Desolate table

It is freezing for big freeze is the loose fate of all the cosmos

Its weeping like a maudlin cat having lost the summer for nothing

I am writing on a desolate table with the TV sports on

Its Copernican dream tearing itself apart for Mathematics is too strong

The love of a woman is the forlorn silence that I beg to differ rather than

Agree with the God’s words for the eve was left out in the cold

On a dreary April morning when the lock clicked with the fortune

Of a Spiderman out to bend the destiny with the web and wipe out itself

Its the desolate table with stakes on of a failure of the cascading skies

To unwind for one kiss is the dream of a gypsy woman out in the folds

Of Child’s destiny to turn the fruit rather sweet than to snatch from

The gaping mouths of a twenty and score being fed for nothing

While I on a desolate table continue my yarn of a story on and on.


Waiting on the oceans’end

I wait for you here on the ocean’s seam where the land ends

waiitng for you to join so that in the oceans we could descend

Still its been the morning when eye lashes of primal love

show it myriad faces

Picking from the sand the mask of love that you would possess

when coming to meet me on the horizons where love surfs

and the pardonable ship sets the sails off to the distant port

but we could be meant for the love’s poetic sport

I wait and wait till the seasons end and end with it the

calypso charmers on the drfting seas where lie the rubies of water

and depth unmeasurable to man.

Listless the sun squirms like an infant who is just on the primal air

to last on a long hiccup of solar winds that engulfs the earth

I still wait for you under the pale red sun but the dates run

like cheaters on the highway having made short the work at

nearby physicst’s shop if they ever have one.


A Visitation

Being on the Saturn is not a dream but a visitation

that comes and stays with the solemn silence of

meditating upon human soul that is on a flyby

to the universe which is the call for a wine bubbling

with fishes upon the seas of imagination

there is nothing more, nothing less than the echo of heart

I must surrender to you the day when I had left for

like Cassini space probe to know the silence of the universe

and come back by the providence of the wisdom.

To know your heart is the hisotry of love science.

The Ghost time

What to chase in the daily rush of living?

Nothing but to be chased by the rush itself

An immortal soul pondering over the universe

is but a desire of the civilization that

comes to stand still and wondering

whether we are significant outright

in the scheme of higher reality

Is the star stuff of which we are made of

Is our only consolation that we too sparkle

like the ghost of time in 13.7 billion age of the universe

No Consolation for love

The riddle of the universe deepens

with a pen daub in ink thickens

The world itself out chickens

There is no idea that says love is strong

nor the life is dependent upon a song

It barely chuckles that lovers are strangers

having a loose belly that sickens with dangers

of living alone on this cape of existence

no doubt the God is denied as if by solemn

promise to die the death that is anything but mortal

And immortality of Physics all but sickens

How notion is different from essence?

Existence is self-determinate in the sense that it has more to do with living than non-living or abstract concepts that form the core of any Philosophical system. After the existence and before anything abstract comes the idea. But the idea is inadequate on itself to explain the abstract concepts like holy, beauty and the eternal. Hence we move on to the abstract concepts. Of which the first is the notion of substance. The notion of the substance is based on something more than existence which is external to the substance. This something else is self-moving and self-differentiating that is called pure notion or notion. So notion arises with the substance which arises with existence.

The notion further depends upon the content that it espouses and it is the content that leads us to the essence. So love could be the content of a notion of loving which depends primarily on the existence. So it seems, to love the existence is required but that is not the case as we could love things that are purely abstract and without living existence like freedom, democracy and so on.

The Drunken men’s society

They raised the slogan and the toast too

to liberate the soul of the one in captivity

of work and meaningless growth of the both

the oppressed and the oppressors, Let’s git rid

of the basic seed of humanity to earn the bread

and cheer the slow suicide of the soul to mate

the death on its chamber for the insolent sleep

Let’s get rid of the passion of living the hostile life

and not to lick the wounds inflicted upon earning

a two squares meal a day. Let’s drink the Vodka

and finish the class struggle of the men under alms

for seeking a place in heaven and beyond!

Let’s unite with the threadbare of alcohol as our messiah

and wine the rose on the wagon of the just married couple

preparing to up bring the children raised as stock.

The sum of the stock written on the cabinets of the bar

the whiskey follows suit the ice on the fire that tingles throat

Till the day is sped into forgetfulness and the muse of a

vagrant woman takes hold in the spirit of the romance

Till we are done with the finest love tunes on the radio

and the last cup of wine brings the day to open its eyelids

and the night to wade into the sea of silence.