Don't try

(for Charles Bukowski)

Every night the sky rips
to shreds,little pieces of paper
you hold on to,with your thoughts
hovering above empty graves
with nothing but you looking up,
from inside them...

For all we search for...we always go back

i scour for roadside delights
inside pockets of wealthy men
with streets named after them,
They walk around groggily,
inside their mansions
chewing wires to keep alive
butterflies stuck inside
lightbulbs,in the darkest hour of the night.

The beat goes on

The beat goes on
in renegade corners
of the world,around which
people walk and smile
for miles,until they are
carved out of rock
to stand among crowds
bereft of the slightest grin..

Poem

girl your face
partakes of wines
i steal from behind
footlights,in your path..

Thanksgiving

For a while

You don't recognize your reflection
off broken glass doors,
you pass everyday
But you stand hands outstretched
in front of the ocean
over which voices fly
talking of your fear,
of drowning ,which make us
one of you..

Then

Photographs from the Andaman & Nicobar islands(the people of which depend on the fishing industry to survive)                                      

Collar Men

I crawled through the fashioned streets
Warding off eyes with grief pouring out
like the mailbag of the postman,i never think off
He waits under a borrowed umbrella
Waiting for the ink on his own letters to dry
He carries them around all the time
with names in them,
he wishes someone knows
The asphalt grass cleaves to his boots
Like a few torn pages from
his book of gods and their coming,
He lowers is head and disappears
among the dripping collars of grown men
that i live inside day and night

I stand behind glass doors,
Its not my sun that is setting

Shouting from the rooftops

Robert DeNiro in Taxi Driver(1976)

                        
I'm sickening from the neck above
the air is violating air everyday
Standing like a naked woman
under the droppings
of quaffing birds,wayward
on their routes

Thích Quảng Đức,June 11th,1963(Saigon,Vietnam)

                                              
i have passed too many
corners without turning my head

A brave homecoming

little bounces of the ferry
over her sore shoulders,
the air hectic with swollen kisses
of women, wet like letters
hidden between their breasts,
from the hands riding in,
washed in blood of
those ,who lie unread
like epitaphs of the night fairies

A little,too little Monsoon

Clouds moving between two buildings(Hyderabad,India)

Sitting seven houses above the ground,
yet,cars moving across the windows
splashing wet grass on my vacant face
my brain squeezed to a feather
that fell off a reposing bird today
at the feet of a girl ravaging
the authority of fear in puddles,outside
Night approaches like the wall to the windows
swallowing a little pride,and a little dance
and the rest

Little Diana

Lighbulbs are fetching insects from doorsteps
the glory of music has been buried in the backyard
little diana sings,uselessly to her deaf father,
his eyes puckered to a gossamery stone,
Mother seduces sunsets on deserted streets
Her legs trembling every now and then
Men she doesn't know stop by
and kiss her on the head
She blushes and glows like the bulb..