Wednesday, September 5, 2012

It is not faces sending me shadows
but trees which grow beyond
the meridian of my earthen oceans..
Ink, it is pure like a channel, built
for watering imaginations
where a nation floats in search
of its dead gone soul..
Ancient legends I search for where myths
and mathematics draw caricatures of past
in sporadic seasons
Who speaks there on podium
And who covers the clear eastern sky?
From the temples of east coast seas
a memoir I hold in hand for a season
which taught me
not to dream along with a shadow...

Monday, September 3, 2012



It rained along with the opening
dawn and by mid June, a month
ended in my ancient almanac
While rewinding events 
on the dotted lines 
i found a coat of  paint on the fourth
compartment of a knowledge house..
Timid alphabets forgot silence
and speech emerged from sea shells
From the overflowing oceans
i watched  a horizon extending
its branches to take away
my star lit earthen lanterns..


I don't think i need to answer
in witness box to the envious
shadows which cast a net against

my Rain Forests
where i set rain flowers
and a season full of melodies

There i see the valleys which fill

coins in opera houses
for the next show
and what for i need to feel
envious of that painted
voracious terror filled dale
which ruined the core
and conscience of my Nation.