The Libation

A libation is much needed offering, sun-wrought made to the Sophocles

Her glittering pedant shone with its hues of amber red, drunk with swiftness

The father-sun duo replenished the glasses with water as to sink the sorrows

of men into

dark abyss of nothingness, Elliot read on the commemoration with star-studded affair

of the wounded heart

with pride she rose and did the libation as to soothe thousand griefs within

she lost a part of her to the star sighted first on the evening sky- the libation was over


Much hullabaloo

How could the day be done bidding adieu to the sunshine and welcoming at dusk the heart of the night?

I am amazed with the writing on the walls of the mental asylums

I am alone in bewilderment grasping the shade of the lights on the far wall

Alone in the making is the hullabaloo over the silken speech of the greatest men of our times

The roaring shift to the red planet, MARS where the destiny unfolds like a shape of shadow forming on the dense forests on the earth

And there is no take in to the colours of the queen that sends the parliament on the tip-toe to Paradise.

Much hullabaloo over the Bollywood actors out to prove the fate has other trappings than the character

I give in to the charm of your walk- much hullabaloo over nothing is the task of our poets.

Wonder ways

What to tell of the tales from the seas

there is a hash function decoding the corrupt

of the governments in the voice over for sirens

so that they sing the hymns to the ocean and cash monies

and I only to forget what has been told by the civilization

I am a cruel investor of the winds that blow the mast

of the thousand legions but now I am lost on the leeward side

of the sea, I am in love with a siren!

The Prayer

Edge out on the precipice sits the dove,

With divulging nothing she restores the silence,

the silence of the dove now a lump in her throat,

if only she could coo the song of love with ferocity

of an Opera Singer, she muddled the prayer, and

thank the God for the precipice on which she tried

to catch the dove was a key-hole into her life.


Despaired I was when I looked into the distance

To measure your would be stepping against the radiant noon

But you would not come and be on the road to meet me

I despaired like a bird fledgeling on the maiden flight

Yet I know what lies beyond the deserted abode,

a fair amount of love and thy heart in peace with calamitous joy

Weep not I would for the day is long and you might turn up

another second or another second and I wait till all the seconds are gone

And despaired I stand alone as if a clown of utmost being is

made to do the circus of time- I despaired to see you reappear

but you would not come, neither your shadow to seize me

and my time on this silly Sunday afternoon stands still

when the world is at peace with itself and in perpetual rest

There is the past

There is past forgetful of present and future

There is present forgetful of past and future

There is future forgetful of past and present


There is tormentation in the flame of mortality

There is a flux of the moment but we don’t stay there

We walk without any future on the stairs of time


The falling moments keep on falling

There is no one moment where we can lie in forever

The lady luck seldom smiles


There is no one second of longer duration

There was the time, to begin with

There is the past, to end with


Why is there past?

Why is there past?

Why can’t we have a present forgetful of past and future?

Why do we have to torment in the flame of mortality?

Why don’t we pass into the flux of the present moment and remain there forever?

Why is there past?

Why do we walk forever without any future on the stairs of time?

Why are there moments falling from nowhere keep on falling?

Why don’t we steal one moment and lie there in it forever?

Why is there past?

Why does the lady lucky smile seldom on time?

Why there is no one long second alone?

Why there was the time, to begin with?

Why is there past?