Where She Lay

Virile, the Nile

Does flow serpentine

Repentant for the ghosts

Vilified

By the knights in the

Not-so-shining armours

Nile, bleeding Nile---

Does she bid her time

To crime, to blight

The skulls piled

In her bed, volatile?

She swells and

Forgives.

She is a friend

Of a chiaroscuro of Neverland

And the end of the world,

Where she raves and rants

A nymph, a grail,

A grant, or simply a hated,

Denigrated termagant---

Who loves a wingless bird,

A harried scavenger,

A reckless philanderer

But does she kill

To bring

The one she loves

Into the light across the train-wreck?

She purses her lips and

Waits.

Her vivid red, pull-over,

Awry in the rover

Draft in the air, seducing her hair

Away from her lachrymose glimpse,

That rests on an old nemesis

And draws to a nascent closure

In the sudden epiphany that...even her nemesis

Can open its mouth to a kiss

And her heart beats with ecstasy,

Only ecstasy to envision

That if her own version of Hate can love,
And make her Love what she should hate,

Then Love can defy…hate

As she,till then,knew it.

Did she let down her hood

And pray for good

That from her new found faith

She would never need to sway?

She cried and

Laughed again.

Ripples

To throw a stone at a strident ripple

With eyes closed and a voice crippled

With the renegade joys of a childhood lost

In the turbid, eager eyes of grown-up jaunts,

Is to hold an umbrella to the twilight sun

And revel in some quixotic virtuous norm,

Pretending what has been is never wrong

But to kindle a candle, one needs the wick to burn…

So the twilight will phase into a night

And candles will burn, and fluorescent lights…

One drop of moon in the ripples of water

In a majestic silver mermaid, will shudder

When the sojourn of the stone will strike...
Back.

The ripples will remain, gather and froth

And the ignominy of moon shall stay to spurn…

The night shall change to a new daybreak

And the sojourns of stones shall return….

And sink to the abyss beyond the drop of moon.

But ripples,we still ripple on...

Finding My Personal Vengeance(or Evanescence)

A soft,resplendant echo
Of a single threshold touch.
I could fall a thousand steps
To reverberate under its footfall...
The 'evermore' hones an evanescent day,
And I could hear the sea-gulls humming in praise...
Warped and maimed, I could rise again---
My lone paramour, my sovereign disdain...
Nevermore, I would sing again
On a yellow,framed afternoon...
A stalker may know the wisdom
For the reasons I show.
A grave,left unattended
Filled with snow
A story,untainted
And concealed with many more.
But then you were gone
Or going away,I'm not sure...
The story would screech to a halt,
I might have crashed,I wouldn't know...
And the birds would fly away,
Leaving us thus betrothed, I want to believe...
By the rituals conferred---
A fire and a central plot,
And a mesh of 'I do'-s and 'They do'-s...
To conclude the wrought.

Do they sing 'evermore' in heaven?
Is this a dream?
Gone and nevergone,
An insensitive,unholy scheme...

And they did...

Blahs and Blues ---14/1/11

The tips of my fingers are lost in anomalies of a long-drawn,age-old conflict called 'touch'.
Do I want to?Should I?Is anybody watching?Would they mind?
All I have to do is lift a finger,and place it...gently or briskly.All I have to do is remain in sync with my tirades of past self-denials and coax myself to walk away...
It isn't exactly walking away from myself.Merely undoing the hopelessness that washes through these fingers each time they are encountered with the four questions.A speck of colour on a grey wall, a face-like puddle of water on a slab of bus-window glass and golden hair of a six year old seated next to me,a dab of magenta in a perfectly green leaf, an eclipsed-sun in a cigarrette butt...
I wish I could touch you,to touch me.
I want to,I should,whoever is watching,minding me or not...

Blahs and Blues---11/1/11

A naked,begrime,barefoot child on your porch,
dripping the slippery skin of earth;rings your bell,once,twice
and many too many times,making you temporarily deaf...
till you open the door,adopt him as your own and
wash the muck off with your own bare hands...
...
and name him 'epiphany'.

One Day

There is one day for everything.

One day…that will seek dust

On the back of a camel

To ride into the sunset

Of a desert monsoon,

One day…when I shall have written

All my last wishes, not only my dreams,

In one single rhapsody, my tuneless song,

Origamied into a lone butterfly.

Can butterflies be lonely?

Some days maybe…

Another one day,

I will have watched the moon stride

Through the primer-scented grills

And play peek-a-boo

On the wings of my butterfly

And fly

Across the black sky,

Out of my line of sovereign sight.

One day…I will lie down

On sheets of sand soaked in the

Crashing tears of the sea,

Spread-eagled, with arms frosted

In golden muck, praying and

Pretending that gods of quick-sand

Would make a one-wish exception for me.

One day…I will surmount the broken step

Of open-air canvases

And lived long enough to breathe

The hot air there and tell the tale

To the pink-cheeked, one-liner-king,

Blue boy with a palm

Ready for alms.

One day, he shall surmount as well…

One day…I will have crossed

The esplanade intersection without

Reliving the needless, manic squeals

Of holding hands and racing the traffic lights

In one blind-sided go…

One day…I will have remembered

To bring along extra batteries along

With the torch on my search for the

Lost and forgotten time-capsules…

One day, I will remember the date

Of today and write my dreams in a single song

Replacing one day with Today.

One day…

Condemned

The state of chaos is a hallucinogen
Awaiting the wrath of gods
To condemn it to the rings of fire
Once and then for all...


The swing wreathed with Cassiopeias,
And hung on a thread of aphrodisiacs
Merge and Kiss,
Rattles in a baby cloud's hands,
In the heavens
For a second longer
Lingers...
And is lost in the chaos
Condemned.

The state of chaos,
Condemned by earth,by heaven,by hell
Is alone

And
Everywhere.