Not quite live not quite dead

Not quite live not quite dead,

Like an alien, I draw the breath of air.

No more spring for me no more the dawn,

I wring the music as if a stranger in the pawn.

Of those who live and die as if brought to justice.

I sleep on the newspaper,

as on a nocturnal day in these realms of despair and joy!


On death

Upon the hand hold on to the wick of light,

till the candle slowly feasts on its height,

Oh! that is what death does to soul,

melts away the earthen bowl.

On a dreary day when all was awake,

you went into darken sleep hardly to remake,

any thing worthy or any fake.

I vow to have you walking and awake,

to remember only the silken route,

taken by the death on to the fortune suite,

where it will align not to any witch or God,

But to say recline here as forever lost.

Death has done what is the magnificent cost,

for the beauty to pass into oblivion,

for ever and ever to lie in recess of the heart open.

Here the love!

Would you shoot the day for the red carpet?

Anymore casting as a maenad would.

The only vista for a desire being

Ambrosia for the soul or for the halcyon don!

Or Donna would you go shooting at the bay,

A blue nun moored to wayward winds!

With your eyes drawing blank ripples on the sea of love

Let’s pass on from a seamless night to another panting

like a storm in the certitude of its vicinity!


The twinkling stars will form in my backyard

and sweltering heat will go with rains

while you away furlong from the home of love

but I welcome you to the beautiful meads

and in your eyes, I find the world complete

hither I look or away, my eyes will see you only

in the darkness of the world to go away

and I forget all the world’s delights and pains.

April Moon

I am the sullen ridge over the dolorous waters

who but I will drink from the deluge

a placid face to the eyes rolled I part tenter looks

upon my face upon the bobbing water

I stare at the silvery streak of pale moon

the long lost class of thirty five years hence

stares back in silence over the floating water

as if the time has spun a dark noon

which is upon us to tell the fate of a passing girl

who obliged to the task of heavenly care

did indeed sideways her heart flung

but her smooth kiss to the water does bring

a summer nest in which to cosset love

and lie forever till eternity is brought down

by April soon.

Our hero of destiny


In memory of the late Hero of the modern times

who having flung night on its own accord fled

to the day with the rising sun holding prayers

at the Ganges where an easy dip is the sole arbiter

of the sins and pacified he returned home a sayer

of good values and high record keeps the door ajar

but nonetheless the sin enters on its own accord


In the middle of the foothold of airs tight

he feigns illness only to escape the light

and rest his furthermore body cool in the dark

where there is none of the rambunctious nor

the softening but maddening touch of flight

he fiddles his guitar as if robbed of mercy

but with ease he plays the song many a times thirty


Then in a fit of anger he nudge the memento nigh

as nightfall approaches he gathers the wind to shoot

more than high a shot off the sepulchral voice without a sigh

there falls the maiden replica of a goatee of a saint loot

making him richer the nonetheless companion of giants

in the vortex of hour he explains the heart to the lover’s heart

a questionnaire he prepared to pass the exam of love