Pass into the past.

Slow down,
See what just slipped past you,
Far away it flies,
You cannot hold that wind now.

But see,
Close your eyes and intake the air,
Heavily and in abundance,
Fill you heart full with it.

Let it pass,
Like the dark sparkling sky overhead,
Passing into the past,
And then coming round again,

Let is shine, if it shines,
Let it cry, if it cries,
Let it smile, let it laugh,
Let it dream, if it only dreams.

I wish for rain

I wish it could rain now,

I wish I could bath in the fierce showers of this city;

My wishes are pity,

I have no courage to risk sickness,

I have no heart to moisten again, so soon;

I just still want the rain,

I want just as much,

As much as I feel right now,

As much as I take in right now,

Still, just as much love.

Unoffered, be it,

I will absorb as much;

For though laughs are running away,

I am keeping some heart to smile,

To render some space to this sadness,

To lighten the straining eyes,

To blush and rejuvenate the cheek-flesh,

To open my ears to his music,

To open my heart a little,

To offer some reward for my ache.

Just as much rain,

Still as much love.


They told me: stop staring,
I didn’t tell them
To stop telling.
I am intolerant,
So I still stared,
Kept staring.
They were very tolerant,
They stopped staring-
For a long while.
Staring was rude,
They were polite.
They only whispered,
And giggled;
Whispering and giggling
Is fine,
Meant to be tolerated.
But I am intolerant,
So I cursed,
Under my breath,
For I am intolerant, and afraid,
I am a monkey,
Dancing to a caged tiger.
They were predators,
Civil to the caged monkeys.


Less people are dying now a days,

No large bombs, no wars,

The world is verbally chaotic,

Audibly silent.

Is he saving up burial lands

For people to build square boxes,

Or rectangular, for their progeny?

Is it the silence of storm?

Is it before or after?

Is it the beginning or the middle?

How far is the end?

Is there a get together,

Nearer to the gate of doom?

Can we question the fingers that pulled the trigger?

Can we question the saints?

Will we care to question?

Isn’t doom simple and greedless,

Selfless and oneness?

Is there really any END.

Write to me

Write to me,
Two or three dreams,
About the happiness I feel,
Around you.
Write to me,
Few words in poetry,
For me to feel,
The power of muse.
Write to me,
And send it with your smell,
For me to feel your fragrance.
Write to me,
Till my fingers are tired,
Mimicking your movements.
Write to me,
For as long as you can write,
And then a little more,
For as long as I can read,
And then again some more.


There are things that I want,

Want them now,

In the next second,

Or next moment:

Things that I am afraid of,

Afraid even to see it


Towards me,

Things that I want badly,

That scare me to own it,

Things that are feelings,

And truth,

And things that are me,

My desires,

My dreams,

My blood and beat.

Yet I request,

That the thing be given,

A little gradually,

Avoiding my panic,

And my anxiety,

Come, but with stealthy steps,

And join the crowd around,

The crowd that is within,

And I will breath you unknown,

And I will know,

Then I will be fine;

And I will want the thing again,

And I will no more be afraid.


My throat is dry and wet,
All, the same time,
I am not sad,
I may be happy.
My moist lips are numb,
Sane, but numb.

Still moist, feeling full and less.
The end of the beginning.

I do not grasp,
If I am still thirsty
Or, have murdered my thirst,
It is not meaningless,
I know not, if
It means to me;

I know not if it is a fling,
Just, a fling,
Or more,
Or less,
Or something else.

Bed and Blanket

Bed and blanket,
Love of my life,
When I am stuck,
In stinking heat,
Or near windy window;

Heart and mind,
All my sight,
Moves to the stray dog:
How he sleeps,
In the middle of the day,
A bed of cool mud,
A blanket of lofty bushes,
He found a sweet retreat,
When the whole world is in chaos.

I envy,
I wish,
I was equated to the dog,
So I could also slip,
Below the little gap,
And take a long nap.

Ode to the little storm

You can push my clothes,
You can push my hair,
You can push the curtain away;
But my body remains erect,
My vision remains erect,
And you can’t push them in anyway.
I do like you fierce,
But fierce will not scratch me,
It may move me good,
If my will wills,
It may raise me high,
If my mind is.
But you are sweet,
Like the salt of humidity,
Your little caresses and kisses,
Like the child’s swing in sky,
Conditioning my mind and heart,
Remitting the day’s effort,
Undoing the clandestine meet with the sun;
Your breath blows unhackneyed each time,
Renewing passions of inner me.
Should I fight you or love?
Breathe you or live you?
Should I dance or meditate,
Smile or lose my mind;
Where do you come,
You are neoteric,
To love,
To peace,
To life,
To me.