Was he an extremist?
Bhagat Singh…
When I hold tricolor
I feel free…
But not free from the thoughts
of that golden word - Freedom
to trust that I am free
from one past- struggle
of years roll over history books
framed on labels, editorials
Was he an extremist?
Bhagat Singh
may be….
Gandhi was not.....
both were killed
one by enemies
and the other by friends…

CLASSIFICATIONS

My blood- not elite
not middle, nor it is lower
Red, the colour of it I see, feel
When in wounds and in heart
that pumps through ventricles
upto the brain...
a mix of chemicals, fluids
I step out and watch this earth
How green all around
Its axis firm; got a class
Monuments are built on brains
Classes too…
Beliefs too
But an ocean can not be build
On brains,
Brains behind brains
Beyond class
Beyond oceans
Beyond all elements
Who made that class?

Not me…

PARADISE

From the mountain caves of one 
disconnected world
they march forward, in groups
as framed up companions
to safeguard honour
of the not so honourable
fanatics...
from the valley of river sindhu
they creep in with sting arrows,
in pitch dark masks
aim explosives at well lit dawns...
bring death bells, coffins
and white lillies...

Kashmir a tear drop...

Paradise??  (Lost)  on Earth....

EIC

EIC,
You are not the custodian
of my life or my Computer
That is my world
I shape, create and dye (or die)
do not please interfere
Epics you play, if you wish
again and again
history shows you hold
that class-lables
I don't have labels
Casablanca, Mont blank
Or Haldi, that was first
a loss or profit
weigh it on
You read it, sounds strange
Labels I create not for show
but for me, simple ones
with no heavy accents
Like the strings of my Veena
It breaks and new ones
I get from `Sounds’
melodious,
In stain less steel, to amplify
You acting EIC
Weigh not humans
on uneven mountains,
black mail not them
sting not them
through stains of haldi
Instead edit your life
edit first your black spots....
Not so wise - Editor in Chief

 

(A Fountain Pen)

HOLY CROSS

Jesus, you showed him
how to be in Cross
he learned not you;
still holds
that pacific full of blue
in his unholy hands.
Jesus, you taught him
not to steal
but he listened not you
he casts shadows
all around this earth of mine;
his confessions,
a mask, a refined act,
a drape on his unfinished sins
He robs, he steals and he sells
the stolen souls....
Claims he you
Jesus, crucify him not
Let him grow, grow
but not on your holy cross
he deserves not that
he is not human
he is Blue
Pacific Blue

REPUDIATION

My PC
bought out of hard earned,
not brought home
on the stolen visions of Oceania
It is dissimilar...
faith that of Indus,
boundless beyond the skies and seas
where sages born,
a confluence of cultures,
and in that confluence
you find no time
to sting or aim your arrows;
Silly faith, bring not your basket
of weeds and flails
come not near Himalayas
claim not Canberra- the highest peak
write not in hStory books
Perth the capital of Mount Everest....

TRIBUTE

Dare you place your hands on her robes again?
Dushassan, dare you? place your unclean hands
Dare you laugh  at the misery of a princess;
Karna, dare you order to disgrace the grace
dare you Duryodhan to dishonor
the honour of a kingdom.
Dare you knowledgeable
dare you sit silent again;
bow your heads in shame
and sit there in the assembly;
honour that crown king Duryodhan
Shame on you…..

100 Times or More

Look at them my Lord;
it is you who have allowed
them to bring army
and Akshouhanies.
Like King Jarasandh of Magadh
they will repeat hiStory
100 times or more??????

SHADOWS

They try to frame me in one shadow,
shadow of a giant rain tree
tell me, which shadow I embrace
when I can go to light..straight,
a lane across my house
he waits.....
Chandramoulishwar....
in one sanctum of fifteen gods
or to the one who dances
on Kaliyas....
from feign shadows I walked past
to step in to one world  
and that world is mine
only mine....
you fake shadows
go away....

SUPERFICIAL


They will come again from a land of sunset
showing glorious mountains and flowering valleys
Behind the masks in mist of winter
They come and go
Stealing moon beam from sky
and gems from ocean
In voyages they frame portraits
In gold, shape mystic gods of Greece
From Latin they translate words
With hidden meanings
And in pages of gifted DNAs
they paint colors of changing seasons
They come go
Unplugged on any object
Like waves in ocean……

Jewels

When I tried to  open one door
I find it bolted from outside
Blocked or bolted?????
Autonomous decisions,
Choice of gate crashers
Let me dust up my memory line
and dream of a few jewels
from the heart of Thyagaraja

GOVARDAN

Look at me where I stand now
Fighting one year with no arms and army
But with one flute, in one tiny finger
A mountain stood above me with no fear
Govardan…...
I am tired, tired hard of conflicts
Tired hard of pains and tired of this world

From chimes of wind to one forlorn promontory
my thoughts traveled across a roaring ocean
My songs were in sea shells,
In one rock cave, where a saint meditated
Long long ago to find God
He found one and gave me one
A replica, a fearless one in hues of autumn
In one forlorn promontory, in one confluence
I heard speeches from Chicago like an echo

You are Karna
Of a blind kingdom- Hastinpur
The King, blind
His sons, blinded narcissists
Worshiped their lone images
in uncertain lakes,
Loved not any one
Loved only their images
You are Jayadrada
Who trapped fearless Abhimanyu
In chakravyuh,
You are Karna of Hastinpur,
a manipulator
from a mountain of mist

I agree, I wash my laundry with my hands
in my private washing base
It is fashion, I know to do it first in public
It is fashion of a kind like in page number fifty seven
or from ladies coupe to veins on their thighs
There was a tear
a tear of honesty in fifty seven
but a stench, a rotten frame in ladies coupe
May be when that imported immortals supplement
Machine full of lather, it is easy to wash
Linens in public, a kind of fashion
In exclusive page numbers