Sunday, June 13, 2010


In the midst of aplenty
She remained in a white robe
Winning the world she lives;
The moon is with in her
Wax and wane in emotions ;
The sun is with in her
Giving the dawn and dusk of life;
Stars twinkling in her
Glittering her inner self.

In the midst of moving ripples
She remained a lotus;
Water makes a wave to move
She remained still;
Wind blows her head to bow
She remained high;
the divine stigma on her petals
Made her suffering magnificent.

Deep from her slumber
She woke up:
Am i in the arms of a charm?

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

The Call

I can see the waves calling
I can hear the murmur
i can feel the sigh
Its a question asked :
Can you join ?
To take u back and front
to roll you inside
to gobble you for ever?
if not
to beat u on the black rocks
to split you into pieces.

I can see the waves calling
I wonder why?

The Storm

Its blowing:
the roots are starring at the sun
the leaves decaying for what?
the bees have no honey to hum
the fruits have withered and dried .

Its blowing:
the sky scrappers have bowed down
a desert of dilapidated walls created;
the dreams of life besieged in rubble
shriek of melancholy in the air.

The storm is blowing within
The Ark and the casket are with the wind
the flowers and fruits are seen nowhere

Awaiting the storm to blow again:
To grow my tree within
the buds to bloom and
for the bees to hum ;
the fruits ripe and bow.
Awaiting the storm to blow again:
To build the Ark and set to sail
carrying the bliss of life.

I wonder why
I am in the cycle of
Creation , preservation and destruction;
Creation, preservation and destruction ....

The Reed

The bush from far away is
enticing to be closer;
The green leaves and bowing twigs
on the distant sky
waving in the winds;
I pace my steps.

I drain the feelings
make within empty;
I remove the thorns
make myself soft
I remove the stumps
make holes within.

I tune a music
in my emptiness
in my hollowness.

its a note unsung.

Ode to the moring skylark

The rays of the morning sun
glitters through the
silvery clouds,

The morning symphony begins.

i see the skylark inside
humming the
note of agony,
in despair for the long wait of the pregnant cloud.

i hear the beat of the heart
couched in love
in search of the mate, in vain

wait for the cloud to rain,
wait for the mate to reach
for the shrill and shriek of the wait,

waiting is joyful, its hope;
waiting is blissful, its for the doors to open
waiting is ecstasy, its for the souls to know

and the wait , ageless
in a space known to none

and the wait, space less
through the time , eterna

The holocaust

A holocaust:
Nerves no more carrying the impulse
veins have drained the blood
Skin has become pale
humid everywhere
Throbbing with in.

It’s a holocaust:
Dreams are dark
Feelings are dry
Thoughts have no words
Frigid everywhere.

And again:
The rays of life
The sheen of love
Singing a new melody
In a depth unfathomed,
Sprouting the seed to bud.
I ask within:
To meet another holocaust?

The Angel

On the shores of my dreams
the wings gently waved
making me feel the presence;
the beak touched my lips
to make me feel the love.

The robe covered my body
I become a child
in its pouch.

And I remain in my dreams
as a child
wondering where the angel is.