IMAGES


It is true that i believed of a world
and found later it not like nature
but like a painted ink drop 
which lashed across 
my Indian Ocean Promontory
Far from the skyline, a star
opened its sparklers
towards my heart
to give me the final image;
images of my own
earthen elements 
like the reflection of 
pure Light...

SYNTHETIC..


How flashy the lights
and there we see the artificial smiles
so wide in plastic filled faces
and the show begins there
merely for the outside world
and there we find no true heartbeats
but only an unnatural beat for people
to glare at,
to create a print mark...
a kind of made up wraper
to walk around on fashion statement
in colours of prejudice bought
on stolen coins..
There we find the insincere smile of deceit,
in ink drops splashed across to create
not value but to devalue the real..


Artificial special effects...
Synthetic threads
to drape the dishonest ones..
Mere Show....

ARCHETYPAL

How good to see images

from an epic when i start my day

and in the beginning it appeared

strange until a star placed

its pure vision in my eyes

for me to see the real

ink shades of timeless archetypals

and that is the day i re opened

my ancient epics to learn

more about cosmic evolutions..

HEARTBEATS

Let my heart bleed

and in a way it is good

than to wrap wounds unhealed

for ages in thin muslin..

and let me read fables about friendship

from those who tingle from behind

and in stratagems

let me see how honesty lies…

Yes, even I am empowered now

to hold slander in style at return points

and It is true when I go back 

to my conscience

where I know at the end

it is painful to bear the burdens

but there no alternative

I find to heal the wounds

other than to retaliate.…

HEARTBEATS

Standing near the meridians

of seasons

my heartbeats remind

me of the beauty of words

ahead of one silence which

traumatizes and haunts

souls on subterfuge..  

From the mirror views

of reflections even I looked upon

once to grace a silence

but now I need to look below

to see its  pale shadow

in worthless pavements

glorifying  its own silent fears…

Strange but it is true

how classic themes  grow

in rampant time frequencies

and how a silence haunts

hearts innocently….

Standing near the meridians

of seasons my heartbeats

remind me of the beauty

of words which swap not heartbeats

like  a subdued pretense..…

IMAGES

REPLY TO A GOOD POET

SYMPHONY

How selfless music

which ties several strings

of the world in instruments,

unites languages of the world

ahead of religions

and geographical boundaries

where there no definition i find 
as genuine alphabets

bring in my heartbeats

a symphony....

REPLY TO A MODERN POET

There in metro rails

moments turn timeless

Modern thoughts sip coffee

in costa coffee outlets

and  smoke winter fire..

fom Perth to Indian cricket fields

we learned how to give back

membership honours

Members throw acid packs

in oceans to recreate cloud forms

and challenge the universe

Richters sour on heartbeats…

How modern our world

in unicodes..

REPLY TO A MEMBER POET

From images to my collection

of artifacts, I know I was not into

a discovery fragment to collect

grime from my immediate fences;  

a skill I know you appreciate not..

True, I looked around

for a portrait of nature there

and in woods I stored not

unaccounted gold coins

to serve a gourmet dinner

for your clan like the way

your new card holders do

and against your thousand

members I can show you my god

who granted me his vision

to know about you and about

your million face masks…

And let me tell you I know

what exactly happened

in between...

beyond the loud silence,

words spoken, written

and the colours splashed across…

REPLY TO A CLASSIC POET

Listen love

That was past and I did not know you

I was lost in my own world

and in pure sea shells I placed my heart

my only hopes rained near poems

and that you  destroyed on hatred,

love and revenge..

That is strange but ordinary

not  great…

UNPRESUMPTOUS

From the faces of shadows
I learn how modestly 
I can grow with the laced burdens
 of artifacts showcased
in one art gallery of peseta.
From the dissected heartbeats
of ink stained mornings
i learn how immodest
i can paint portraits against 
the will of my heartbeats
and at the end I know
how unpresumptuous
i can grow in face packs
in surreal plateaus …

 IMAGES

Once from dialects,

mirrors net trapped alphabets

of origin from one earthen ocean
but on morning light

there remained dew drops…

Looking at my face in one mirror

I realized a smile I lost

on seasons which reflected once

radiance of a million earthen lamps

From the ruins of stone temples

I learned that invasions

cause pain not only on stone statues

but even in hurt lockers

of Euphrates and Tigress…

Hurt or unhurt there remain

on the ruins

cradle of civilization… 

EQUATIONS


Surrounded frequencies
empty not my dreams
as dreams fly upwards
in poetic shells
from ruins to the shattered
main lands and from there 
to the star filled skies
and from Hill of Tara 
to many unknown terrains..
Several years I silenced
my heartbeats but not my dreams
and in new seasons
I fill a new word against
a tear drop to equate
the lost broken daylight...

HEARTBEATS


Many million years 
of evolution filled not
any refinement in hearts.
Even in one sliced up
sand grain of Goan Beach
alphabets remodel
tunes of Bethovan behind
the empowered sky stands
Fields misinterprets a word 
while playgrounds fast
near flagposts for a written manifesto;
to break on every  given chance
and on the plateaus of December 
fictions unearth vacuum points 
to fill portfolios
ahead of broken heartbeats

ISLAND


That island was a tear drop
in Indian ocean.
From eras to one satellite point
there changed
many million alphabets
on its ancient silk road
in Taprobane to Ceilão
and on the final reminder
of one resplendent
earthen rain drop
seasons wrote their renaissance
on bridges of arrows
to demystify the elements
of pure earth..

IMAGES

  

World around the horizon

records its gravity

of disasters on Richter scales

and on the alert map

Banda Aceh tears its sand grains

to smear against the forehead

of a province where life

evacuates its own heartbeats

From the ink block impressions

of chains once tied to the turning point

there fell a banyan

when Richters failed

to record the ultimate point

of infinite horizon..

IMAGES

Where can i find my reflection

where stars collide on black holes

around the majestic outer space.
Scientist find there one more earth;

a twin around us

Kepler….

Stanzas collide in my heart

and there no reflection I find

that the only banyan stood there fell,

crushing even the finest  elements

of existence...

IMAGES 
It was again on a monsoon
that i walked back from my seashore
to paint a golden dawn against 
the cloudy eastern horizon 
and there on the branches 
of a mango tree one long forgotten
era cried against the rain soaked soil.
When images exchanged 
their seasonal shadows
beneath a banyan on the meridian 
there left nothing
to take it in hand except 
the broken pieces of a window frame...

IMAGES
Do you try again to paste your
unnatural colors on my earthen walls
to disfigure my heartbeats 
from its safe chambers
and IF at this junction 
I can gift you only a burnt block
from my fireplace as a memoir
for your heart to treasure;
an insignia for you to remember
that you cannot always play
a noisy metal Fiddle 
to disrupt my ocean to forget
its natural song..

SEASON

Wrong or right, it is choice

and very few can define

right and wrong in its real frames

May be it is true

we humans are right at times

and wrong at times

and it is good not to always say

you wasted your life in one wrong

season when you see a colourful

new season around

because you create wrong and right

to suit your present,

as a supplement to nurture

your wrong ego...

where you can not blame a season

of rain for its raindrops

SEASONS







In one cemetery of eternal sleep
I know we encounter seasons
like the way we come across 
with forgotten souls
and on the colonial requiems
we hide the solid stone blocks
of our sepulchers ...

HOW SOUND IT IS TO THINK STRAIGHT

How sound it is to think straight
when the whole world weaves
a cotton yarn on spin wheels
and leave it to fly away from
time zones
Oh love i wish
i would not have known even
that term for good
that it is better to bury that in a coffin
alive than to run behind
the ruins of your honour

HOW CAN I GO IN SILENCE

How can i go in silence
when my speech climbs again on that
peak to break that last tiny fragment
and see how I have transformed
in this monsoon
I know there arrive a time
for everyone to break silence
and how can i hide
when my rains knock at my door..