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!