Time has come

Time has come to sail over windows;
of cold dead unshaken nights
To deny sunrises and sunsets ;
to not wait for that motherly or fatherly affection
which was once promised to us
But to jump into the endless oceans of sense-madness
Alone ,Naked and with nothing to carry but fire and
 glowing, fiery storms in hearts
to evaporate the incessant vulgarity of life
to deny places and faces that insult our spirits
to deny words and jobs that insult our souls.
To fly over the city walls with horses
that carry not the burdens of our past
to deny birth ,death and all that comes with it.

Who were these common folks ,
But Grassblades in Winterwinds
Masked in learned jokes ,
Never knowing what life is .
Why look down upon these children of misfortune ;
whatever may they wish to be.

Animal stock of apes,
are they derived ,and;
in darkness of primitive caves
formed are their minds
They are free from nothing ,
Masters ,diseases ,gold,deaths;
everything that binds
If Ye who know the Truth
be not forgiving to these sorry commoners of life
who else shall the chalice be passed onto and be rife?
Ye who hath seen multi-fold heavens and hells
and know the light of Karma and danger it bells.
Ye who has seen the spread of inter-Universe
And Known the "Çhittas'' that created this crave-curse.
Forgive them!
And let it be ; part with all this cynicism and child-fight .
Let the sorry bury the sorry while ye Bask in Supra-bright

Prophet's Path.

How Much Does love cost ?
And Hatred too.
When Soul Has rested in nest,
of eternal blue.
Why shall we must yearn;
of purest sea-shells;
on shores of washed up dirt;
of surest dreams .

A dandy of words and an ancient soul;
I am tormented in this earthly foul.
By Buffalo of Early East ;
By criminals ,Traders and communist Priests .
Yet There is holy in skies unseen,
in robes gone long before ;my lonely wings.
And there is light in darkness,
and salvation in suffering .
The Prophet's Path
his silent uttering.

Half Dreams

In half dreams of love I sweep off my days ,
Mend my drifting mind to memories of her ways 


And spend my tender summer nights unslept 
Upon the morn then I mourn ;promises unkept 


Love; such a straight thing crooked by bound
Impedes my every hour the guilt of lost sound


Fireballs that eat sky-dots on windless nights,
Furrow the lands of heaven in worried plights 




But I still sit awake on hills of my dreamy scape
Where I echo her smiles on the mills of death

My Blues

If you do me unright ,

I will not hate you quite,

For you got your rules

 I gotten  blues …

I will make a song about you

And sing it to morning  dew

And To whoever listens ..

that evening …

Swing, I will all on my own

By the corrals of dry foam

And startle all the folk

 with wet grasslands …

Over the mountains cream unfolds,

Where clouds dance in the cold

Serving only one purpose ,

For my Rains.

You still look down on me,

I  still sing up on to rim,

For you got your rules

 I gotten  blues ,

My people keep me aside ,

On the shoulder of the tide ,

Or I forget ocean of mind,

Forever…

So whats music to me?

Partly pain, partly freedom

Partly mundane, partly God-loom

Partly Love, never hate,

Partly soul, My friend,

often people, seldom me.

It used to be a cheap hobby,

Or a cheaper way to pose

Now its solvent of my soul.

I am basically a slave you see,

on contract with white bumblebee

And I am more black than white,

I guess you can see that clear,

If you have that sight.

Yes ,I am slave and thats right,

I sing the songs of slaves,

My Blues ,My Blues at Night.

No training Have I,

No theory I know  ,

No grammar I show,

No tricks I sow.

I have no use of rage,

And I may never have stage.

Yet I sing my song.

With Or without you,

Be it right or wrong.

Who cares?

I will drop into the grave

With same speed as rest of slaves.

Another world

In My Mind , the fertile field of all that brings forth, I strung a Veena.
And to her vibrations I begged to create another world.
the rhythms and motions and forms and oceans then moved,
far beyond the reach of earth, galaxies to cross the cosmos.

Above the womb of creation ,vibrations stood still then
and poured all the essences of life into it ,
so from that supra-cosmic intercourse ,
was the world of my own imagination created.

Where unending chanting of love filled the space,
greed was replaced , with ever-lit face.
For love of one; for love of many
My world flourished into a garden of Moonshine..

Where Gods were Kind and mingled with humans,
and the chariot of rains was sprinkled with diamonds,
Not a single soul ever had a touch of cold,
as in eternal summer sweet grasses rolled

Thus ,My once parched soul was in happiness pandered ,
Knowing this place, now only the body wandered 

Last Love

Before I leave the womb of Earth,

To  scatter in dimensions ,beyond Birth.

In laps of Gods and in shadows of Silk

Weaved not out of tyrant time ,

But churned out of eternal milk

Shall I love once for last ,for sake of thy beauty Vast

Or will I be cursed on holy path,

 Where I must end all that boils

Including a lovers duty for thy holy beauty .

If I choose to be in warmth

And shadow of thine love

Would the Gods blame me?

For shallowness ,which my earthly flesh

Treasures so deep .

They say,

I must have my colorless wings

And cant afford the oil of thy love

On my feathers of righteousness that stings

And must vanish dry and barren

 into the white cottons of heaven.

So Angels giggle at my childish whims

And Demons ridicule my indigent dreams.

For I cannot be so bold;

To have both ,

earthly love and heavenly Gold

Winterwind

Who wants to love the Winterwind ?

Nobody does , for we bind ourselves

To daily strives in warm dens

But she wants to be heard, not for herself

But for the stories she brings in rain

Of rivers far across, dull and depraved and frozen.

Rivers who are mothers of your soil,

And everything you do, all your toil

Yet you hear her not .

And shut the blue doors

 You phony, criminal, rot.

So she goes crazy ,

And Rages and rages and rages.

And whirls upwards

To clouds ,her heavenly fathers .

And brings down the blizzards

upon everything beneath .

Kills the beggars ,

And flowers from last spring.

who have no doors to shut

Lambs sacrificed .

For the sins of others .

But I, though a Prince ,

Who had seen a thousand sorrows

And been happy ever since.

Welcome the Winterwind

To my daily palace .

I keep my furnace off

to chill with her

make love to her

without a blanket.

Then I ask , silently

What about Rivers ?Mothers?Rodents?Beggars?

She now blushes like a Young lady

And says,

‘ its okay ,I just wanted a lover.

I found it in you , I am blessed forever.

I shall be be back now and make new way

For the Spring’s flowers and Summer’s hay.’

False Darkness

I wear a cloak of darkness ,

Not out of prosaic sadness ,

But as my Auspex ,

which guards my Places

From agencies of fallen graces

Those ogres and bulls 

who walk in finesse

For they threaten to trample,
The butterflies by the sensitive bud,
With their muddy feet,
Sore with clots of own blood.

The Darkness in my apparent gardens
Protects us .

Only a self-lit Angel can walk,
Through these corridors; pitch dark
To my heart's caves ,in which I keep
The colorful gems I found on Highways
where ruby's sprout
Like in dreamy lands and surreal plays,

Where golden- green grass swings
Upon giggling summer afternoon winds,
That await now ;the evening
Like a newly wed awaits, her esteem.

How bright these caves
Of myriad colors of Orphic fable,
Of magic potions,
Violet ,Scarlet ,Gray and purple .
Boiling .

Of trees which have for leaves,
soothing ,consoling ,balmy palms ,
Which heals of death ;a deep wound
Like an Enlightened beam
competing with thousand suns
underground.

Of wise soft rains yonder
that gently dampens ,
The carpet of rye ;
beneath the sky
Made of dews’ glittering canvas.

If you once see these sights,

Why then in fright? Would you turn back?

Stay; and leave not the Magic castle,

Made of glass and of my soul’s  fiber.

A Poetess

But I am a poetess , she said.

I write with ink of moon

in shiny letters and lady's swoon

Nay I said ,you are but love herself

queen of dance with nimble feet

a temptress , with laughter so sweet

Everything I worship ,I find in you.

But I am no poet ,

I write in dopey soot

with quill of rust

and in Man's shallow Lust.

My love is fossilized ,

in earth so deep ,

crushed by her crust

Only finds a rare volcanic jet

in tarry grease of flesh.

So I will vanish again,

behind  sulfurous fumes,

lest the venom of my words,

 spite thy shiny starry blooms.

Yet I will not die entirely mute,

I will stand firm in sacred madness,

in which lovers often dwell,

lose their souls and everything else

O heavens

Oh heaven thy Mystery storms,

In thy rains be my lust bygone

And let sweet youth of my manly wrongs,

Be forgiven in thy supra kind morn

Wasn’t in thy gentle womb I born?

Then why leave me in the land lorn

O take me up to your gentle lap

mother of my Ageless form ,

And thus I would delight in surrendered hours

For rest of my life in in thy earthly showers

The Muse

The muse , fallen from the heaven's window
by crime of love and curse of Gods
And now he murmurs softly , in humanely wounds,
And praises whats still beautiful in mortal bounds

The muse still paints but not in pain
the muse still sings but not in vain
 Yakshas of sky still inebriateupon his verse
Poet of heaven's most sacred source
 Apsaras dance to his beauteous songs
the Godly musician they always loved

But Love , the muse's only crime
The Love, the muse's only shrine ...

False Gods

My only love ,taken away, by a pact,

In which I was not asked to act

Stolen by robbers who are painted wise,

Extolled in their virtues , they spit my vice

And I was asked to guard the tomb,

Of my only love, her sacred womb

Bloody now my every thought in shame,

yet thence I have never cried the same

Lost forever in an untellable  play,

That I shall now hid my hideous clay

And my molten tears that bear,

A secret of her notorious wear

All drama for false Gods and chariots,

And a penny , or two or empty thoughts,

But My revenge would be marked forever

Wounded, In my embarrassed verse so clever.

o awakened one

O Awakened one! how Do I wish to see,
through your bygone eyes,Those visions of beauty
How I wish My nights be same as yours,
under the blossomed stars and silver tree

I am not interested in relics or shrines,
or holy words ,even yours,or holy wines.
I want the buds of wisdom; fresh anew
in the basket of eternal river,that shines

That luminous ever; and the blameless sights,
The twisted ether; and unseen Lights,
I lust for them in my hearts purity;
grant me the vision ,from your heights..

I write

I must Write , Not in Pity,
never in vanity
or  some celestial duty.
Nay;nor in wait.For posterity
I write for the function of soul,
and endless days ,for them all.

I yearn for living, in imagination;
against the tortures of silence
of not being heard ,
sleeping on the sun.

I fret not or beg not ,
for an ordinary audience ,
I already see much of Angelic world,
beyond the futile dimension

I curse them not,
I curse me not .
No sky to buy with words,
No road to walk .

Its a howl of high times,
And I must write;
whatever little is heard,
By my mortal fingers.

Rest is lost,
In fog of time,
Eternally.

You Mock; as You may,
The seer too has,his final day.

Dream

I have dreamt a dream ,
with an empty scream,
 Scream so loud , scream so proud
 I have seen my ribs pulled apart,
 O Poor Devil ,
Gods have no mercy.
Where in lie my heart ,
hurt and burnt,
Pacing and thudding ,
an insane bud
 And The blood flowered that bloomed from it
, And was lost in shadows of dreamy canvas.

World is an interesting Place ,
 I see it ;
with a window I call Mind ,
 And its open all the time.

 I see roads, with bed sheets of fresh rain water;
 Reflecting the near gray clouds ,
The mountains by busy roads,

And many electric towers Power stations and slums,
 Where street dogs compete with street men,
To survive in daily den.

 I see crowds, unending head counts,
Moving like silent army ,
I see pondering old men,
Sitting by the shade; in pink shirts,
 With their hands tucked under their cheeks,
 And eyes closed, as if eternally.

 I see babies crawling near bus stops,
Tied to a soft wooden pole;
 By their mothers.

I see endlessness of endlessness
 And buses, rikshaws, too much of foul air
 And I see love too;
the young Girl I liked Kissing another man.
I see laughing faces by rectangular buildings,
 Made up of glass and lot of new age jazz

Not to hurt a soul

Not To hurt a soul ,
 The sky emptied itself ,
Of long swallowed tears,
And stars melted themselves;
 From boredom of billion years,
 Mountains flew:

 How easily do I gather;
These distorted but real visions;
And how Easily I develop;
The peasant’s addictions

 But I will Not give up;
This madness; this eternal madness;
 Nor will I ever hurt;
 A soul that has eyes to express.

 Flickering is the nature;
Of sustained ignorance.
 Flickering is the nature;
 Of sorrow’s florescence .

Madness Vomits

And the swollen hearts ,
 thudding with brilliance,
maddened by internet fantasies
, dreaming of right to freedom
, Right to love, sex ,marriage ,
 fatherhood , polished houses ,
 fancy protests,
the books of justice fancy table cloths,
glass of tea and another glass of tea
 or some other such hostel addictions
. Mourning for the skulls crushed,
 as they are thrown off the stage
, mainstream media, mainstream jobs,
 vegan hippies shouting for love ,
uber-cynical guitarists cursing old hags,
madness,madness more of it ,
everywhere,
 the beggared streets and unkind rains,
 unkind winds , unkind saints , imprisoned into the cubicles ,
cabins, the working class and free labour ,
the bonded labour ,anti-corruption rallies,
and holy advertisements
 Looking for salvation in self help books,
 or big porno boobs ,
madness madness everywhere ,
 the stresses and music ,
electric, wired well produced bad produced
 filmstars. peyote lsd weed speed Icaro cocaine,
 tv ,internet ,high schools elections ,recessions,
 presidents,summits cultures, counter cultures
vultures counter vultures fantasy
 bedtime stories

 just madness madness everywhere
 2 dollar poverty line
 for old shacks yet dancing drunk to 97% alcohol
 to an unknown friends' weddings and
 then fist fighting with angels over their
 stolen broken chappals in government
 damned hamlets of 5000 year old countries .
 casting out demons through fake
woodwind instruments
madness vomits.

I recall the paths, Of childhood; of distant mood, That took me to the river. The red soil that revived into air, as hooves of bulls pressed onto them. And the rhythmic wheel of cart oiled by grease patiently made screeching sound. Mixed with these sounds were the calls of birds, that gently cut through even the afternoon forests, and on either side of this road which was hunched in the middle , were bamboos and shrubs that grew not too long;in their pomp. nor too short , lest be useless. but just tall enough to cover the soil, and protect her rich freshness from the father. The rays of Father made mosaics on the paths, ever chanting sketches of times and times , In the morning they were slanting and boisterous, Sketches of kids . afternoon; sturdy and arid . sketches of middle-aged men; with burdens on their shoulder, In evening, the fading mosaics were silent but wise. I took the shadow and i took the peeping rays to, on my face ,my laps, my back,my hands. we played all the time . Sometimes the rifest berry shrub, If It was a May afternoon ,was like black shining pearl , the dance of black pearls , abundant, sweet with red juice inside , I recall all that ,as if it happens before me, right now. O the sweet childhood and its reckless glories, the dreams of impossibilities and the romance with skies the sweet sweet paths that lead to river. And If if it be Monsoons , It would all greens, The soil will be less gay , and more gravity bound . The hunch ,the protective shrubs and their leave's blanket fatter now ,to play with mother rains ,than the rays . The clouds , the smell , the dark chocolaty muddy ponds, and how many lazy afternoon spent