The world of Eden

The dead winter kept up warm on the night she danced as if nature were more than a keep

the flowers grew more dainty with the looks of heavens in her eyes as she would gloat the kingdom of God

she was the eve.

On a starry night, she had gathered a brood of sheep who were tardy and they too danced

She became sad when the Adam threw a boulder into the lakes creating ripples but missing the serpent who had wiped off  tears in the rain

They had been only hours away from being expelled from the paradise

And here the life seemed to be in gallows for ages as the earth oozed fire-bellied dinosaurs free of confinement and gloated Adam and Eve for the eternity to follow.



A smile

The song is the rocker

nudge me and in fire

goes the raking embers

Like the shadow of yours

mock up a show and

with a smile that dies

before the grin is over


Who would prosper?

I need a memory or philosophy with which I opine a long talk,

Which never goes dead in the poetic meeting or brings bold city to the temple


I went in the procession which opened in the alleys to the closed doors,

And I kept on walking with a thought that your city is strange indeed


Now my toes have got blisters walking upon and upon the roads,

I have been walking before I met and you and after I said goodbye to you


Neither I have met a traveller who is sitting comfortable with leisure,

Nor a hard-worker who after lots of struggle celebrating the day today


Whosoever sought skies in a firm voice together,

Everyone separated turn by turn at the hands of the death


And who would prosper?


Love is grief

At the centre of love is a whirlpool

cadence of which is known to the lovers

anyone who falls in it is a fool

thinking its a meteoric rise to power


but a sullen in the eyes of an albatross

who gigantic it may seem, undone is the colour

of money with lovers nailed on the cross

and in composure the sleep looses the pallor


from greyest hour till now

the whole world is but a fringe

on which is cast the gravest doubt low

and the foolish believe it with a cringe


that love is the solemn moment of importance

and does not depend upon chance



Haloed Love

The vein drawn taut and the blood oozes

there is amorphous cloud in the making

as the angels sing the hymns of devotional love

And the squirrels burrow holes in the maiden’s house

she parks the car as by the noon there is light

to lit the garden in the aftermath of haloed sun

which has pitched obeisance under the chimney of love

She was silent when the blood flowed and she was empty

of movement and the body.


The Powerbroker

In  boding love lives a lifespan of Powerbroker,

Who aligns with life at its foot hold,

And deign nothing more than the luck that portends,

itself as becoming a laughing stock in the association,

Of Italian saints now celebrating their existence,

in a bar readily cherishing  the material of love song,

that  he sang in mortuary the day her beloved died,

and to reconcile the fate to film on the screen,

where Hero lies and lies about truth of gravity,

That nothing binds him to the girl in spotted frock,

who frolicked like an angel in the arms of a devil,

half representing the work of  a Philosopher,

Daring to control the engine of poetic machinery,

stop-gaping now and then varied thorns among roses,

that he picked the rose and had decorated her hair.