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..