I never felt my legs since six,
And ever loved my lake since then
My boat was my cradle
And my lake was my Grande Dame.
Any fresh day when she sees me
there is a smiling moon floating
in her deep calm eyes.
You are the sweet mist in my labyrinth
The feast of gooseberry to sweet stream
The letter from the moon to Macbeth
The taste of blueberry with a wild scream
Temptations are wings
And addiction, the sky.
Ever roosting bats
Never ending hunts in dark
When her eyes are blank and cold
When there are no ripples of warmth
When they are like a frozen brook in a new moon night
When they look at me still perceive no image
I believe, we all have
one unsolved problem in life.
For a few, that may be a secret
which hides like a grenade in the pocket
Three dots … were left wounded
awaiting the ‘inevitable sound of death’.
Till recently these three dots … were our lifeblood
Now see, the poor dots are bleeding to death. Continue reading “Three Dots…”
When my quaver meets
a premature death in my throat
When I curl up like a Chartreux
I have you only
Kabini* was carrying the coracle** and me
like a phlegmatic old man who carries a Palanquin
and I saw you floating towards me
sitting on a banyan tree leaf
covered in red thin skin and sweet pulp.