above
an eagle's point of view
a symphony of green breaks
the monotony of sky on the
earth below,
sun, moon and stars pass overhead
with stories told but unsaid

vagabond bones on a dusty road
speak of time in a seed:
trees, rooted in dirt shed
seasonal leaves
like brilliant titles and musical
notes falling into human bodies
passing away the hours of memory.

We drift along elongated shadows like
rivers.

That Snowfall

The winter season, kept all of us waiting for snow,
the temperature was right for it, well below zero.
The chill factor of the wind kept me warm indoors
in my comfortable home with all of its three floors.
As the temperature fell we waited day after day
for the snow to fall which we hoped was on its way.

When my clear skies
Were occupied by clouds
The monotony mixed with
Irrational thinking kicked in

When rejection exchanged her vows
You were their holding faith
Like a dose of penicillin
to a wounded Soldier
in need of relief

Yes, you made a bridge out of
The torn pieces of my soul
Somehow you convinced
The sun to shine once more

You took the weight on my shoulder
And offered me shelter from
The world that swallowed me up
And spit me out like spoiled milk

Union of partitioned sects
Ten coded commandments
Borrowed from Hamurabi
A heritage to Pharos’ past
Must testimonial judgment
Spectacles without light rays
Come as revelation in voices, sing
And compel me to be born again?

Must mutual friendship be betrayed
By illusions of belief in claims
Of self made uprightness
Oh! Holier than thou outlook
See others as legions of darkness
Assign vain, void and inglorious
Their hearts’ intimate realization?

She dyed he died…

The dyed red haired girls green gloves
came up under her nose, stifling a yawn
as she stared at the sexy designer dressed
girl in the chequered skirt with stunning
eyes all dreamy.

Perhaps she subdued more than a yawn
while her fingers flicked about her nose
giving her face the impression of a kitten
in comfort surrounded by empty saucers,
whiskers all creamy.

lace of contrail
bitter cold
that window of sky
before the clouds came by
and streaming rains
that rush against the glass

and the radiator strives
shivering out its thin heat

unwell the darkness in your eyes
swells
your anger hitching in your breath
we sip our tea
and search the rooftops
green with light
this thick pressed front
is walking in

our history dwells
like static between us
the passion a ghost
we are formal
passengers
in a grey pic

CHRISTMAS AT LAST

Hurrah! Its Christmas, once again,
And time to get out in the rain
And sleet and frost and hit the shops!
Like toothache, so good when it stops.

A present, for some young relation
with attitude above her station.
Whatever she is given, why,
She'll pout and sulk and roll her eyes

They get so much, but still want more
Designer labels, classy stores.
But not this year! I won't be moved,
The sum I spend won't be improved

These old legs deny stealthy stride
as I travel beneath thinning canopy
on a day of clear blue sky
this trek though slow is loud

For the leaves crunch noisy and harsh
the grounded ones having given up their colors
as their companions drift slowly down
to join them on a slight breeze

Squadrons of fowl fly high and fast
all seeking warmth in southern lands
in tight formations and random flocks
whose honking, quacks and plaintive cries
trumpet the end of Indian summer
and cry out warning of coming snow

The wind is ridiculous in its grand gesture
rolling over the land like a giant serpent
squeezing the cold North air,
the fatted turkey devoured
the marrow of family cracked open
and sucked clean

I prefer simple things. The sound of sunrise
in all these blue hours, the touch of your breath nearest
me, the knowing it took to be with
you,
to be tangled in destiny with melancholy limbs.

The wild geese have gone. They leave no shadows behind.
You are my religion.
I love you longer than I can remember.

From great distance in dark of night
a jewel shines with its own light
seen from these soaring mountain ridges,
are tall skyscrapers and lacy bridges.

Too far to hear the throbbing noise,
the trucks and trains reduced to toys
flowing through the asphalt arteries
spewing chemicals on urban breeze.

You can"t see the filth and desperation
through miles of night and separation,
and I can"t see the jumbled masses
of middle, upper or lower classes.