OLD FASHION PEACE

Moon slink through gloomy rift
By the mountainous hulk,
Swallowing an old fashion peace

Nimbus of remoteness, dissolve
Mortar of melancholy dream,
Duping thy wanton play

Meekly I submit
Thy last war of epigrams,
Smelling death, as deer smells hunters

Fleeting apparition, whirl
To feed the fear in longest run;
Ditto I fix a bet, as death fixes silence

Moon slink through gloomy rift
Tugging along the rotten flesh,
Swallowing an old fashion peace

They call you a saint now

With thanks to Madan Gandhi ji and Tapeshwar Prasad

They call you a saint now
some do
(two)
and
revered or reverend
and though it feels strange
it has something in it
some grain or element
or ring of truth
attached
that makes me not (dare to) gainsay it
Those who knew you
know it too

https://www.facebook.com/ampat.koshy/posts/10156073128550006

CONSCIOUSNESS AT LARGE

How rarely,
You bare up
the extant of my dreams
flinching, unconsciously
the rectitude of my heart
In door-less lea
and a blooming sky;
chirping, cajoling
the consciousness at large

CALORIES

When calories, groove
the crux at heart
Billion stars brew,
Frothing mighty strength

LESSER SOUND

No lesser sounds
were enough
to damp my passion
than,
when you
crushed me
by your silence

THROBBING HEART

No sooner
the sun hides, behind
the mountains silhouette
in twilight trail;
a new narrative, begins
to groove the memory
streaking night entails;
by the loving warmth:
the tale of tales
lofty in dreams
flickering the gleam,
beseeched
by the throbbing heart

HAIR-LOSS

What mnemonics strands
I pulled by the darker nights;
The slate-grey brush
Grumbled about its hair-loss!

PADDLING JOY AND HAPPINESS

I ride my bicycle in globular planetary move
peddling frontal sun-wheel, and rear by the earthy wheel,
the spokes which binds the strength in joyful streaks

The frontal sun wheel steer the way shining the path
the rear earthy one makes cosy the feel in diurnal move
Thus I pedal the corners of space with joy and happiness

SLUICE MY SIN

Vesper tinkle
In twilight prayers,
Tears fortified

Have lost your name
In muted silence,
Hemlock cupped

Lips mumble
My last puff,
I prostrate thy feet

Beggar I am
Circling skies,
Searching thy hinterland

I am not of You
Neither you to me,
I wriggle my lost providence

Reposing all faith
I ache thy form,
Sluicing my sin

TRUE FREEDOM

Thy craze of vastness, have
Eyes of thousand galaxies
Many visions of sun's golden heart
throb inside my lubricant dreams

Melody of all moon's silvery nights
Dismount the skies highest stars;
To croon a soothing air by my ears
that quaver my warbling lips

Like an inertness, that
Surrounds the vacuum inside the bulb
I meander my life's tenure, unresponsive
to a greater light that augur thy move

That which govern a bigger chalice
full of nectar to the brim;
Truce my passionate desire
to unshackle the 'self' in true freedom 

VENOM IN FLESH

When,
those bearer of
Silent flesh;
willow a touch
by its tangent whip

I unbearably,
hide
my branches
from its gory look

and,
by tongue of fire,
flare the slurp
in countless pyres
to quaff
the venom in flesh

Murked by its end
I spew its last remains

GRIZZLY GROWL

A heavy saddle
By nightly ghost, rant
a perilous course;
fuming its charge
in deeper outburst

Hallucinating paranoid
By the darkest caliber;
Monks burn fire,
whirring his head
Opioid of strength

Darkness; crusted
Death-dark, rumble
A ghastly hump
in lesser comatose: The cry;
The growl of grizzly bear

In measure

In measure of earth, you were silent;
In measure of bounty, your's was my sky.

VENDING MACHINE

Always, you prove
The worth of vending machine;
Debiting an account,
Crediting thy rank

Spanking new
Thy melodious crush;
You run, crisp
Thy currency note

Every broaden wish
Fill up the fallow land.
A new sprout, blurb
The worth of vending machine

GREY DUST

I loosen my closed eyelid
Slight of faint strength
Simmering straight, thy glow

I hold mountain of breath
firm and stocky built
to listen by my parched lips

One that bid adieu
A long time ago, commend
A holy grail, for my last respite

All music that wired my breath
Died in your reluctant will.
All acquaintances, now; brew a leap

I can hear the swoosh, running
inside the pyre wall. Only
A decree; and was reduced to grey dust

NOBLE PATH

Those who prune
the hollow husk,
ear the worth of moorland

A deeper plough
that till the earth, croon
the worth of metallic claw

Noble His ways
Nobler His path, that
fret the colour of life

Those, obdurate
of minor due,
yield a luring pun

A tender feel
that resuscitate my heart
critter thy pet name

Noble His ways
Nobler His path...

No Hitchens, nor Dawkins ... 'Olay' cream or 'Wild man'

Let us heave
those sittings
in totality, that
plat a silent form,
the unbecoming of
thoughts and its imagery;
sipping netarine faith
in truer understanding of His love:
The merger of me, and
His divinity into mine

No Hitchens, nor Dawkins
drew any reason, to faith;
neither Khuswant or Russel
had any repo with practical atheism

Count not, my leather skin
in beauty by 'Olay' cream;
or,
with 'Wild man', the bear conditioning dream.
All beauty, sag
bearing the brunt of time

The parody is explicitly
a flaw, a crack;
into His divine will

No Hitchens, nor Dawkins ...

UPHOLSTERY OF FAITH

Thy thought
beat my silence
in truer knowledge of
my understanding
that has, become
a gainsay,
to my observation,
sans act,
sans intellect;
founting thy knowledge
in becoming
the becoming of you:
thy upholstery of faith

BOLOGNA TO THY TASTE

Whooping,
A coughing delight
I rattle down
the last puff,
unnerving my senses
that brew
my certain demise

Wanton,
I drool my
quivering thoughts
down the spine;
doing away
any kinship with life
Toying my breath

Cavernous,
your gory charm;
forfeiting momentous heave
pledging the debt
seasoning the lard;
bologna to thy taste.
Did I do any wrong!

UPHOLSTERY OF FAITH

Thy thought
beat my silence
in truer knowledge of
my understanding
that has, become
a gainsay,
to my observation,
sans act,
sans intellect;
founting thy knowledge
in becoming
the becoming of you:
thy upholstery of faith

BOLOGNA TO THY TASTE

Whooping,
A coughing delight
I rattle down
the last puff,
unnerving my senses
that brew
my certain demise

Wanton,
I drool my
quivering thoughts
down the spine;
doing away
any kinship with life
Toying my breath

Cavernous,
your gory charm;
forfeiting momentous heave
pledging the debt
seasoning the lard;
bologna to thy taste.
Did I do any wrong!

NUTS AND BOLTS

My ceiling fan, rolls
its sarcastic laughter
As I bellow, ruminating
my deepest thoughts

Unmanly I fasten my bolt
screwing the nut inside.
I transpose my ulterior
gaining the fan's faster wings

My ceiling fan, surcharged
brisk the revolving blade
Quipping the remark:
"When power wanes, humans search for nuts and bolts!"

CARE THY WORLD

Care thy world O Lord, care!
A headless hog, surface
down the murky lane
Prowling tail-less the darker nights

Yet many a stronger dreams, peer
the fallen porch
surviving the ruin; with
shrieking horror, howling long

Oozing thicker blood;
bundle of fear, silhouette
flocking the night hawk
A voodoo, communicating death

Once pride of fore, the strength; perchance
now, barrel down the sorcerer's line
Fallen spirits, assail
Moaning the darker nights

Care thy world O Lord, care...!

MY GOLDEN BICYCLE

Golden was the old moments, when
Children would sit on baby seat;
the frontal of my bicycle view
and, we would talk of passing views;
the trees, the men; the fair
the lofty mountains, the river bath
and, would do maths with fingers jerks
holding the steel handle of my bicycle, firm;
slowly and strongly as we wheeled the path

All muted away
In a litre of petrol
And, the running miles

Now,
They wear helmets
with longer boots
and clink hard
with metal foot

We would talk of stamina
strength and kabaddi; next to our lane
the jolly fair with jovial crowd;
The soil of our land,
the sari of grandmother to buy
the toy for kids
the rolling pin for mothers;
Roller-coaster and the magic show,
the black diamond and the fairy queen

Much was pleasant,
playing its natural way
Now,
Time plays a distant zone
Vanishing of old charm, peeve my way

My golden bicycle...

MENDING LOVE

Why you blare
your sound,
sitting on the roof;
Did I praise?
your voluntary urge
to act by your hoof

Your nails have grown
longer of now,
Your tongue protrude
sticking an outer air;
Did I clove an aroma
dried like a bud

Why you covet
your strength,
sitting life in fragility;
Had I not shown?
the preview
How to mend love
Ulterior to your motif

CREDIT MY LOVE

I was minor
in your sizzling invent,
to keep your remembrance
trailing my breath

My unconscious state
drew a willing thought,
naming the accord
to pull your near

A hefty sum was left
to credit my love,
drifting the warmth
to burden my heart

I was minor
in your selfless intent,
and was wriggling
to pay you back

My brewing madness
left me helpless, otherwise
to safeguard your love
I opted my heart out

A hefty sum was left
to credit my love...

SILENT CHISEL

Give a stony mass
to my silent chisel
as I sculpt pyramid,
thoughts mummified!

TREASURE TROVE

The slightest pulse
augured the looming storm;
Defenceless and pulverized
It broke into minor huff

Nothing was amiss
along the wimping clouds;
Fear and fright
Tethered the sky

The last pulse
Augmented the barren land;
Impacting a sudden blow,
A treasure trove in all peace.

WARMTH

Your two dimensional write
all black and white, float
three dimensional images
with multidimensional eyes

You have all the geometry
to dispose the art;
I have but one heart
to beat thousand times

Your words bind thoughts
soaking blank sheets,
etching memory, lively
with warmth of feel

WISDOM

From the crevices
of dead ramparts
a bud shines through;
decrying the keep, that
never outshone
when chambers played
a stony valve
to my heart, before

Bubonic heart mine
Swells my momentous pride;
sprouting, that dangle
the clear upper sky
manoevring the upkeep
with geal and joy
maintaining a tryst
in transit of faith

From fetters of
Stony hulk,
an oasis of trust, flows
by my heart;
All manoeuvre gained
was not all wilful
of my heart, but
wisdom that bonded us both

BRIGHTER THAN THE NIGHT

It is evening time, home comming
for the feathered friends.
Rustling leaves perch the weary wings
that flapped dawn to dusk

They will chirp their beak
with the longest story stretching the day.
Alongside, the little ones, crave
humming more louder the chirp
Synchronizing the beat with loving seniors

At the stroke of midnight, when
dreams paws a sleep;
one more of golden streak, simmer
along the darker nights;
Suaving a beat
more brighter than the night


http://almondsareorange.blogspot.in/2015/09/brighter-than-night-by-tapeshwar-prasad.html

इक मय प्याले की

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