WHAT IS POETRY!

What is poetry
In a drop of
Warm tears.
A verb of subjects!

Feelings cut
The pages of poetry,
Etching the lines
In blood red

Crown me not
With your looks
Albeit, kill me
With your words

When the soul
Lurks in dust,
Who summons
The storm!

What is poetry
In existence touch,
A corner of silence
In unlimited YOU!

THE GALLERY

Always there!
It searches
For the choice
In ripeness
Of an old age

It keeps
The darkest
Enigma of all
It envelops
The existence
Any time
Any place.
And still
Life sprouts,
Crying again

It keeps
A choice.
Only once
The chance
Comes deftly
Binding on all

Who is not
In love
With death.
Every instance,
Crazy time
Sips a parcel;
To be sent
In gallery
Of graveyard!

LITTLE BIT MORE

If for a, little
Bit more, I
Could have gathered
An extra love
Holding my fingers
In drooling walk.
All the thoughts
Could have crumbled
In greatness, of
Thy care. I
Could have, doodled
An universe, with
My sable brush.
Who cares:
Was it the work
Of madness
Or, of Masters,
Playing in unison
With my 'Whole'!

WINDY CLOUDS

Illiteracy flows
Through my rustic
Torn attire
It smells of
Conglomerate many
Clutching in
Unitary whole

Respite comes
In wakeful alliance
That you were
Also so, the
Bondage of time

Where the pieces go
In fall ultimate
Never, it turns back.
Always the wisdom
Flows forward.

Illiteracy binds
The closer me
And takes
Not the height
But arms length
To sway in
Windy clouds!

DEFINITION

Have lost
The touch with nature
When I knew
How to tie
A lace
To my shoes

Have lost
The music of winds
When I knew
How to button
A shirt
To my body

Have lost
The height of vision
When I knew
How to open
My eyes
To deep slumber

Have lost
The definition of you
When I knew
I was not different
To all your doings
Which defined
You!

AN OCEAN OF LOVE

Salty drops
Seek passion
And ways,
Across the cheeks

Uncountable tributaries
Runs,
Down the face
Flowing wisdom
In an ocean of love

Why the heart
Teems with the beats
Does it have
Many hearts to collect!

SUMMON THE SOUL

Switch off
Prickling lights
Light bulbs
Hit the eyes

Need an hour
In silence dark
Bereft of light
And words too

Parked on bed
Art transforms
Raising fingers
In deep void

Closed eyes oozes
Colourful imagery
Sprouts surcharged
In beautiful inlay

Switch off
Remaining lights
Come hither
Summon the soul