Of Art and the Artisan

Spring nights,

Warm with the fragrance of

Mango blossoms 

And the crystal star dust

Spread in peace 

Across the blackness

Of my eyes

Reflected in the nocturnal

Glass sky 

Seduces your manly art

Of creation --

The dance of Shiva

Frenzied in love;

The utmost Love 

That only she can hold 

Who inspires the dance 

Of destruction

Of helpless desire

The meaningless cravings

To belong

To own

To possess

Impassion

Love

Kiss

Hold

In

Peace

Shantam shantam shantam

Come

Dance to the music 

Of my anklets

The Terminal Post

I don't write anymore
Not to some casual eyes
Who would go through my beads
Of charmed prayers
And the holy smoke of thoughts,
Only with his sight.

Tell me, if you care
And only if you do,
I will write
And write just for you
A pair of glad eyes
And a mind that thinks
And dares to dream beyond the
Muddy and earthy things.

But of course you are caught
Between pairs of handsome legs
And skin of volatile
Youth and tenderness.
And clothes, purses, rings
Shirts, bedrooms, flings
And buses full of bodies
Swarming in sweat.

I have stopped writing
I pray quietly in my head
For you and all those there
Who believe in drops of woe.

The Ride

I wanted to look at the mirror
He could not see my reflection
Air flowed through every vein
Our smiles mingled in the speed

Lines Lost

ki chilo amar?

ajo ba ki ache?

shudhu ankhi pote lekha chilo

ak chobi

thoter neerobo akhore chilo

priyo nam

i wander on the lone vales

pining in sacred distances

as i watch over the grim clouds

and caress them in whispers

do ask him if ....

bristi nebe ashey jhapsa hoe

my paper never fills up

The Soiled Princess

My words fell on your grasses of mirth

And showered your blessed being

My letters fell unaware on woven dreams

And mirrored a phantasmal seeing.

I wondered often, have you not a heart

That feels and drips all blue?

The air curled up and touched your breast

To hear heart throbs -- a clue.

I stood apart and a road flowed by,

All trams and buses askew,

You looked on and I looked on,

Those words in the dust just grew.

The tiara on my forehead shone

Like a diamond made of flowers

And I knew in your heart there were

A thousand venereal showers!

I asked the wind – does he want to be?

Can he leave all he fears?

The leaves whispered, it’s too late,

He needs all he bears.

Maybe next time my soiled princess?

Maybe just another while.

I left then with my tears of words

And my letters with a smile.

I travelled away, eight months and a day

Till I knew I’m all done.

I have not any music or poem,

From me, where shall I run?

I offer you my pen, my ink and thoughts

I offer you crushed joys and pain

Songs of summer and spring ballads

Songs of citizen rain.

I have my heart my reed my world

I have my words of God,

I have my pagan joys and bliss,

My sight, my ink, my word.

My love resides in Godly insights

My love resides in dew

I do not seek a material world

To live encased with you.

Your smogs and fogs of darkness bleak

Shall all shed away,

Come kiss your pen

And write again, all eight months and a day.

For happiness we seek to strive

For happiness all trouble unfurled.

For happiness shall lie our bond apart

From the glittering shimmering world.

The soiled princess knows you fear

To walk along even-in dreams,

Your mind is tied, a bona-fide to

The life licked in ice creams.