Those tender moments
Without which body will be
Not a body but just a mask
Of conventional convenience.

But now in this central sufferings
From the stony silence within you

Mirror mirror on the wall
Who is fairest of all
Cancerian death
Or the sulphurious life
Which abide by their might
Where angels sing
And wash their wings
And gods write
Annals of spite

Lady of my dreams
Moon colored
Raven haired
Inaccessible
Like a distant shore.

Dwelling here
Closer to the heart
A reason a dream
Undefined yet real.

Moon colored pebbles

Floating wings
Glorious forms
Destitute colours
Of toxic winds.

Having drunk
All the shades
Shine I will
Like a star
Bemoaning its
Cruel fate
Amid torrents
Of constant rage.

This is not a country for living souls
Recoiled the heart lives under the enshades
Of vampire ridden nature and all its pards
On beggarly sums amassed by the pauper

I have always moved from the world of men
To the cold ethereal sea with frost bitten dregs
The bird’s sedge sings a soliloquy
Till the stones cover the moorlands of heaven

Dark dark the jocund space with downy flesh
Black bannered hideous gloomier than rest
Under the low hanging tattered rugged sky
Float clouds dark tortured low lit as night.

Go saddle me the black black steed
For I am going on a long long journey
Go wipe away the tears that roll
Across brawny cheeks of gypsie lassie.

Fifteen well made men going on their steeds

I am the
Springtime of leaves
And song of brunt
Meadows brief
Where the water arms
The earth’s ploughed
Scars
Mingling with
Moon’s soft crust.

Capricious images
Of nursling plunders

On the seashore where the pebbles toss
The waves encrusted in their noonday vaults
The ripples answer forth
Over the sand dunes of crescent hills
To recover by pushing around

In clouded cradle haunted deep
I confirm in tainted turbulent sea
Bridled tongues moved to please
The pallid probes of the verses brief.

Along stony erected rendered walls

There was no one
Only the sound of my footsteps
Or perhaps the sound of my breath
Disturbing some wandering brief
A tone wedged in whispering grief.

There was no one, only a shadow

Sinking the sun will drown in its own blood
Touching
With last conscience its oozed out blood
Fingering
Bine stemmed branches of oak tree
Evil
Stormed by good twin present everlasting

Remember
Poetry is the blood of your visions
It rips you apart against
The torrid consolidations of mundane
Strengths elongated in the retinues
Sparked for uncertain verses in trials.

And I grow fingers and thumbs to write more
The verses that do not follow straight lines
But zigzagging under the open skies
In chromed yellow sunlight
In canopy of the trees