Angela

1. A Room in the rain

lights that shimmer in pain,

your anklets stab the silence

your face cracks down

in cinders of snow

as my smiles go up in mist

and we are floating again,

in a song-boat

on the fringes of this night

Angela,

these tunes are false

that snake in through your window

with the soot of the city

your hair streams down

like the raging skyline,

your sleeves are dripping with rain

your fingers scurry with joy

for a last shelter,

as I document your touch

in peace

Angela,

let’s burgle these clouded doors

that stand between us now

like night patrollers

and unhide the soft contours

of veiled delight

let reflections change forever

as we manufacture love

in this rain room

and when the night shrinks in sleep,

you shall search for a poet

who lives in songs

while I travel

through old diaries

for the ruins of your smiles

2. Last Station of love

Angela,

what was bothering you that day

when you took the night train

at the last junction?

light years in thought;

we lived a month on missed calls

and nothing else

whatever was left in the city

except the ghosts of a few poets

and nude strangers?

Angela,

we’re waiting

at the last station

of love

we’ve been waiting for years now

and colliding at times

in dream

when time breaths

in tiny splinters of sight

like another illusion

or the river curls up

at the solstice of vision

Angela,

we shall then meet across the waters

of this tiny blue opera glass

and try to read our past

in the fast headlight

of some passing vehicle

we shall glide on sounds

across the harbours of this city

we shall haunt

the windows of sleep

this December

as the moon

like a snowrose sickle,

hangs from her hinges

An evening in mercury

- For B


(A sequel to 'Parting at Park Street')



-1-


you’re standing by the window;
insomnia


you hear
the soft breath of the city
entangled in winter mist


inhale the silence
inside the heart of the swollen river,


and feel the pulse
of the broken sky
throb with flickering thoughts


as the city slides
on fragments
between a poem
and sleep


-2-


what are the women doing
in the rain?


draped in thunder
and songs,


as my fingers
lick the silence,
exploring the ruins
of her sari


why does the bed
smell of lost lovers?


-3-


nights of prayers
and sweat,


as we exchanged glances
in the taxi on the VIP


talking in fits and starts
or polite whispers


and you kept complaining
that it was getting late
but the traffic kept us waiting


your thoughts in a dream
and the rim of your skirt
on my naked toes,


I savoured every second
of the uneasy silence


-4-


rain girl,
it’s been nine winters


since I left you standing alone
at the crossroads
in Park Street


and I have lost your touch
inside the catacombs
of this fragile city


I always expected
one last letter,
but I never really bothered
to look for it


-5-


dance of the moon
in the embrace of the river,


the bridge swings
in tension with secrets


the night once again
talks of uncertainties


as lonely streets
drunk with mercury lamps
recede in the mirror


and melt
in the voyeur of smoke


I succumb
to the meaning
of touch


-6-


staring through the blinds,
you strain to detect
the last traces of sound


those sad evanescent whispers
from sleepy apartments
as stars sulk on the horizon


one by one
you count the lights,
as they go out


inside the ebony spaces
of this dead city


and you know
it’s your turn now

Parting at Park Street

"In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michaelangelo"

-T S Eliot


-1-


9:30 pm in Park Street,
goodnight


the shadows spy with furtive looks….


the shadows spin
beneath the street lights
and create a sonata in smoke


is this the way
it should all end?


is this the way
we should part
and promise to stay apart
till death brings us together again?


-2-


rain girl,
I’m walking away
all alone into the night


beneath the storm
and glass doors in the wind,


let’s travel the night
through stallion dreams

your dreams to my dreams
to our dreams……


and dice our destiny
on a board of chess


-3-


riding in a bus
that moves through sound
and time,


I discover
barren gypsy men


men who carry bombs
in their songs,


and songs
trapped inside glass coffins
in the rain


as the pendulum melts
at the refractive points
in my poem


-4-


rain girl,
you are sleeping in snow
beneath the September moon


rain girl,
where is your dream?


‘I have lost my dream
to my heart!’


rain girl,
where is your heart?


‘I have lost my heart
to a man!’


rain girl,
where is your man?


‘I have lost my man
to another girl!’


-5-


rain girl,
let’s hide the evening
in a kiss and sandpaper


together again,
let’s sail in moonshine
along the Ganges


on the banks of Kolkata


when the buildings rise
like stone serpents
or policemen walk in sleep


and the ash
of a few smoked cigars
builds a Romeo in silence


let’s drive all night again
along those yellow streets
of vapour


glancing
at the rain-stained windows
and remembering Eliot’s verses


-6-


a waiter comes to me
with a neck-tie
and a breakfast of bones


the necklace in blue
throbs in my wet coat pocket


rain girl,
I’m still standing alone
at the crossing tonight


waiting
for the lights to change

Monalistic........

-1-


halogen storm


receding streets beneath the moon,


ancient Persian tunes
flash across the mind
like threads of painted glass


I stare into the naked silence
of your eyes
and watch the world
change colour


-2-


mirrors on the ice,


and a palace dressed in smoke,


the lady in Louvre
always speaks in metaphors


reading the confessions
beneath her smile,
I knew every girl
loves secrets


I wish I knew yours,
when I met you
that blue evening
in Paris

-3-


lonely in silence,
call me by my name


soft blush on your cheeks
when you hear my voice,
someone calls you
a poet’s first love


what thoughts assail you then,
my little girl,
when you sit alone
in an empty room?


what griefs chase you
that make you weep in silence?


-4-


hour-glass in my dreams,


wild flowers in your hair,


my thoughts travel backwards
in time


that evening when we cried
as we held hands
in the metro


or when we together
got drenched in the Maidan
last summer


-5-


sad songs of the winter;
I miss you


couples at the Victoria;
I miss you


the crowded bus at Shyambazaar;
I miss you


party-time on the ledge,
when people smoke
over art and politics;


I miss you


-6-


tonight,
I offer you my words
like a white necklace


burn my poems
if they make you cry


someday,
you might have to write
an elegy…………

Boatman and some love songs

hours of magic silence


song of the haunted rain,


your voice travels to me
through the wet empty spaces
of the night


like an echo of faint desires


a kiss of the blue swords
of time


~


whirlwind of roses
and poems,


silver tears
in your amorphous eyes


calling you mine,
I speak a silent prayer
inside your temple of faith


bit by bit,
I sketch your name
on the white sand


farewell to my love
for winter nights..........


I finish my last letters
beneath the moon


~


boatman of the skies,


night after night,
your song grows more painful
in my sleep


your tunes weep
as you travel in my dreams


the waves never complain
of your trust
in illusions


I hear you speak
with passion
to the monsoon winds


you sing softly to the rain
your tales of grief or pain


like a child,
you stare at the stars
and wait
for her response

Angel of the dark

-1-


fear


smell of midnight rain


and sound
of her blue saree
in darkness


with cold lightening
the hunter finds the rose
behind the diamond curtain


-2-


white shadows of flickering breathe


the moon slides down
along the crevices
of my glass poem


and smears the ceiling
with her silver screams


abstract voices
encircle in the dark
from layers of slime
and mud


last words of dust
from the frame
of the unfinished painting


-3-


ice-anklets on her fairy feet


piano on her lips


her smile reminds me
of lost local trains


stare long
into the smoke
and symphony
of her eyes


travel down the lunar tunnel
of peace and time


and pause to hear
the music of the cold river
that winds and unwinds


to reveal sketches
of half forgotten beauty


-4-


predators in the night air,


the soft storm in her eyes
has the song
of silent blue cannon balls


prepare for the war of kisses


as her fingers,
silky like soft mercury,
slide inside my wet skin


and scan the nameless silence
of the night
for secrets


secrets hidden behind
the vortex
of the old brown mirror


-5-


moonlight and magic
on the white river water


I watch her sink,
painlessly,
into the deep hollow of the night


dark lines melt by the second


step by step
and
sound by sound


like a portrait of vanishing beauty


traces of fairy feet on snow


the blue prisoners
who sing to the moon
and speak a strange language,
once again,
call her an illusion


-6-


squint hard
into the periscope of time


hallucinate
with visual sounds
in your dreams


remember the martyrs
of another age


in silence,
the rainbow changes colour


figurines of smoke


the scent of mirages


speechless butterflies
retrieve the words from flames

Time-travel

1. Reflection



A red rose
on the mirror
wet with a symphony


beneath the falling rhyme
I have seen
silent
fluid-filled spaces


electric rivers,
silent white wings
flapping in darkness


travelling against time
in an age of miracles


what haunts you then
when you timidly explore
your own
reflection?



2.The City of Mirrors



-1-


In the city of mirrors


the streets shimmer
with pale blue prophecies


and demon poets
walk slowly with candles
in a confused silence


among the ruins
of voices
and dead cinemas


-2-


Beneath the metallic sky


the capsule moon may reveal
frozen lovers,
lost in time


or actors
rehearsing their sex roles,
amidst an enchanted
forest


with smells of charmed liquids


-3-


In the city of mirrors


you may find magic women
practising alchemy


or fortune-tellers
staring hard at their own
reflections


with guns and memories


-4-


Here every reflection
tricks the eye


and tempts you
with a sinister game
of the senses


and every word spoken
is coated
in a blue mist
of telepathy


or psychic cries


-5-


Sometimes,
as lightening-strikes numb
the tentacles of the city


and darkness fades in a holy trance,
to reveal signs of shock
or horror


blood-stains on the wall
or on an ancient rhyme


might tell,
you've travelled back in time


-6-


In the city of mirrors


every vain game ends in failure
and death


and as you run
through the blinding light,
every street looks the same


in a maze of reflections


until the mirrors dazzle
your sights and senses,
as if to say:


here you all are prisoners of pain


you may come only once
and never go back again

Dance at Dusk

her eyes
hide a thousand Arab prisoners
frozen with chilled lightening


when the moon seduce lovers
and religious poets


her eyes
throb with an ancient fear
when the street turns dark at the edges
and the pianola stirs ruined memories


as shadows begin to shine
and molten buildings rise to fame


a mystic trend creeps
into those battle-drunk eyes
that now burn with strange prophecies


behold and betray.......


hear the rhythmic beats
and the jubilant pain
as we create once again
with blood and music


the tidings of the day sink
into a tune from the creepy bowers
and metropolitan ashes


and salt ticks weary
in a scented hour-glass


thoughts torment me like busy war-planes


alas my hermit friends,
the time is ripe for another disaster


as silent voices quarrel over blood and silver
and my lips get poisoned with a prayer


I look for a place to hide
behind poems
or virtual pleasure


her eyes now shine
with a crusade for a hero's fall
and memories of a headless horse


follow the darkness
with the magi-cians words


who knocks on the silent door
between faith and death
on this cold December evening?


betray me with a kiss
and a coffin for metallic saints


gamble my body for drachmas


and when darkness shimmers
rise....rise again!


this night reveals a fresh smell
and bleeds a demon's wounds


cure me with a touch and holy water


baptise me O Lord
for my sins and sympathy
and awaken in me
those old Christian beliefs


and as her eyes now sleep
with a pagan verse


let me hunt with a mirror
and explore a few more
spiritual dreams



(The 's' has been omitted from 'seduce' in the fourth line purely for the sake of poetic beauty)

The Song Woman

"She was a phantom of delight
When she first gleam'd upon my sight
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament"

-W Wordsworth

you come,
in the breath of a second


amidst folk tales and forgotten smells


as your song-burnt hair jazz up winds
with a hue of purple whispers


when the nighttime raga lights up the breeze
with a rhapsody of aimless tunes


and the music rises like thoughts,
to conquer the moonbeams,
and carve a rainbow in the sky


I drench in your nocturnal smiles
beneath a twilight of dreams and colours......


are you real, my midnight angel?


so many night-pills,
and so many unfinished songs


poems grow like weeds on your skin


your lips are the sketches of snow,
your brows the music of temptation


make me a disciple of your holy glance,
who submits poems and prayers
at your doorstep


how long can you hide metaphors
behind your smiles?


cross the ancient river
that flows between us now,
with a scent of dead lovers


and show me the doorway to those secret empires.......


mother me with your dreamy kisses
and distant odours


on nights of sights and sound........


did you once speak of love


as we waltzed across the floor,
remembering witchcraft and Shakespeare?


my song woman,
did you not complain of solitude?


was it the smiles or an overdose
of cocaine?


your celestial eyes grow dim,
and you melt,
like the moon on the mirror


and those optical spies,
their songs wet with an eclipse,
still pray for a miracle.........


sex or supernatural?


I hunt for lost codes,
inside the entrails of a dead city


what happened to the songs and prophecies?


the senses,
now a motion blurr...........


who built the rhetoric on the tombstone?


a creaking door seeks a reply...........

Helen - in memoriam

so you think,
one death will move me
and take away all my remembrance?


my ears, even now, ache with metaphors
and ceremonies


do you still need an elegy?


Helen,
I have seen God in your eyes
when enemy ships decimated Troy


as I shielded you with my open arms


and I have scoured the sky for centuries
without a last trace.......


I never looked for you
in ice-buried museums


your skin still smells of holy wars......


and yet,
you talk of all the mirrors in the city


if you want to recreate memories,
then let all love end tonight!


a star sinks from the night sky
with a wounded apology...........


I wonder if any stars
are ever missed


do you still crawl along the busy crosslanes
and let your eyes cast virtual images?


touch me, for once, with your buttery eyes
and etch in me, your cold reflection


anoint my body with wax,
and reveal to me those ancient secrets
of love-making

beneath a canopy of whispers.........

can words ever recreate that silence?


let's explore ill-written poems
and repeat the jazz on Nero's flute


let's hide behind metropolitan lies
and cinematic fancies -


prepare the table for a last supper,
stack your pills with funeral songs.......


and let us, together, evoke the unborn prophet
from your next wedding -


as Troy goes up in flames.........


Note : (Though the allusion is made to the mythical Helen of Troy, she is, on a dual level, the 'snow girl' from my previous poem)

REMINISCENCE

narcotic screams

pepper the skyline with the flavour of sunset


and the gypsies embrace their misfortunes
with a trail of songs and rituals


let's not make this an afternoon
of empty caravans, silent cigar ashes

and black romance

poems don't come easy these days,
yet this one's been nagging me for far too long


the night air is pierced
with the cry of a solitary owl
moaning its lost love


your smile spins in the cold silence.............


snow girl,you still haunt me
in your ice blue salwaar
in my crystal mists of long ago

like the mirror haunts her own reflection......

are you still obsessed with my ancient
half- revealed secrets?


and do I still remind you of high tides

and half circles?

snow girl, I re-found you by chance
just as I had once lost you


things start happening only when you stop
expecting...........


let us hold hands tonight
as we remember the smell of cold sweat
beneath a brown moon


why do lovers always love the darkness?


is something wrong tonight?


have you, at last, found your God
in a tiny glass bottle?


or have lies freaked you out?


I have to say,
you got a bit too carried away this time!


the air is still corrupted
with a moist reminiscence..........


you almost stripped me of my manliness!

smile, my blue angel, smile

I have half solved your riddles of feminism!


snow girl, do you still search for a place
to hide my love letters?


I have long stopped pretending to be your friend


let's not talk about moth-eaten skyscrapers,
politics or glass mirrors


now is the time to get surreal,
let's twist words like it's never been done before


don't let pirate songs bother you tonight,
let it all bleed out through your blue intestines......


just ignore the clocks and old unicorns


let dreams take over now,
and lead us to a forbidden paradise


life now becomes the canvas of an unfinished
acid dream


please don't invite the ghosts
to the dinner party

snow girl

now it's only

you
and

me

PS:[every story has a beautiful beginning
it's the end that matters................]

INCOGNITO

(In memory of the soldiers who passed away in India's 9/11)

-1-

Morning meanders in the breeze
like the crystal tongue of a thirsty serpent

I can't quite confess,
that this is my next poem........

not that I hate poetry of late
nor have I given up writing

but when parasites peck at your existence
silent bells toll in empty churchyards
and wet voices cry for a rebellion

poems become a bit too inconsequential.......

-2-

An asphalt dream wakes me up
on a cold January morning

the lines are always fake
between truth and transparency

each dawn is a bringer
of false promises

and the moon,despite her silence
at times,has a story to tell

-3-

Three days have passed
since the occult movie first began

channel-surfing on the television,
the news of a sudden genocide hits me

Nowadays,
newspaper headlines hardly change daily!

-4-

Night has a soft hunger
that is also found in the plasma
of werewolves and whores

Tell me,
don't you gain a strange sadistic pleasure
when you ransack a grasshopper
and pull out its testicles?

some guys have a mandate to murder
even in the name of religion!

and sometimes,
protectors are the worst offenders!

-5-

A winter day finally breaks
into a mock peace and silence

(I fear that the clocks have melted)

They tell me,
the war has ended, at last
but another one has just begun

-6-

Every good orator is a potent politician

They spoke till they spat
and thought words would conquer all

How long will democracies
be just an excuse for paying taxes?

and does our anthem never remind you
of fractured pride and false promises?

-7-

Nothing perhaps is as frustrating as
waiting for a phone call the entire evening
when the phone never actually rings..........

man, sometimes, is just too obsessed
with sex or his solicitor

stock markets are more unpredictable now
than the cloud laden Kolkata skyline

and with corporate sectors
fast closing down

our very own backyards are often plaqued,
these days, by young, jobless assassins

-8-

I remember last Christmas
when we all held hands
as we sang our carols

my dear enemies,
the time for petty catfights has long been over!

my conscience frozen,
my defenses ransomed,
I writhe in my inner civil war

(every masked man has a face inside)

and he who never ever complains,
never ever really understands......

-9-

There are times I wonder
if bribery is anything better
than legal burglary

does the elite still take refuge
in its pamphlet of secret lust
and forgotten lies?

my temples throb,
and even rock songs sound a bit sore tonight!

may be,
some questions are best left unanswered......

-10-

A rush of adrenaline drags me out
of my winding reveries

I realize its time to hide
in the disguise of my mask once again!

I hope I hadn't been dreaming......

for the reality,
can only be even more shocking!!!

MUSINGS

-1-


Men, sometimes, are so intoxicated
with love, poetry or idle dreams
that not even the oldest fear of death
could coax them out of the addiction
to convince them that they have a life besides

-2-


I wonder how it feels
when the greatest artistes die unnoticed
and the finest pieces of plagiarism
are auctioned in the most famous museums


A poet died last night
but there was no one
to mourn for him


Not that it would have mattered more
if an assassin lay dead in the circus


and it’s not a bad thing either
for the world now
has too many poets

-3-


I wake up at dawn
to the smell of coffee and cold kisses


Every poet
has a girl in his life


These days, I don’t read newspapers
for fear of corrupting myself


and even teenagers
hate the burden of boredom
or bachelorhood

-4-


Nothing sounds more fucking
than the alarm clock on a cold Monday morning


I ransom my thoughts to the reveries
and pray for the renaissance to resume


On vacant Sunday afternoons
my ears jar to the misty symphonies


I confess,
that, at times, I miss you


Perhaps we were ever too close
to be called just ‘friends’

-5-


I wonder what life would be like
without Elton or Enrique


or even without you!

-6-


How long can one argue
over Obama or McCain?


How long does one worry
about Saddam or Singur?


How long can a man live
without God or his girlfriend?


And tell me,
how long does it take to know
if someone is too nice to be a friend?

-7-


Last week, I never even once
dreamt about you


and I checked my cellphone
twenty times a day for your missed calls
but there wasn’t any!


Yet I don’t blame you
for these little disasters


Such odd tragedies
are quite common in a love affair

-8-


Tell me,
do you remember my pain
of being forgotten?


Will politicians, for a change
stop declaring impromptu holidays?


Will you ever understand
each line of every post-modern poetry?


And will you,
yes you,
still remember me the same way
even ten years later?

-9-


Life, at times, is painfully predictable!


Yet, I am not like Saktibabu, at least
who frequents Maddox Square during pujas
with his tenth live-in girlfriend


The first two were secretly killed
a third died of an unknown illness
while the rest are missing

-10-


Princess, we have talked for hours
but have never spoken


Sometimes, it’s easier to talk
than speak, like we did
last Halloween


Linkin Park and Fossils
are fast growing old


and so are you,
think twice before you lose
the cuteness of your girlhood

-12-


Nowadays, when I think
only scarecrows smile at me
and the rustle of soft seconds
mock the fake silence


My poem falls in the translucency
and fractures into shreds


No poet will ever call a poem his best
until he has given up writing forever


At least, I won’t
call this my masterpiece


But, what about you?

STRANGE PLACE

A decade has passed
since the second cold war began


the spider still weaves malignancy
in a vial of frozen time


and this is a strange place
where strange things happen


The symphony of stagnant winds
bear a morbid fragrance daily


you feel the lullaby flow in your veins
and call yourself ‘learned’


Vampire in your breath
you steal the curse of life
from a wriggling foetus


and you let a vamp swear
your burden of virginity


The dusk is en-lightened
with the odour of morphine vapours


and the dagger is a museum
of cold crusades or fractured altars


The shadow of the paranoid
haunts your blood
like an endless epidemic


and you sell your knowledge
with yourself for soft drachmas


tell me,
do you still call yourself ‘learned’?


Slay the guitar
Kill the poet
Burn the peace
with your cyber avalanche


This is a strange place
where sick women compose pop songs


and you teach a toddler
to play with toy bullets


The river swells with guilty eddies
to sink the cries of silence


This is a strange time
and I am in a strange place
where strange things happen


I want to un-learn the ethics
I was taught by honest men


Yet you may find your coffin someday
in a lifeless universe


and wonder when you passed away!

ACID INVASION

spring ebbs in your breath
like the fragrance of torture


and the sky turns purple
with the colour of crumbled confessions


i secretly look for myself
inside a broken mirror
only to torment
fragmented memories


the tree outside my window
pours the acid of time
on your skin


and I watch you sink
in the painful corrosion
of acid-invasion


i remember the dead man
who waited everyday
for the red letter
that was never posted


and the night air is purged
with the smell of infectious cries


your health flickers everyday
like a waning oil lamp
in the winter snow


electric storms boil my nap
with their weapon of lies
and tannic dreams


sleep till you dream
of God
or of me!


the lights are unpredictable
and
I walk the line


between your breath
and your body
I walk the line


few people worship
a dusty calendar


life alchemizes
into the dreams of men
who think they are long dead


in this acid-invasion
remember me


world
falls
with the sound of dreams
on corrupted crystals……..


sing me one last love song
before you drink the darkness


and darkness drinks me……………

Bones and bullets

from the slums of Calcutta

to the towers of California

there are only the cosmopolitan cries

of beggars and bastards

and the clock is ever counting

on the third flank of Waterloo

in my city of bones and bullets

warships wreck the winds

and astronomy dangles

from frozen clock hands almost everyday

the messiah comes at midnight

to build an island of false promises

and the vermillion rings of Esplanade

are an unscripted altar

for bandhs and bull-fights

not every man

is a poet or a politician

but the epics need one badly

every hermit

is a hooligan at heart

Caesar or Hitler

no longer humble me

and Mozart or Milton

humour me no more

for blood is the latest calligraphy

on cyber cenotaphs

I search for a place

to hide my history of nuclear robberies

from the breathlessness of New York

to the pacelessness of Nandigram

there are only the sickening scowls

of unicorns and eunuchs

and the clock is ever ticking

even on the mantelpiece

of your drawing room

Land of the Scorpions

-1-

last night

i dreamt of scorpions

and they hung like broken cries

on the tangents of darkness

till they crawled into my vein

and i smeared their poison

all over my lines

-2-

i saw the scorpion in your eyes

when i first met you

in a land of dreams and demons

but they are everywhere now

blocking my sceptic visions

with their watery screams

as they build walls of dark love

between me and my reflection

-3-

tonight she may declare war

or make love with gods

and rule an island of symphony

with fangs of the scorpion

or i may write the most electronic poem

that will seep into the insulation

of her heart

or i may even die another death

in the land of the scorpions

-4-

from my neolithic embryo

to my cyber grave

i am grave-digging

a humus of lost memories

for the scorpion of the scorpions

may be someday

i shall be-numb the fangs of the scorpion

with the poison of my blood

and god

i shall forgive you that day

tonight

-1-

tonight

i smeared my screams

on walls of poetry

and the words were smothered

like drops on crimson dreams

-2-

from the broken winds

to the demon of the moons

i have smelt the skeletons

with broken skulls

broken bones with fractured emotions

that stink in my closet of memories

-3-

i was the poet from pluto

blood-painting the woman of mythologies

till she came alive

to kill me with her vibration

my lyrics got spilled

on the tired dynamo of your extinct heartbeat

till it trickled down

the song of your eyes

-4-

was i then counting the sabres of time

to tighten the noose of glory

as i now burn on the mirror

that plays psychedelic videos?

in the womb of my decayed fortunes

time grows like hungry tragedies

tragedies of love and wars lost………

-5-

in the tempest of your face

poets die everyday

as ghosts and gods duel for paradise

on the poison of your lips

till your tears are the obituary

on the unfed death nail

-6-

tonight i killed your whispers

from my whining universe

hold my hand for once

as you travel back in time

into the land of mythologies

you will be breathing forever

on immortal walls of poetry

tonight i have frozen you

from space, time and mythologies

and you are mine forever

on the weeping words

that i have engraved

in the grains of time

tonight.

rose for blood

hygroscopic gods

hate the odour of my dreams

in the symphony of my bone marrow

your hypochondriac whispers

are bleeding dreams

on my red rose petals

i was the wizard of the winds

etching metallurgy in the land of my dreams

till your dark art became a vampire

at the auction of fermented fortunes

i fell a martyr

to the calligraphy of your eyes

your intricate delicacies

lured my rush of adrenaline

your beauty was my apocalypse

and then

the future was a mere excuse

to forget your past

in the labyrinth of lost faces

your feelings will be stained forever

with blood and memories

i wriggled out of your cobweb

with your smoky words:

“will you for once

stop being a lexicographic joker?”

in asphyxiation of emotions

if words are not your blood

this rigmarole was never meant for you!

witch of crimson cacaphonies

music of blood

stains alkaline cracks

on poison glands of her skin

in the cauldron of dark winds

she is the witch of crimson cacaphonies

her eyes are a jazz of smoke

that smears the broken geometry

on her volcanic lips

in the whispers of her curling capillaries

melanin is a diluted temptation

my heart was pure poison

till it drank the alkaline blotches

in her bloodbath of pheromone

i am now but molten wax

smothered in the incandescence of her desire

in the cauldron of crimson cacaphonies

she is the witch of dark winds

in the mimicry of misty vapours

sweat on her poison glands

is her weaponry of revealing fantasy

sweet violence of silken seduction

wait till you taste

her salty catastrophe……….

bridge of words

my life

is a fistful of smouldering sediments

floating on a rivulet of time

you cast vibrations

on the splattered glass pieces

that dilute into the resonance of the mind

too deep to be touched

by time

your words

are a drop of shimmering ecstasy

stagnant in my trembling grasp

that drips down the pendulum

across people and places

to be a frozen bubble

of eternity

my pen

is a bridge of metaphors

across the rivulet of the time

that coerces the present and future

on the eternal pillar

of your words

i am but a tired traveler

walking into the broken miles

of a sleepy horizon

along a bridge of words

yet

sometimes i pause

to smell the decaying sediments

in the rivulet of time

below the bridge of words

can i ever hold on

to your heart burnt tears

that now seep into undercurrents

of the past?

every moment lived

is a story of the past

i am a tired traveler

time-travelling

on a bridge of words

till it crumbles

and then ………

i am a fistful

of smouldering sediments
lost in rivulets of time ........

Queen of Roses

"I shall bow before God

But not before Time”

queen of roses

don’t your petals bleed

in thorns of time

that poison my dreams?

angel of guns and roses

you have drunk my heart

but you did not know

that time is a thirsty vampire

and clocks are a blackmailing irony

am i the whining cigarette

in the shrinking boulevard of time

diminishing into tomorrow’s ashes

every scarlet second…………..

or….

am i the nuclear lover

of moons and melancholy

that smells the sounds

of a broken heart

in the forlorn facades

of mind’s mirages?

in the chemistry of my veins

time flows like blood

to crimson my cacophonies

my poems are my pace-makers

where words are time-clots

called memories

of tomorrow’s yesterday

you converge

in the acid of time

but your words

are immune to the catastrophe

i breathe in your words

and breathe again

queen of roses

will you ever forgive time?

will you?

can you?

maybe time is my eerie destiny

but believe me

time was never my friend

nor yours

PSYCHEDELIA

“In life there lies hope

In hope there lies desire

And deep inside the womb of desire

Lies the seeds of folly”

my dreams are a painful rhapsody

that enthralls with an untrue echo

born of a silent explosion

aloft the restless river

where moments meander like music

sleeping mountains shelter the windy castle

silently bathing in the eerie moon

peeping through the dreamy mist

that spins its magic of melancholy

far beyond, in the tune of winds

she is shaped by rings of smoke

whose rivulets draw airy figurines

on the mind-glass of transparency

to engrave indelible images

on the elastic string of moving thoughts

burned in the ashes of beauty

she is the half-bred ghoul

of sweet seduction

the demon queen

spreading out her wings of fire

to beckon wild dreams of desire

by the wisp of imagination

she is the mermaid-nymph

stitched from snippets of psychedelia

that ticks away with the torment of time

to dissolve like a phoenix

into the blue smoke of birth

to leave the legacy of an unfinished tale

my dreams are a shinning ektara

with torn out strings

that plays a tuneless tune
to brutus its dreamer

SWEET POISON

in my hand held heaven

my fleeting memories intoxicate me

with the choking odours of the past

like sweet poison

memories

that silently seep in the porous quagmires of time

i hear the rusted footsteps of the present

memories of forgotten memories

clouded in the mist of my mind

through the unending archway of time

do i travel like a fallen leaf

drifting in the winds of progress

with the cherished horizon receding

until it merges with the dungeon of my dreams

to produce sun baked negatives

coloured in the colourless colour of time

shadows of memories

those shine even in the light of the present

static on the frozen pendulum

a history called ‘Unforgettable’

that deftly plays on the broken strings

of mind’s guitar sweeter than jazz

how often has the moment’s orchestra

rocked to the seismic waves of yore

that dominate the ticking clock

past changes the present but

present cannot change the past

dark words written in dark ink

slips in the darkness of the past

darkening when it was written

with broken verses winding down

the lane of moonless memories

into the twilight of lost chasms

those chasms

in my hand held heaven

choke me like sweet poison.

-DS

V-DAY

“The first time our eyes met

I know not by chance or fate

My senses went off in a trance

I knew there’s no second chance

My eyes for my heart spake

To let the uneasy silence break

Your cheeks were with emotion flushed

Then when your rosy dimples blushed

In my favour rolled the dice

To give me the angel of paradise

Your eyes did with passion shine

I knew instantly thou art mine

Hungrily around you my arms did throw

And held on tight to never let you go

I thanked heaven & knew right away

It’s the magic of VALENTINE’S DAY”

-DS-

crystal girl

crystal girl

that once refracted life

now fast losing her smile and symmetry

her green cheeks sombred with the grey

of mankind

helen of hell

an unwilling wife of pollution

she weeps in acid rain tears

drinking in the pale smoking moon

daggers prick her cascading green locks

leaving a barren void

the intoxicating smell of the night air

burns her purged nostrils

carbon charring her fair skin

to expose scalded flesh

her green eyeballs change

blackened in dirt and soot

crystal girl, mother girl

my pen bleeds for you

droplet of time, like glass

reflects the times to come

crystal girl

now a time-girl

counting the grains of sand

falling on the time stand

counting the seconds

grain by grain………

seconds before second big bang

tiny blob of diluted green paint

rolling down the canvas of life

along the time co-ordinate

into the dimensionless horizon…….

crystal girl

then your destiny is obscure

and mankind is a history!

-DS