Sherry to drink

What is love for love though?
A remembrance of past kiss
on the ashen cheek that glows
and in the pocket lures the rupee

To buy some sherry a galore
and lie there under the shrubbery
in nature’s lap some time more
a passion thy forehead to kiss

as if from the bow has gone an arrow amiss
and hit the heart like a barb
that returns with every drop of sherry I drink
and then to straggle behind the wind

in the street a dusky afternoon
to wind up with you oh my fair-skinned

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The man in the mirror

What to call the man in the mirror?

A piecemeal playboy in love with oneself?

When the twigged head is the sole arbiter of love and romance

I forsake the crown but with flowers decorate my head

as wannabe as Napoleon Bonaparte

Who is the warrior then?

A man in the mirror or the man without any tears

The men ward away love and hate from the temple of the Mars

with heads slung on the javelin and more so for the price of war

is the man in the mirror who never winks for a girl a dead heart of the war?

Love then is almost an equal measure of the war and peace

Of boys and girls- a surely treat for the man in the mirror to see

and hear aloud the trumpets of war and the violin of peace.

Being a Don for good

I am going to retire in a day or so from being your lover

while I bid time in hell’s inn is no mean joke

that to stay on and on forever is a tale of charismatic bluffer

I must be afraid that love is a second hand toy for a moony bloke

who would rapture at the first delight

having found a gem in the sands of pastime

And close the call with a shrug of being a penny-thug.

And you want him as your trusty folk

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

The Purple You

The rain dances too

upon the lashes of you

I see the stream of love

falling drop by drop

on the orbs of yours

The purple hue of hair

and the purple smile

all do the charisma

like the seasons

all because of you

I happen to chance

upon the glimpse of youth

when I was younger with you

and you said waiting is like hunting

the sooner you kill the prey

the sooner its all over the play

 

The lines on the skies

Love is the toughest battle on the soil of love mongers,

who calibrate with the pulse of heart a needle,

to silence the morning’s ad infinitum absurdum,

the cosmos silence the beat of the pale stars,

to give birth to the new white stars washed in,

the unison of thurst the bodies entwined in love-making,

as if the whole world has come under the sieve of the noon

The Pilgrimage

In the wakefulness of heart

And in a pilgrimage of still air

I Knocked and knocked on your door

And went on ruining the evening in disgrace

There were meetings between us

The flow that is in a sudden meeting

And in a sudden prayer

Has made me a saint of your door

And in making the time flourish

Here by I go away 

Knocking after knocking on your door