirror betrayed the fulsome glance.
This seldom reached its desired Camelot,
She daringly sits with no edge to let.

She often puts up a face of honour,
In the morning when dew dispels,
It was for the drops of sun to whistle around,
Walking in the evening when it fades.

 This creeping claustrophobic culmination 
Flooded, still roll on to be parked,
Though skidding the ear-marked destination,
The fuss goes on like this to pseudo style.
I remember the past of wild hunts
when it was too easy to escape, 
when the holy basil surrounded 
the memories of many,
when I fiddled with my own map.
The day of moderns began
with the mighty shapes of alphabets,
the digits grew more dominant than petals,
Turned with these all, I join the rats.
In the race of recognition, often I come across with verve,
These fissure and yet I crave for the phase when all was abeyant,
That tranquillity, I address and eyeteeth: the fountain of this face, 
Still I dream, I chase. 

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

I LAST MET YOU

I last met you...
the nursery wines,
the rollicking riders and the eerie mimes!
The lost flickers...
where lavenders bloom,
Hope I ride faster
to drop you till moon!

Go in the winds or go soon,
I ride the same...
where itching sweeps,
No one there to blame!

Friday, October 29, 2010

THE WALKING ROADS

You and I go on a road of motion,

Of substance there-

The loss of substance with a feel,

Gone is all other despite solution and zeal.

The roads form and split,

The inner iron without looking at past;

The past riven with success

Mystifies today with lost axis.

Follow the roads -- the walking roads-

Deviate and it leaves you,

Reroute and it cautions:

‘I’m the walking road needing judgment and diligence’.

Severing the glooms of dust, the one

who clears the road’s matrix

becomes the needed Ulysses of now and fore;

the one we heard about in a chronic folk-lore.

FOREVER WITH YOU

Love, a sweet aroma to attract,

A rosy sound to enchant,

A palpable feel to evoke,

More becomes – a penchant.

The welts and warps of emotions

Keep bonding apace,

Fill remote rambling gaps

And prevent all space.

No demands no complaints,

But somewhere these creep up;

These are leaves of love

Some day will rise up.

Colossal prospect dooms to fall:

A stumbling block that love can’t sever,

Space to me, space to you

Reserves love forever with you.