love-poem with beeps and pauses
when it is
come in my mind
ink on the surface used to sketch a river and
we are on a proverbial boat we love water
because it is fixed inside our minds –
yours & mine –
we two continue
with the same name of the deeper we are
lovelier than the stars uttered at the same time
of love – we have everything because we feel
like bodies we feel the illusory prose-pieces
read to us by our own shadows lacquered in
grotesqueness we use touches and hands
to let understand everything written by a pen
on paper is not made up of inks when it is
both something & nothing I understand better
I understand mind
when rain reaches deep inside me
and pigeons flap their wings
and grasses so much easy-peasy
and quivering in airy alleys
and clouds all slow-moving creatures
a waiting at times becomes too much waiting
and all life everything
all around everything
seems like a rainfall seems only a rainfall
without waterdrops falling anywhere
a pointless journey
Everything diverts, or gives a pointy dance show.
Except some undisclosed secrets, unabashed all over.
Disclosure, just a massive pack. A kind of
knowingness pouched inside butterflies, something
as if capable of being a huge corrigendum found
in an old newspaper. Telling about impressions,
just forget the unutilized butterflies in the flower-battles.
Airs wheedle them so airs remain theirs.
Consider a different wingspan, a measurement dealing
in hopes or curiosity. No matter how an ocean-big or
war-like complicacy freezes at dinner, the hot spicy
items start stubbornly shooshing to saliva.
Consider one big problem, how the issues checked
with the kissers busy delivering improbabilities,
sliding love-quotients past their skins and playthings.
Considering these all, if you can combat the forces of ageing,
you earn the points only of no return. At times, you are
juxtaposed or badly scoped and people say, that’s natural.
Consider nothing, still the sky around you not desperate
ever, in order to remain its land.
For a pith-chemistry bracketed in me
If I tighten the sunlight, an ilk of my liking
golden brown, my world view morphed through
a tinted window-glass. If I feel like mocking the roses,
their bounds turn thorny. Perhaps astray, I then
decide bringing the rain to my city so I can
smile bit like dull cherubs, ensuring the sky with
some hotchpotch of wonders, the sky then
fractured to clueless clouds.
Then, if remembrance too much, I can enlarge
my mother in an old frame drooping.
And the ponds their waters jump into ebullience
as if happily nervous they can elope, – the curious
neighbours suddenly heard silent, their loud
patio door a colossal vanish.
While humming with my shower, water flows on
my body and disobeys my demands, perhaps
reminding me I still am a fool. Am still not proffered
a wishful voice by the one I want to be hidden in.
All that matters in a change is what I try to think
a light-shaded light, ready to stand in
a lonesome corridor, almost like an evanescent girl
with a coffee. Momentary glints of her crepuscular lips
blurred in her cigarette smokes, as if dropping
the idea of a smile for someone to some other day.