Poem

Like a dreaded breeze
from the northern steppe
she floats over the moon palmed hedges
brushing my hands as if
gently needling me for blood,
as i wait in the backyard
for the tourniquet to loosen,
her balmy touch affix my broken sleep
and feel the night begin
to settle on my dried tongue

Free mornings

Winter morning,
   how else
would i be free
  other than
this thing having
  acquainted
but not denied me
   anything yet

2 penny for light

i'm tilted to myself,being part of a world perfectly capable of being set in the right place.A light from something as immense as the Stupa of Ashoka himself passes under my belly.It is a titillating feeling like being a giant space gong oscillating between the black and white towns of worship.Her steps are slow,disavowing the faults of sight.She scintillates and leaves my arms spasming in opposite directions with the wind lifting me under my arms.The world it seems is just a birthstone hanging by her hips which move in ways that various ringing sounds emerge within the mind and eventually bend over with nothing but a weep in awe.It is close to this point that i confess being in love with myself and her creations,but she engages me thoroughly.I'm alert to her movements just as she is to my innocence.

I suspect there is a shrill voice delivering intuitions from a very large book written a long time ago

Jon bhai ki chai

The man makes tea as the table blares under his heavy arms as if being dragged down a staircase.His face and his sooty beard is clearly visible despite the torrents of steam now rising from the pan which has been clearly heated beyond its last good year."A man's simple ways can even kill you",he says."Complication is all about having to rub a little dust off of someone's person.Discovery is part of our being,besides where is the fun in scalping a bald man.You need that mysterious pire to call you forth.Deaths are hard done by simplicity.I mean fuck malaria man,who wants to die of malaria.I want to burst open into a flood of flaming lava when i go.So they can look at me and wonder if there was more they could have known.I may not be the open book but i want them to want that opportunity.I  mean i may not drink from your glass because i fear infections or because my religion asks me to but i can't let you know that.You'll consider me a dead man.You will identify my fear of unidentified saliva as the corner stone to a grave i dig myself to comfort my provocations in.How can i possibly live in a place where every other man who walks in smokes 6 cigarettes in 40 minutes and still thinks i'm the one who is going to die because i got it all written over my face.That is self abuse.Your face is where you parked your car.That is all they care about.They do not praise the ones who self doubt,the ones who are too busy biting their own nails that when comes the time to grab someone's throat they are lying in the corner of their sofa,in the corner of a room shaped like a corner itself pondering over the intricacies of overlapping decisions.You need not always grab that throat but you need to look out because there are a whole lot of people trying to raise their heads over your shoulders to see what you got.Now i'm not saying you have to work hard at it or something,because they aren't the critics or alike who you have to silence since you heard them.These are just the eyes that watch you do everything and the moment you think twice or as much as let out a rant at about how pathetic your life turned about to be,they cross your heels and stab you in your back in a way that anyone but you can tell you are a dead man walking.We have nothing,and that we know.But that is a simplistic idea that must not kindle.You need to rub your coins before you put them in the jar to make them feel that you are a schemer and you have things up your sleeve."I grabbed the cup by the broken handle and as i was noticeably looking at it he smiled at me and said "You ain't got to lick it from the outside,have you kid..Just drink it and we'll forget about the money for this one". 

A new day

I have sleeves rolled up to my shoulders
and i think people want to look inside them
I walk a quarter mile putting one foot behind the other
and i think time will no longer move forward
I stand at the beach and i picture myself
drowning in a brown grey green welted ocean
I walk up the stairway only to look down
and wonder what mischief free falls are
I look at the children who look at me
and contemplate biting my fingers
I wait for the lights to fade and the people too
before i can talk to them and relate
I feel the plush skin of the draught
and appreciate it dressing down for the moments i love
I notice cities change identities,huge cities
but fail to find myself wearing the same collar
I sit by the streets and see the sky
parachuting to the earth in bits and pieces
I draw leaves but not the trees
as i sing tunes and not the songs
and i say to myself "What a day ! ",Everyday

Guarding the river

The whistles slur over the aspects

Words lost in the river ask me to bend

and give her a kiss,but her heart i can see

A misconfiguration of colours

not separating the vessel

from the shoulders of spring

Between exile to my peripherals

and interpretations on the inside

many a strange creatures have toddled by

fearing to raise me from my rehearsals,

Little men in green suits,Three legged mules

the sea-goat of Capricornus or her alibi

i believe there are monasteries up in the hills

in my name,mortal after all

A wet rock just as capable

i snuck under my toes the moment i realized

the illness of time would have me

Years of watching over the banks,

Idolizing the idleness of life

i inevitably sin today

in peeking across her arms,

Her fire glazed chest and

beyond that the first remarkable utterance

of immortality that was promised

A man suspiciously like me,

from the face to the bearings down

drives his fists into the ground

kicking up the earth,

a pile of rocks slowly emerging to the eye

I hear a melody chancing its nudity

with this unholy dance,

i find myself unwittingly removed from conscience

There are strange things i can think about

right now and maybe tell you

But for now i'll help the man play another song