Wednesday, December 6, 2017

THE MINGLING


A shy old man
lived under a dense forest
in his old hut
hundred yards from the sea
freaful of water

He clinged to his fear and bones
Stone deaf, silent, he rarely left his house
laid out his memory
on the sight of a funeral urn kept on the mantlepiece -
his daughter died of malnutrition many years ago

He could not tranport his body
Nor was he tormented by imagination -
He died.

They put in his coffin the urn of his daughter's ashes
Next year -
The mingling

GOLDEN NEEDLE



A golden needle
bemoan
its futility
in brightness
buried
inside haystack
It stitches
richness
Under
its thoughtful sky
Unknown
to reality

DENIZENS AND ME



I have seen denizens
of the outer world
feeding on spaces
of its cosmic birth
inebrieted with a whirl upon whirl
holding sense of its presence
beyond the senses if humans could perceive
yet, invisible to our stony eyes

I have seen the marks
of your steps
in my dreams
treading reality with rounded perfection;
accrue me nothing
in comparision with your deluge
that drunk me darkeness
in ever deepening spaces

I have a little life
left on this earth, otherwise
my inertia is so vibrant
of my own doing, and
is not so inert
as it seems it is perceived
And can pen my surety
that I do with denizens and me

SWEET DEMISE



Bison with curly horns
fearless and devouring
ride my fear
swaddled in darkness
of which
hurling hoofs
rut my heart
with every silent paw
marking
a dead end to me.
Smile, conscientiously
taking a leap
smiling sweet demise on my lips

ENNUI OF THE PRESENT



She came searching for life, upstairs;
holding a clutch of time, that
she herself was feeling disenchanted about it

ennui of the present
came plashing with higher tides
indifferent to who she was

Oblivious of stepping legs
she strayed from her present path
to her familiar past

Repeatedly she called out her mother
that her mother was alive; resting or sitting in her upper room
knowing least that her mother had died forty years earlier

She is eighty years old now, pressing her remaining years
with the bonding lost into the past, that
She and her Mother once drew milk out of it

VALIANCE OF MY NIGHT



Valiance of my night -
the deep sleep
fights battles
with denizens of the uplands;
manoeuvring my dreams
Sword and armour
slithering quietly and skillful
into a larger space -
the crying
of an open battlefield

Defeat came easily
buzzing
into my ears -
mosquitoes;
as I threw my limbs
tearing
the safety web: mosquito net
unswaddling my legs and hands;
as I awoke
folding my dreams into a page

DUST



You piped a breath
out of me, and
played like no other before
my painful fortitude
rolling over the multiverse

All narration lost
in denouement of naught
in an ever increasing vastness;
and silence
upending the void within

I have lost touch of those
who derided me
of my painful bearing on this earth;
Now I chide
their becoming, a dust