GRAPHICS

When I see seasons change
I place not my graphs in numerical
format to measure which season toppled
the other in a race cart
In autumn I see earth in earthen form
and winter freezes  sorrows
and summer burns the pyres of past
fragrance of earth I inhale in monsoon
and spring  flowers all around me 
In level crosses, in stations
I wait not for danger zones red
to break my brain graphs to shape
mark cards to my immediate neighbors
and when you come in front of me
with such comparative graphics
I draw a graph in firm
alphabets to disagree with you
to tune my flute in the right melody
and in a valley of a green forests
seasons flourish beyond
charted graph prints

EMPOWERMENT

Empowerment!
For whom?
for the mind
or for the cover up layers
of your projected self.
For a long time this element of earth
witnessed a lot in detail
from the tiny narrow minded community centre
pages to those ink spilled square charts
circulated all around
on influence of an aura created
for sure not naturally arrived
and Empowerment
a term for platforms to speak aloud
to receive acclaims
from the not so enlightened
followers
and when you share that dais
to speak about empowerment
this earth sees sting blood stains
on your heart
and that will remain whenever
you climb on a platform
to speak about empowerment....

SUPERSCRIPTS

Really
there is an aftereffect
on all superscripts
and in subscripts
fonts change from natural
shades to colors
ignited on artificial blends
to change a season from its very origin
and to pave way for a dry land sunset
to match the correlation
of a fusion played on drums and bugles
for a long time..
And in ocean’s sand shores
horizon writes superscripts
in colors of evening sky
in earthen autumn
a few finishing lines
in  pure sound of music

CONSTELLATION

Have you seen at any point of time on this earth
a cluster that only can see a sunrise in horizon
and a season blossoms only for a giant mountain
And there no rain showers from the infinite sky
for a narrow ridge or for a lake that remains in silence forever
And when in ink marks a few ignorant ones draw lines
to prove a class privileged exist beyond supreme almighty
you see where you stand on that restricted rostrum.
When you see a river negotiating its flaws
on inner whirls and curls how can it claim a class
above a tiny stream or one ocean
and beneath the under currents, which esteemed self
you want to lift from the ladder to the sky roof to heaven’s door
and near the dividing lines you find all clusters stumble,
bow down very close to that sanctum supreme
where you find no place to draw a line on ink marks
to specify your class esteem…

IMPERISHABLE

Whatever you preserve precious perish
and the non perishable you cannot
hold in your hand for ever
like the elusive self in supreme foam,
like one ocean spreads across
continents to sub continents
and on the dividing shores
and snowy mountains
a place perishables find to fight
for life and immortality.
In selfless seasons
let me place my heart and
In monsoon rains
I watch my nonperishable self
traveling to one horizon
where all foams submerge
in one ocean ...

ELEMENTARY

Where in one wheel I rolled pure yarn
of silk to soften my heart
and from the first rain of monsoon
I collected in hand a few rain drops
to rinse my mind pure
From colors of evening sky I pulled
back autumn to one sea shore
and in meridians I watched earth
away from eclipses of giant mountains
and on my way back to my origin
sky and ocean rolled over me
in pure forms where five elements
enveloped me like a soft breeze....

VALLEY OF MONSOON

Let me not think of shadows
but of humans in form of kind oceans
and not of conspiring waves
or a river that challenges my very own flute
in every note of my heartbeat
let me not think of my own flaws
but let me think how an ocean
finds its way to flow in me
and when the rising Sun bestows blows
on that green forest recreating shadows
let me climb down the valley
to find where I hear the song
of a nightingale
and in silence let me find my song
from the valley of monsoon…..

SUMMER STORMS

All summers to come for sure remember
how a desert storm
emptied one mighty river from its origin
And in spring how butterflies fly around
in colours of autumn in their wings
and how a sea pulls back its treasures
to one rock cave when clouds slid down
from mountains to grab sea shells
and from the valley of sunset
how seasons move forward
to one flute to sing alone in silence

MEMORIAL PARK

Neruda,
She has fallen
not for you
but for your poems
For that they hired your soul
and disfigured,
in every breathing second
In translator keys you die
Streams of a river
now lowered and in deathbed
of a dry land
Neruda,
poetry arrived to you
in one spring or in monsoon
let me tell you
they will kill you
in translator keyboards
bear it for present
which lies on a past
and future she sees a coffin
not for you
but for your poems
like a procession
to a cemetery in translators

INDISPUTABLE

If a soul desires to be mean
it is not a choice an ocean floats.
Beyond the visions of cosmic universe
I can see him, my little Krishna
who listents me from the rain filled valley
of Govardan and hears even the secret
whispers of minds 
there I conflict not
as  he knows me from the innermost
there I hide no secrets
and when he watches through the narrow
black spots of  conspiring minds
it  is true from the valley behind that mountain
I heard his flute several times

BRIDGE

There a bridge hangs
on the dividing line
and rivers of this world flow beneath
towards time or on Neruda's incarnations
How can it be that I can not write
about one river of this nature
and how can they low down the flow
of a mighty river
to one dry land of one artificial mansion
there in the green forest rivers flow
and I see one Kalindi
there you ask me to write
about rivers and the mighty oceans
and me listen now to you and your flute
and Neruda forgive them
they do not know what they do...

FUTURISTIC

Present
someone writes from the broken bridges of past 
like one gift  wrapped on mystic dewdrops
of a fresh dawn
Daily......
in one unnoticeable chart sheet
for the crazy
and me, may be one like that
to read and reciprocate
on bridges natural collapsed
and the artificial ones reconstructed.
breeze the brass antiques
and of late old ones re arrived
from museums to be there in the most
royal inner confluence
that charms millions, priced possessions
from ink sheets to Indian Ocean

IDENTITY

I was in one tiny sea shell
long time ago to be with the sea
in silence to listen a song from the heart
of a sea that roared in me..
Long  long before winter
I was like a tiny autumn earth
Invisible from the satellites
and near that island of sunset
a storm arrived to break open
my world once I loved
and that eventfull day
the sea around me turned wild,
wilder than the one I was into..

COSMIC VIEW

Life breezes on silence 
near the fences of Ghaza  
and my tunes I place
on a designer  keyboard
to be heard aloud
In keyhole surgeries
hearts miss out the factual
blockages and through the monitored
cardiographs
where do I get mine scanned
near Mount Everest
or near the alphabets embedded 
on a monumental great wall
viewed from the cosmic moon beam...

SOURCE

I have opened my sealed up mind
towards one ocean shore
on the day I heard a flute
from the valley of Brihadvan
And there I could catch a few
rain clouds and in rain drops
I find the secret of my origin
In autumn’s earthen fragrance..

RECOLLECTIONS

From where these memories
step forward in unknown
alphabets.
In my cerebrum
I place those chips but in random
modules they come forward
In translators
with cause effect
And in RAM of my PC
there no place to hide
my words; in print marks they flow
uneven like one ocean….
let me hide my sensory perceptions
in microchips of my mind…

RAPIDS

Yes, I must say
I was not a coward to run for a cover
Like an escapist
I did not run away in fear
from the shadows of a world wild
And there you conspired
from behind, splashed ink in blue
spread endless stories
to supplement your superior ego
and to silence her very soul
and from the other end
he endowed blows
all around thinking she would go
Yes!  none desired to cease egos
mountain like
and in ocean you joint ventured
a deceit to drape your guilt
finally when world collapsed
in shatters
you did trials like in one chemical lab..
She left both the worlds
to go to a valley of flute..
as none had concern
to think she a human.
and I must say I was not a coward
to run for a shelter
like an escapist
and my world of flute speaks now
not of silence
but of speech denied…

EARTHEN

In one monsoon
from the front yard of my village house
I watched tiny mangoes falling
towards a magnetic halo
on which earth stood apart
from strange alien planets
and in that dreamy rain
a sea captured me
from the land of sunrise
and in the same monsoon
I felt the same halo
the same magnetic pull
of earth in me...

RIVER

That river dried in summer
of last April
much much before monsoon
and forgot its name
lost origin from mainstream
to end in one narrow
patch of water unnatural
to shrink from its real form
to one artificial entity.

STRANGE

Near one straight elevated cliff
of  Sahyadri
I clasped in hand
a few bright orange feathers
of autumn sky
and away from the eclipsed fields
of faded moon
earth rolled with no emotions
to add on.

From the compartments of wisdom,
from the closed bookshelf
which page do you want to open now?
Let me find a place
to load my baggage too.
Once….
In neatly plaited spiral note book
I wrote about a race called humans
While in that moving train
of Shakespearean  Sonnets
I encountered a world so different,
so different from the cheerful one
I was accustomed with
there I pulled the chain
and that train stopped
on parallel rail tracks…violently
And from the very next dawns
ink splashed on my coffee mug
in different shapes
in uneven graphic formats

Oh love!!!
you eclipsed in Isla de Pascua
At the south eastern point
of the Polynesian triangle
Warned me a few days ago
The same express
That I need to cry a few tears
for the eclipse of love
exTreme
on the dividing blackness
Island Easter a hideout
Or a makeshift
to hide a page infamous
and me, really this ocean
is tired, that time, to be frank inspires me
to feel more envious in sepia shades
but to be honest
near sand sea beach my cup is filled
with cappuccino topped on chocolate
steamfilled coffee with no crushed ice
on a rain filled dawn
how can I shed a tear
or feel jealous on one iced tea..
how can I be so extreme like you...

When nightingales sing from
the dawn’s green forests
some one told me about
an artificial feather of desert’s
sand filled valley
and that is the same soul
refilled history’s sun tanned
pages and sunset
in mid afternoon
bewildered there remains
the same old past
in  smoke filled caves
of a mountain
a little away from the song
ocean resonates

Let me drape this earth
In pure dew drops of morning
In hidden canopies
there begins procession
of a kind
as if it is the end of a world
fire ends in rains of monsoon
and the clouds finished
all what they stored
in coal black barrels
and some one told me yesterday
that the world turn around
me in confines, in chains
and let me see how
when I can take in hand
the freshness of a flower
and the fresh breeze of morning
on my face
where the soft feathers of my dreams
fly above far from a river bank
and oceans flow there
enveloping beautiful horizons
Let me drape this earth
in dream filled dew drops of morning
and let me forget the ash clouds
in procession in plains
of a low edge valley….

I have seen an ocean
the only one  named after a nation
Indian Ocean
And you were in smoke filled
page tents
Listen
you can not judge a book
by an expensive wrapper
its worth starts from the first
five pages and I closed several
such wrappers in page five
' lesson in forgetting'
we place them in bookshelves
to dust for ever
away from the breathtaking
confluence of Oceans
.

For a while
I thought it as concern
but that is long ago
Now I know
That was you:
Seller of news
Stinger of life
King of Politics
How many have you stung?
in record times
to capitalize your fantasy fictions
and in pages you sell
even Jesus and Gods
from above
they watched you and your mind
the most criminal one
and pages danced to your tunes
In decked up attires
with swollen eyes
In liquid forms
In jar bottles
And there you fell
And red indicates danger
In accident spots
a colour of kali
like that one with skulls
all around
Yes you must go when you take
that in your hand
From mountain to ground
to rehabilitation camp
to rectify the damage

God!
Save me from pages
and ink marks
and their everlasting
fake concerns
I do not need them
and their fire walls
I need to cut aside
And liberate my world
like how it used to be
In rains
In monsoon like
I want to go back
to my origin
With no concrete walls
around
with no sting chains
to pierce me
And God
save me from
the cloudy pages
and their fake concerns.

Yesterday
I have seen your colors
there no change I find
For a while
I watched to know
how you play
like any other stage show
you surprised me not
And when I turn pages
I see your page artificial torn
in unreal worlds
you wander in pages
for your convenience
and in real worlds
let me set my earth straight
not for you or for your
masks to torment in cages.
Yesterday
I have seen you
and I know that you remain
the same,  same for ever

Sunday
that is for the third time
to tie the shame
in hideouts
and some one claims
how great an event
for pacific eclipse
not so far from the time framed zone
someone told about
big humans
but for God
they were not really big
and the really really big ones
play not mean
and God knew about them
in detail

What is it about?
Through the window holes
You want to act like one great Samaritan
That is pretence
But those masks failed
do you remember?
I don’t believe in acts
like in pages they do
and how that page dares
to encroach earthen boundaries
don’t assume any rights liberal
with earth on your time
where pages dance
in promotional portfolios
on payments made
in purchasable modes
drop your charity in that blind school
other wise too.. you blind
in two wide opened eyes
in power crazed blood.
In elements of my earth
no place for such craze
and drop always charity
but not in earthen pitchers..

You see in my garden
I planted Thulasi in earthen pots
Fragranced on incense and chandan
Never waited for charity drops
There was rain like my dreams
from monsoon
And in pages I send not first
banter in ink black platter
You were a mask
And if you think I believed
in masks
ask my friends genuine
They never trusted masks
And me too….

It is when I found hidden arrows
on my banyan tree branch
I realized time still rolls behind
in its needled shadows
to cast an eye on this earth
where the blue clouds climbed
deccan plateaus to empty
their blues in rain drops
so pure like a  pure soul…

When I had a feather in my hand
they arrived in my sea shore
to wage a war
When I had only kindness in my heart
they arrived in masks of blue to chase
my soul so pure
When I had only flowers in my basket
they came near me to haunt
in coal black ink
Now when I have emptied my baskets
I find an ocean cascading
away from the back waters
and silent tepid lakes
In that sea shore of mine
they got lost and forgot
what next to do..

Yes, there you find the difference
Of a butterfly and a page
People all over the universe
love butterflies
but numbers in pages
that remain same- blank
in smoke, in alcohol stench.…
and that can only form
camels and cats on ink
beyond that you see nothing
worth
and that is fate, destiny of a kind
bear for good or for bad
and the levels are squared
in sixty four columns
beyond that, I must tell
this sea can not flow low
like a page in black ink