A glow worm...

I will forget everything, my moonshine;
Will forget all in the dreams.
You are the teardrop of a blossom.
You are the pearl drop of the dainty dew.
Or the craving thirst of my stricken spirit.

Does a butterfly enjoy the spring
While smouldering in a flaming pyre?
Does the embers of my heart has some radiance
While it lies in the ocean of thawing ice?
The wandering desires are seeking the shores
That recedes away farther from me.
No stars are twinkling in the yonder
Only a twinging mind in desolation!
Do the dead quarrel with any one living?
Is there any whimpering coming out
Of a bird that has lost its wings?
Even a glowworm has a tiny light
Of its own, in the lonely night.
And a life emitting light to the living ones...

My paradise…

If this moonlight, these flowers, this breeze
And you are with me eternally;
The music in the song of the nightingale;
This ache and twinge and you in my presence,
Giving me the ecstasy of a life time;
The sandal paste you adorn on your pretty forehead
The saffron moistened by the pearl of your sweat
As my fingers wipe them out while
I endearingly fondle your countenance
Sitting together in the moonlight;
Like a cloud showering its moist drops
On the leaves in the garden
I will cuddle your sweet face then…

The supple radiance of your body that
Lie sleeping on my chest, at this moment
Is similar to the dew drops on the blade of a grass,
And like the a pretty pearl blossoming in the mother of pearl,
Caressed by the serene rays of the evening sun.
The sweetness of your name pervades in each of my words.
I feel your proximity in my boundless dreams.

Guest of honour!

Is that the bracelet on your hand calling my name?
Is that drop of nectar lingering on your
Coral lips, beseeching a kiss from me?
Does each of your heart beat always
Whisper involuntarily my name?
Does that sandal paste in your smile
Preserved to anoint my cheeks, in time?

The lover seeking the nectar filled blossom
Has reached the flower, and cupid with
His sensitive arrows, enthused the thirst of passion,
The tender petals awoke in the chill of lust
And drops of honey were brimming with ecstasy.

How dainty is this charming earth
That greets the radiance of love, as guests!
How immortal is this moment that
Brings my beloved to lay her head against my chest?

Fragrance from past births…

Whence is this sweet scent emanating?
Coming, seeking me with its fragrance!
A heavenly scent bringing forth the nostalgia
Of a period, before my birth and my present existence.
Inexplicable, yet embedded in the soul through births.
Or stemming from a flower that bloomed somewhere;
Or from the loving dream of a blossom.
Whence it came into this soggy moonlight?

Could it be the sigh from the soul,
Which always bear unknown miseries and melancholy?
Like bringing a message this way
From an unseen nymph, of her love,
That could not be expressed previously.
Like an articulation approaching from far beyond
From the kingdom of stars and galaxies,
Of extra terrestrials in love with the earth,
In ripples and embracing the shores of the spirit;
Subjugating the subliminal and whisking away
Into the realm of a phantasmagoria through which
I am moving like driftwood in a flood.

A sad memoir!

Same voice, same complexion;
An evening sky devoid of all splendours;
Empty and dreary with no clouds around;
Desolate shores where millions flowers of froth
Are given birth by the sea, unsavoured ...

Silence builds a nest in the heart
An everlasting pain sustained and stood
In the celestial sphere, without diffusion.
Winter and spring arrived and departed
With its melodious tidings and ornate grandeur;
Boisterous exhilarations and joyful outbursts.

Still the mind was in penance
Without articulations;
Only a grey flower dangled on the
Branches of reminiscence, unshriveled...

The word!

Everything has been said in a word.
A flower bloomed in the soul, at one glance.
Who looted the precious pearl,
From deep inside the heart?
Smiles exploded one after the other
On my jasmine, as it blossomed.
Sucking the nectar from the petals of
The flowers, who sang the mellifluous dulcet?
The chilly breeze playfully whispered
Something in the ears, on its way through here.
Glittering stars and an enchanting rainbow
Appeared in the far horizon!
Nature stood still in wonder, unable to assume.
What was that word!

My modesty

Ebulliently I coveted for a kiss, a sweet kiss;
An embrace on the lips by the love beetle;
I yearned and then my soul stirred.
But my modesty did not allow me to tell you my desire.

In the chilling early morning among the awaking
Blossoms, when you stood near me with your
Coquettish talks and me in the shade of a jasmine
That emitted the fragrance of a thousand dreams,
I turned into another vine and my bosom was quivering;
And I was shivering with my bashfulness,
I failed to utter my craving, out of my modesty.

It was a freezing breeze in the evening while
We were standing on the shore and the sea
Spreading millions of blossoms of froth
Around us, and I turned into another wave of that
Shore, my eyes gazing at the point of your
Curves in the midriff and my pulsating longing
To cuddle you and fondle your vivacious face;
But I could not, as my shyness made me disinclined…

Masks...

Someone said, ‘the face is the mirror of the mind’.
It can’t be the truth since the true face is
Hidden, always behind the mask of grins,
Camouflaged artfully
Over a sea of anguish and frustration.
Love in adolescence could be amusing
And delightful to recollect later, but
It could turn out to be a cyclone striking
Over the ash covered embers of
Reminiscence and may flare up any time.

Love is a delight, when confronted for the first time.
It becomes a burden when it loses its glamour.
The magic stems from the ignorance
That it can never end, and is eternal.
Words unspoken are then heard;
Invisible things come into view;
Without touching the senses feels the touch;
A miracle is happening inside…LOVE.
We call it love with its eternal angle.
‘Oh! Love is real enough; you will find
It someday, but it has one arch enemy
AND THAT IS LIFE.’

Pandora's box...

A music emanating from stones,
A flaring beam of light, in darkness.
An oasis found too late for the wearied soul,
That stumbled and limped through gloom.

Why should the sky be aware of the agony
Of a bird that lost its wings in flight?
What is the need for a garden to express
Compassion in the angst of a blossom,
Whose petals have wilted, scorched and withered?
Is there anyone in this earth, who has ever realized
The truth of human life, and its mysterious ways?

These are like the way of the eagle in the air;
The way of a serpent on a rock;
And the way of a ship in the midst of the sea;
Unable to comprehend and profess!
Our earth is rotating on its axis and revolving
Around the sun, always in fixed orbits;

Like dawns, like dusks
The human lives are infinitesimal as births
And rebirths occur in its natural ways.
Who remains in this earth having understood
The vagaries and complexities of birth?
It still remains and stands out as a riddle!

Miracles!

The thunder has to enter the stage
Only when the lightning displays, its strobe.
The sun can gape out of the horizon only
If the cock allows it by crowing from the roof top...
The rainbow has to give prior permission
To the rain clouds to splatter out.
And the peacock has to allow the sky
To copy its flamboyance to make the rainbow,
Through the pavane it performs, before the clouds.
The birds have to chirp in pleasure
Before the sweet spring season wade in.
The tree will refuse to drop off a fruit
Unless it changes from its raw colour.
How can the rain fall down to the earth
Before the hornbills cry for water, in thirst?
Until the crows get back to its nests for roosting
The sun will not dare to immerse in the sea.

Love hesitates to enter into the heart
When it cannot find a man or woman in this world.
The lullaby sung by mothers only with love
Can oscillate a cradle, for the baby to sleep.
No one can find out the work that God
Does from the beginning to end...

In oblivion

The violin that used to stream out
The horripilations of the heart as
The cascade of serene music,
Has now turned mute, and speechless.
The fingers that fondled without weariness
The deteriorating strings have
Now become strangled and benumbed;
As a flimsy curtain dropped down
At the end of the festivities of spring time
Like flowers that droops down at midnight,
In the final moment of the final day.

My beloved had laid down her head in my lap
And slept, without telling anyone.
In her final all encompassing slumber;
Where even the shadow of slight tremor cannot reach
And in oblivion and obscurity…

Bottled up!

Do you ever see any dreams,
In your meandering life over the oceans
And hills, when your paramour dips in
The sea beneath the sky, under your gaze?
When the wintry nights swoon
With a pot brimming with tears, on the head
Do you still see a paradise in your dream?
When the rainy damp evenings
String together with hues,
The bridal garland of a rainbow, that has to be worn,
Why do you conceal your mute anguish
Inside your spirit, bottled up, without
Letting it known to anyone, who adores you?

Darkness at noon!

Day dreams and milky moonlights;
Meandering brooks and forest shades;
Sylvan hills and golden glades,
Whispering streams and sunny vales;
Billowing beaches and cool coffee bars…
Times were fleeting on swift foot.
Every merry moment has to cease one day...

Far away from the shades of trees,
And chirping voices of fairies around the campus,
Coiled up in the recess of a quiet day;
In solitude, in the company of the sun’s heat.
The monotony carves away the sap of the heart.
The separation creates scorching heat
That of a mid-noon sun, in and around.
Fingers that held fingers have slithered;
Desolate days are like loud moaning in wilderness.
Forlorn, forsaken, abandoned feelings resurrect!
Like the earth’s first love affair...

When was the first desertion?
Who could have made it?
The lover or the loved one?
How many frustrated lovers and for how long
Have out grown the pain?
How many survived?
Frustration and the anguish after
Desertion, is always the other side of the coin.
Both are intoxicating and thrilling;
Both are exhilarating and stupefying.
That is the game of Cupid!

Hopes…

I will worship you standing at a distance
My peerless stunning goddess!
Your smiles look like the superb earth,
Clad in the radiance of the silver moon.
Who can foresee plucking a flower,
Even if it is ravishing on a branch
At our arm’s reach and precinct?

Though it is blossoming in the heart
Bountifully, who can predict if it
Could be possessed and embraced in the bosom?
Even then it is possible to adore it in dreams,
And revere it to the heart’s content, always.

Though the wind may quaver its hand,
Who knows if the blossom will drop down?
Who knows if it could ever quench the thirst
In the mind, though the chalice may be brimming?
Even if it is not imbibed, it is just possible,
It could be always felt and remembered.

Silent Nights...

In the chill of the wintry night
We arrive at the inn for a night, at twilight.
Like dry leaves roving in the wind
We count our small laughter and tears,
Like beads of pearls on the rosary in prayer.
Countenance of love, wake up in anguish
Of the mind, in the surveillance of the past.
And like birds of night, roams in the darkness.
The moon light is hiding in the blue sky.
The sniveling of a nightingale is heard faintly
In the distance, through the silent murk.
The spirit is writhing in pain and will remain
In vigil, through the night.

What is in store for the next day is not known.
The only certainty is, there will be
Again another dawn, and when the day
Becomes weary and no longer wish to continue,
The sun will set, and darkness will
Engulf the fading light like a lover.

So many Mary Magdalenes!

Pardon us, for having done the folly
Of being in this earth as women!
If there is a god, that god will feel guilty
When he identifies how we suffer, with
Our mute desires and passions, with fortitude.
Once we were the springs of passion to the poets;
We were goddesses for lovers who fancied us.
We were cast on their chests as favourite toys,
And were being fondled, as objects of pleasure.
We were laying our heads on their laps; hearing
Their whispers, encharming us with their flatteries.

When we woke up and realized we were hungry
For food, you threw stones at us, and called us prostitutes.
We are Mary Magdalenes seeking Jesus Christ,
To sit at his feet, yearning to wash his feet
With our tears, and anoint him with the fragrant
Spikenard oil, before the crucifixion.
We are the modern Mary Magdalenes……

Wingless…

I am falling to the ground, my wings
Having broken and shattered, on the
Rugged earth of this blue planet, and
With never-ending grief in my heart.
Let me give succor to the wearied spirit in me,
The comfort of the supple cushions of leaves.
The earth and heaven unaware of the woes in
The heart of the humans, always grin.

Another morning arrived with the beaming sun.
The buds of blossoms awoke and opened their eyelids.
The soul is exhausted with raving thirst,
In front of the milky ocean of love
Brimming and fizzing, in its serenity.

Rainbows flower and vanish in the horizon,
And the poor rain clouds hovers in and around waiting.
The pale moon fills its goblet again for another moment
In the heaven, and enter its chamber among the clouds.
On the pyre of yesterday’s flowers dance
Today, the buds of blossoms, happily.
Still the mind is longing for a drop of the milky
Ocean of love, for its parching lips…

Revelry…

We arrived into this theatre of an inn
One night, and together we have started
To play and sing our roles, as assigned.
Now this is the moment real and true!
This is my crystal platter.
Dearest, you pour into this
A few drops of the nectar of your love.
It will inebriate my lips and
It will intoxicate my heart.
Our birth is unknown to us,
And our death also comes without
Fore warning, without our knowledge.
Each end is held by birth and death.
Amidst these ends, is the time for
Merry making, the time for revelry
And roistering without break…

Shadow play...

You are the heroine in the shadow play
On the stage of grief, in the play,being
Enacted in the darkness of the stage.
What makes you adorn a necklace gratuitously,
With pearls of tear drops, from your eyes?
Why do you embellish yourself with ornate
Dresses and knick-knacks?
Why do you put vermillion on your forehead?
Why do you wear a garland made of dreams
On your face, that was hidden in your subconscious?
When the sun and the moon shines their lamps
On the curtain of this beautiful earth,
You remain as a shadow that fades away,
And dazzle, in a stage where there are
No spectators in front of you.

Desperate!

You disappeared somewhere like a lightning
And I wandered all over seeking you as a song.
The garlands I weaved sumptuously with ecstasy
Of your soul have now wilted and scorched.
My Morning Star! Where have you gone,
Shattering my dreams, and paralyzing my life?
You vanished like the silvery moon in the sky.
And I am becoming a cloud to conceal you up
In the warmth of my cosy love for you, and
With a mirthful spirit running after you.
Now I am left alone with its desolate grief,
And you escaped like the morning dew
Into the vast emptiness and I am
Seeking you, becoming a sob and a sigh now!