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 .