Saturday, July 28, 2012



I don't have an olive
in my hand now to offer
that got buried in a place
where wild elements
fought a war against
earthen oceans..


While traveling on Legends
I plucked a few leaves of green olive
from Athens
and that had the fragrance
of earth....

Thursday, April 5, 2012


It is true that i believed of a world
and found later it not like nature
but like a painted ink drop 
which lashed across 
my Indian Ocean Promontory
Far from the skyline, a star
opened its sparklers
towards my heart
to give me the final image;
images of my own
earthen elements 
like the reflection of 
pure Light...

Wednesday, April 4, 2012


How flashy the lights
and there we see the artificial smiles
so wide in plastic filled faces
and the show begins there
merely for the outside world
and there we find no true heartbeats
but only an unnatural beat for people
to glare at,
to create a print mark...
a kind of made up wraper
to walk around on fashion statement
in colours of prejudice bought
on stolen coins..
There we find the insincere smile of deceit,
in ink drops splashed across to create
not value but to devalue the real..

Artificial special effects...
Synthetic threads
to drape the dishonest ones..
Mere Show....

Thursday, January 19, 2012


How good to see images
from an epic when i start my day
and in the beginning it appeared
strange until a star placed
its pure vision in my eyes
for me to see the real
ink shades of timeless archetypals
and that is the day i re opened
my ancient epics to learn
more about cosmic evolutions..


Let my heart bleed
and in a way it is good
than to wrap wounds unhealed
for ages in thin muslin..
and let me read fables about friendship
from those who tingle from behind
and in stratagems
let me see how honesty lies…
Yes, even I am empowered now
to hold slander in style at return points
and It is true when I go back 
to my conscience
where I know at the end
it is painful to bear the burdens
but there no alternative
I find to heal the wounds
other than to retaliate.…

Tuesday, January 17, 2012


Standing near the meridians
of seasons
my heartbeats remind
me of the beauty of words
ahead of one silence which
traumatizes and haunts
souls on subterfuge..  
From the mirror views
of reflections even I looked upon
once to grace a silence
but now I need to look below
to see its  pale shadow
in worthless pavements
glorifying  its own silent fears…
Strange but it is true
how classic themes  grow
in rampant time frequencies
and how a silence haunts
hearts innocently….
Standing near the meridians
of seasons my heartbeats
remind me of the beauty
of words which swap not heartbeats
like  a subdued pretense..…

Thursday, January 12, 2012




How selfless music
which ties several strings
of the world in instruments,
unites languages of the world
ahead of religions
and geographical boundaries
where there no definition i find 
as genuine alphabets
bring in my heartbeats
a symphony....


There in metro rails
moments turn timeless
Modern thoughts sip coffee
in costa coffee outlets
and  smoke winter fire..
fom Perth to Indian cricket fields
we learned how to give back
membership honours
Members throw acid packs
in oceans to recreate cloud forms
and challenge the universe
Richters sour on heartbeats…
How modern our world
in unicodes..


From images to my collection
of artifacts, I know I was not into
a discovery fragment to collect
grime from my immediate fences;  
a skill I know you appreciate not..
True, I looked around
for a portrait of nature there
and in woods I stored not
unaccounted gold coins
to serve a gourmet dinner
for your clan like the way
your new card holders do
and against your thousand
members I can show you my god
who granted me his vision
to know about you and about
your million face masks…
And let me tell you I know
what exactly happened
in between...
beyond the loud silence,
words spoken, written
and the colours splashed across…


Listen love
That was past and I did not know you
I was lost in my own world
and in pure sea shells I placed my heart
my only hopes rained near poems
and that you  destroyed on hatred,
love and revenge..
That is strange but ordinary
not  great…

Wednesday, January 11, 2012


From the faces of shadows
I learn how modestly 
I can grow with the laced burdens
 of artifacts showcased
in one art gallery of peseta.
From the dissected heartbeats
of ink stained mornings
i learn how immodest
i can paint portraits against 
the will of my heartbeats
and at the end I know
how unpresumptuous
i can grow in face packs
in surreal plateaus …


Once from dialects,
mirrors net trapped alphabets
of origin from one earthen ocean
but on morning light
there remained dew drops…
Looking at my face in one mirror
I realized a smile I lost
on seasons which reflected once
radiance of a million earthen lamps
From the ruins of stone temples
I learned that invasions
cause pain not only on stone statues
but even in hurt lockers
of Euphrates and Tigress…
Hurt or unhurt there remain
on the ruins
cradle of civilization… 

Surrounded frequencies
empty not my dreams
as dreams fly upwards
in poetic shells
from ruins to the shattered
main lands and from there 
to the star filled skies
and from Hill of Tara 
to many unknown terrains..
Several years I silenced
my heartbeats but not my dreams
and in new seasons
I fill a new word against
a tear drop to equate
the lost broken daylight...


Many million years 
of evolution filled not
any refinement in hearts.
Even in one sliced up
sand grain of Goan Beach
alphabets remodel
tunes of Bethovan behind
the empowered sky stands
Fields misinterprets a word 
while playgrounds fast
near flagposts for a written manifesto;
to break on every  given chance
and on the plateaus of December 
fictions unearth vacuum points 
to fill portfolios
ahead of broken heartbeats


That island was a tear drop
in Indian ocean.
From eras to one satellite point
there changed
many million alphabets
on its ancient silk road
in Taprobane to Ceilão
and on the final reminder
of one resplendent
earthen rain drop
seasons wrote their renaissance
on bridges of arrows
to demystify the elements
of pure earth..

World around the horizon
records its gravity
of disasters on Richter scales
and on the alert map
Banda Aceh tears its sand grains
to smear against the forehead
of a province where life
evacuates its own heartbeats
From the ink block impressions
of chains once tied to the turning point
there fell a banyan
when Richters failed
to record the ultimate point
of infinite horizon..

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