Thursday, November 26, 2009

how intense.

how intense are those pains,
how intense are those blows,
which makes people never let go...
their ears go deaf, to their own shouts,
only a grief stricken silence screams to haunt...
how intense it must be, how intense...
when they can't see themselves,in the mirrors,
though they are absolutely transparent,
under their naked skin, and their bones...
how inense are those pains,
how intense are those blows,
which makes them bleed seas of tears,
when they wash their wounds,
and it all looks like dirty linen,
to everyone around...
how intense are those pains,
how intense they must be,
they let nothing heal them...
there must be many songs,stories,
they never listen to...
how intense are those pains,
how intense are those blows,
everytime they swallow,
i see a burning charcoal in their throats,
everytime they spit,
i see fire sparkles trying to burn,
everything,including their tongues...
how intense the pain must be,
how intense the blows must be,
the empty caves carved out by,
the acid tears streaming down their eyes,
seeping into their memories,and emotions,
make prickling mites and tites, stalaclites,
like life is made of limestone...
how intense the pain must be,
how intense the blows are,
that life collapses with the mind,
an empty cave with prickles and pain,
like it's made of limestone.

morning breeze.

sometimes you just need to hang on,
because you are the blowing wind,
who can be the air,which can stand still,
and you are also this first breeze,
which most don't notice.

yeah,you are also this first breeze,
which most don't notice,
soft,cool,warm,fresh,sweet and lively,
like the feathers,silk,milk,flowers
and honey,green sprouting leaves.
when the morning sun, is a baby,
treading first steps,with tiny feet.


morning breeze...
sometimes you just need to hang on,
because you are the blowing wind,
who can be the air,which can stand still.

hang on,
and please my sweet perfume,
wait till you be you-the morning breeze.
open your blackened eye,pure white beauty....

open your blackened eye,
oh pure white beauty,
it's just a bad dream,
it's a bad dream,mind storming.

wake up from this bad dream,
it may storm you soon to the sea sides,
and drown you into this self-destruction device,
the barren dry desert,life-less.

wake up from his bad dream,
hang on for a little more time,
else,you may end up in a desert,lifeless,
through a self-destruction device...

wake up,wake up, and hang on a while,
else you may end up in a desert,lifeless,
through a self destruction device,
and create a veil, of a deceiving mirage.

open your blackened eye,
oh pure white beauty,
it's just a bad dream,
it's a bad dream,mind storming.

open your eyes,don't storm,breeze,
you are the blowing wind,
you are the air,
you are the sweet breeze.

wake up, open your blackened eyes,
oh pure whit pained beauty,
blow now,it's morning,
be the breeze.
soft,cool,fresh,warm,sweet,lively...
like the feathers,silk,milk,flowers
and honey,green sprouting leaves.

colors.

man!my man,
when you were being a chameleon,
i was being a colorful butterfly,in the same garden.

man!oh my man!
you changed your colors often,
and i got confused you're which one.


man!oh my man!
i used to think you are a flower,
all these days,'cos you smelled so nice.


man!oh man!
you changed your colors often,
and i sucked the whole garden.

man!oh my man!
when you were being a chameleon,
i was being a colorful butterfly,in the same garden.

man!oh my man!
they stuck me with their pollen
and now there are fresh blossoms...

man!oh man!
it's such a shame,that i forgot i was once a larvae,
now m a sight of amusement.

man!oh man!
i wish i was'n that,a colorful butterfly,
infatuated,confused by a color changing chameleon.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

word smith

word smith in his smithy shop,
heats the thoughts well,
he bends and beats,
the roads and the curves,
walked by men,from a longtime,
the world, to make 'em see through his needle eye,
and get them a mind,open wide, and very fine.

intricate.

on a single grain of sand,
there are stories of the great,
sun,moon,stars,and the massive rocks,
light,wind,storms,
days and nights.

the stories are carved,
by each of them with time,
to make the grains stand alone,separate,
very tiny and infinite,full of grit,
and still confronting change,and they narrate...

just to tell me,how to write a poem,
called life,and to to be called a poet,
full of love and intricate,
how to feel a loss,fill a void,
freely,flowingly and still not hopeless...

Friday, November 13, 2009

fool!

when you are angry at nights,
you write poems with rhyming lines,
and with some word play,like you ice,
the baked hot cake,flavored with some nice,
or not so nice surprise,and you feel fine.

and you feel fine,
'cos you conveyed the message right,
to the world lost,in itself and time,
and that you are 'oh! so right',
and i appreciate, your thought,your mind.
'cos i am in this,the society,i write.

i am in this, the society and i write,
i write,to quit,and share it here with might!
yeah.nevermind.

condemned

i cried too much,
it's a crime.
so i was condemned,
to love it till the end.

i yearned too much for love,
it's a crime.
so i was condemned,
to like it more.


and i cry.and i love.
i am condemned,
so i have a heart big enough,
and it lets me laugh my arse out.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

OLIVE IN THE ZOO.

she is an,
olive.

green emerald,
moon moods’ lustrous shine…

moving gold fish,
flying eyelash,with a wish…

fingers’ path and the balustrades,
rolled dice,from the forehead,on the velvet carpet…


this,
is a,
square box,
sun’s scream chained with cages,
tied octopus’s tentacles,
tendril of a creep,with carnivore flower petals…
bodies caught, souls hung,
checked mate!camels,elephants,horses,lions live…


when,
the main gates closed,
she wants go out,
it’s too late,
she lifts a dark tile,
there is a rook inside,
she closes the exit,
she runs around,
she examines the field,
four elephants, cornered alive…
she lifts a white tile,
there is still a rook inside…
she runs around,
examines the field,
four elephants,cornered alive…
she lifts a dark tile,
looks into the eye,
of the rook inside,
it had cried, more it cries…
she keeps the tile open,
she runs around, examines,
four rooks cornered alive,
three more tiles, she lifts…
and all of them cried…
she stays in the zoo,too…
bodies caught and souls hanged,
green splits ,to stand straight,
rooks, knights, bishops, kings lived…
but life is only black and white…
wars they fight,
check-mate!
and all the beasts, free outside…
game not over, but it’s the end…



but look, there is so much oil,
in the can!