The Proposal

"I have a thing for cliché ", said she.
"I do", said he.
"Excuse me?"
"Diffuse me."
"Confuse me?"
"Choose me."

Hounds

They howl, but at night;
or is it Morning, mourning?
Their eyes, dreams' coffins.

La Mascarade

                                 Picture Courtesy: Google

Here's another one:
A fanatic, a puritan,
a flame forgotten;
here's fire, still unmade,
squalling unafraid,
en route to Life's masquerade.

He, who dons this blue,
this rag of rue;
he, who lives so true-
will he find me at the ball?
Will he, my name call?
And will that be all?

Will he a stranger seem?
Or my lord supreme,
as we kiss to blaspheme?
Will I in glory bask,
as I see through the mask?
Will I be kissed, I ask. . .

I wish the bud bloomed;
Oh. . .I long to be consumed!
Yes, too much have I presumed-
for what use this scrutiny-
when love, that is mutiny,
is seldom the destiny?

So let there be me and him,
and Fate and its whim;
and let pain its cup brim-
for this known sorrow
that Fate would borrow,
shall bring us tomorrow.

Bête Noire

                                            Picture Courtesy: Google

I am a scribe to this night-

this night, that has

addressed to me its agonies

and confessed to me

its handicap.

I am a stooge of this life-

this life, that has

needed me to be its accomplice

and needled me

into being.

To be or not to be?

To be or not to be?

I walk free.

And freedom's futility

is known to me.

Do you hear the violin

she plays?

And do you see him there,

fondling her chin

in his dream?

To be or not to be?

To see or to flee?

Words? Bah.

Songbirds.

He'd talked to me of flutes.

And his skin was blue.

I dived but didn't get through.

I am only a scribe to the night.

Yet when it rains,

I weep.

Embroideries of emotions

underline his eyes,

and they say

poetry is hyperbole.

Be. Don't be.

I am a slave to those eyes,

those eyes, that have

owned me an eternity

and owed me

tears.

When blackbirds

will reach the sun,

the horizon

will not be.

And they will not be.

The Tragedienne

                                     Picture Courtesy: Google

Ripples of her laughter

spread across the audience

and died thereafter

as she wept her penance.

The red in her lip
had been all her blood-
they took a holy dip
and died in a flood.

Years ago she had

been too frail to be appeased,

when times were not glad

that she did as she pleased.

She'd sighed and wailed

but all they'd eyed

was how she had failed

and not complied.

"Rise, rise, Aphrodite!

The foamy ocean,

your ensemble of white-

bring us emotion."

"Emeralds of envy,

Sapphires of scorn-

what else can we

have you adorn?"

"Bleed, blend,

become the breath.

Succeed, befriend,

succumb to death!"

"Let loose that lock

laced in lust.

Give up the clock;

embrace, you must."

And thus she feigned

as well as she felt.

For eons reigned

and for ages knelt.

Her giggles appalled

that sea of men

and then they called

her 'tragedienne'.

Narcissus Sees

                     Picture: The Son of Man by Rene Magritte

Narcissus sees

a nebulous reflection

of his perfection

and he flees.

The murky seas

that obscure conviction,

are they perception

or grease?

Cathartic sprees,

to end recollection

are but self-affliction

and disease.

Storms- they cease,

become fiction

and springs affection

as tears freeze.

So until one frees

one's own reflection,

one is the imperfection

Narcissus sees.

The Gay and the Gray

                           Picture Courtesy: Google

Fate stands acquitted

in this court of justice,

while I am admitted

a sinner, and exhibited;

Love, my accomplice,

Religion, the winner.

"Guilty", they retort,

"Gay", "ghost", "gross".

"Crime", they report.

"Odd", they revolt,

bitter and cross.

They do it for God.

I know not why they spar-

what is their goal?

Those who gazed at the star

and dealt with the scar-

They seek not the soul.
They have not felt.

Hues

The hills painted white,

Red trickling down the eye-

And Envy is green.

Knit Me a Lie

                                         Picture Courtesy: Google, Picasa

Like rhymes churned
to hold soldiers
to field;
try tasks and parts
until they die-

When times turned
their cold shoulders
to me,
I asked my heart,
"Knit me a lie."

A Haiku that Happened

Whirling of her skirts,
a chequered carpet beneath-
sunset dawns outside.

On Being Unreasonable

                                   Picture Courtesy: Google

I do it because I cannot do otherwise
than being not before your eyes.
I do it because it looks a compromise
that kills me so you may rise.

I do it because I need to disguise
this soul, this heart and its cries.
I do it because I'd heard your sighs
and thought for once, to be wise.

I do it because, although, a surprise,
I know you'll someday surmise
that I do it because I see what lies
ahead of this day as my prize.

Let Him

                       Picture Courtesy: Google
                   ('The Kiss' by Auguste Rodin)

Let dreams not captivate my love tonight,
let my distant cries now be heard by him.
Let memories of me not haunt his sight-
My face before his eyes; the rest be dim.

Let hands not reach for stars that shine so bright,
let them be burned by cold wits or at whim.
Let moons procure not what he knows of 'light'-
aflame, my heart be christened this by him.

Let him succumb to anything but night;
let him but come and kiss this crimson rim,
drink the passion and be drowned with its might-
Let him, let him, let him, let him, let him. . .

Of Ropes and Hopes

                                 Picture Courtesy: The free 'me'

The wind wheeled down the walk-
wayward had been its way.
I clutched the ropes so tight
lest the swing should find a prey.

It tossed me at the starry sky,
which then sent me to the Earth.
And the swing jilted me again:
I, thus, swung back and forth!

My perplexed eye lived no more
and through it tears did not flood.
The lids were done and I shrouded 
it with the saffron in my blood.

My wilted wings went with the wind,
of my blindness I won't say much.
When life escaped my creaking ribs
I freed the hopes of my clutch.

And I Laughed

               Picture Courtesy: Mirror

I laughed
as the pink-veiled morning
smirked at the corpse
of my rosy dream.

I laughed
until its memory trilled
in my heart
and limped its captive
forever.

I laughed
until my eyes
were shards
of that
shattered dream.

I laughed
as light
hypnotized the truth
and it drowned
into slumber.

I laughed
at the opacity
of the mirror.

And I laughed
until the echoes
of my voice
were weary
of me.

Summons from Somewhere

                         Picture Courtesy: Me and 'them'

I have a feeling,

it's me they're seeking.

Stared at the ceiling;

they had been speaking.

I have a feeling,

shadows are peeking

through a hole, kneeling;

the doors are creaking.

I have a feeling-

a voice squeaking,

secrets revealing;

emerging, leaking.

I have a feeling,

someone is shrieking

and I’m concealing

a heart that’s breaking.

Musica Universalis

                     Picture Courtesy: The miracle, Google

The shy bird
often perched
on the rails, unheard
searched for a word
that had lurched
forward, undeterred-
absurd, the word
that occurred
once as it sang.

It sang
and the word
got blurred
by the others spurred
due to the word.

The song was altered
but the bird
sang.

It sang
undeterred,
looking for the word
that had occurred
as Discord purred,
and stirred
emotions now blurred
by another word.

The bird suffered
for the word
was no longer heard,
the song had altered
and the voice slurred
as it sang.

It sang,
the voice slurred
and all got blurred.
Then the word
recurred
in another song.

We Will It

                                       Picture Courtesy: Google

We're willing to take the risk today-
let all our fears now be whisked away.
And Time, you be a witness to this;
come along, the walk is brisk, okay?

No, we won't be thinking anymore.
Let us look now at what lies ashore.
There is a beauty in getting lost-
so let us be lost and lose no more.

What height are the skies that live above?
What depth are seas when it comes to love
that has me breathe and live as I do;
that has you wreathe air like a dead dove?

Yes, we do have it all that it takes.
Now that we're flying, we know the stakes.
We wish it, we want it, we will it-
let the night linger before dawn breaks.

Hegira

                             Picture Courtesy: Some lover, software

While the morning lingers

and feels my fingers,

proclaims them dead,

away you tread.

While a burning shiver

makes lips quiver

as they blow a name

away, that flame,

I see you leaving-

cold, unbelieving.

I scream what's unsaid,

but you walk instead.

While the winter sleeps

and the night weeps,

what is it that creeps

into me so deep?

I begin to dread

my every breath

while the time strays

and the beat betrays

our only song,

makes it wrong.

Have I lost my head?

Or is it you ahead?

Thingness

                                      Picture Courtesy: Google

The winter's grope,
one cold hope
and passion gone mild, mild, mild...

A shackle's frost,
a pun long lost;
imagination gone wild, wild, wild...

Such is the thingness of it all-
it makes me want no more.
Such is the thingness of it all-
Tel est l'amour...

Urges Unspent

                     Picture Courtesy: My hopeless self

The flame of time has seldom lit my days
or brought to fore the newness I besought.
The game of life has seldom been a chase;
I trot unsure in skewness and get caught.

The past has preyed on my present always,
avenged whom and revenged how, I know not.
This vast sky space, yet no crescent to praise-
No, I am quenched not, only drenched in thought.

Complaint or blame today eludes this gaze,
achieves nothing, my looking so distraught.
The past, a frame that I now set ablaze-
archives of things aren't undoing the drought.

The fruits are just so rotten- I don't eat.
Bygones are best forgotten, I repeat.

Return Mermaid!

                                                  Picture Courtesy: Me, again.

Return Mermaid! Entice the sea again;
beguile the ships that sail across the moon.
Retreat to your desire; reveal or feign
a love as blue, or sing to make 'em swoon.

Resume the gentle game that you'd begun
when Time had surfed all tides in sight for you.
Remember all that still is left undone;
recall the torrent, come and make it true.

Recline on rising waves; be seen today,
recouping droplets from the sky above.
Reclaim the beauty and reject the bay,
revive the soul, Mermaid; rejoice in love.

Return now and relieve the roaring waves;
rebel the swell so that the song behaves.

Septimus

                                                             Picture Courtesy: Google

"Evans! Evans!" Cried he.

Heavens eyed it idly.

"Evans!" Wailed the victim;

reached no one to rid him.

Birds- they sing in Greek, O!

Words that sting 'n' reek, O!

Listen! Listen, only-

hear the hyperbole.

'Fear no more', his dictum.

Cheer 'encore', or succumb.

Steer no more; don't speak, O!

Birds- they sing in Greek, O!

"Evans! Evans!" Cried he.

Veins or brains- thus, died he.

'Fear no more', his dictum.

And insane they called him.

Lend it not a shriek, O!

Mend it, make it weak, O!

Look not; feel it coldly,

kissing your minds boldly.

Sang he, "Evans, don't come!"

'Fear no more', his dictum.

Look not; Death is bleak, O!

Lend it not a shriek, O!

The Spell of Summer

                                    Picture Courtesy: Google

Sometimes a frost may shackle summer days

or gag the yellow sun or make it blind.

Sometimes the sky may lose its burning gaze;

reject compassion and appear unkind.

Sometimes the shady tree may bleed its green

to drench with envy, lovers come to rest.

Sometimes the steely brook may need a screen,

to quench the frenzied divers, trying best.

Sometimes the buds may bloom a little late;

prolong the wait of graves beseeching hope.

Sometimes the breeze may blow and yet not sate
a breathless being trying his best to cope.

To scavenge passion, Nature feigns a grace-

becomes a Mother and then changes face.

There will be Time

                                                           Picture Courtesy: Google

“There will be time”, said he, eyeing his return

to reality from dreams yet unspent.

“There will be time”, sang he, “to burn and learn,

to descend infernal stairs and repent.”

“There will be time, there will be time to churn

the murky sea of thought and then relent

when the dividends are all mine to earn-

there will be time”, hissed he like a serpent.

“There will be time, yes, time to take the turn

to God's own chamber and beg with knees bent.

Won’t there be time for what I now adjourn,

enough time to say what I never meant?”

“No. There won’t be any time to undo”,

hummed his heart and he bled a tear or two.

An Ode and Omen

                               Picture Courtesy: Google

What sorrows shall ever teach you, my love-
I have known it all before our time came.
A hell down under, a heaven above-
'tis but a truth I bleed, shackled in shame.

Of a heart that hopes and in horror hails
a fearless saviour from another world,
of silence and shrieks and beckoning wails-
I have known of the flags never unfurled.

Of desires draped in dawns of tomorrow,
of deaths awaited in dreams of today;
of a forlorn faith in stormy sorrow-
I have known the lies that a life may say.

I pour my tale to you, I spin a yarn-
Not to save you, dearest; but to forewarn.

Anonymity

                                 Picture Courtesy: Google

Untruths are all I have for you and me-

Today is broke, Tomorrow is empty.

No dreams or any possibility;

all I see is my anonymity.

I once got drunk to my capacity,

when your eyes had exuded poetry.

Am I now to know souls' opacity?

Or love's unlimited ability?

Who knows if time will ever set us free?

Are we here now for what will never be?

Untruths are all I have for you and me-

Today is broke, Tomorrow is empty.

No dreams or any possibility;

all I see is my anonymity.

Aurora in Kashi

                              Picture Courtesy: Google

Celestial candles kindle ceremony,
and then renounce their golden flame to die.
Beguiling dawn, a monk descends the steps
to Ganges, as rays appear and ripple
the river's face and as oars divide air
into a spoonful of soundless voices.

A flawless bird delivers skies of doom;
its fluttering vanquishes silence and
it glides away leaving on the canvas,
the vermillion of its victory.

A temple gong awakens the idols
and rises she from her daylong slumber;
hurries Aurora in her saffron cape,
spilling its colour on the earth and sky.

To the Sonneteer

                               Picture Courtesy: Google

A jingle, July- poured the juice of joy,
but thirty trickles took away its tang.
The days departed and with their convoy
went poetry and now remains a pang.

Bestowing love with leeway, is he still
belittling beauty, being its basis sole?
Beguiling rhyme, bequeathing beats at will,
benumbing bosoms with his odic dole?

O sonneteer, serenade me today,
sing again 'n' lend my palms a prayer.
Let horizons blend with tears and obey
this ardent longing, the colour of air.

A hundred hymns on hope my heart recites,
that you'll return soon with your past delights.

Cassiopeia

               Picture Courtesy: Google

Eons elapsed and orbits disappeared-
the scope of space had her still stupefied.
Insipid infinity as I'd heard,
is myth, misery, misdeeds, multiplied.

Wasn't treachery that had the throne altered
and all her treasure so tactfully tied?
Celestial confines for a queen cornered
blamed, shamed and ceremony-denied!

O Cassiopeia! To have suffered
a sacrifice and then twice be tried,
to have travailed for justice deferred
when 'twas only oracles you'd complied!

Aye, Cassiopeia couldn't you foresee-
Vanity's sentence, an eternity.

A Sage's Saga

                          Picture Courtesy: Google

The sky sprinkled its suffering, saline
upon a godless globe of glaring ghouls.
So, she sipped the salt to save all souls,
gathered grief in her gut, the grave gamine.
Some saw submission, some sketched her serene,
some gazed at her and glorified her goals.
And she sucked sentiment until her strolls
garnished gloom with grace, granted Gray some Green.

Her skirt she swirled as the sun shone so soon-
goring glory, looking a gilded glaive.
Some squinted at her and some she saw swoon
gaily, as her gift gushed into the grave.
Aye! Salt and the skeleton lay strewn
as God gladly gobbled all that she gave.

Saudade

            Picture Courtesy: Ghosts from the Past

A hundred hues had the winged winter-tide
when your wonderful name was all I owned.
I'd once owed you my canvas crimson-toned,
yet dearest, you are no more by my side.
What fortitude has Fate, emerald-eyed,
to finagle hearts of fire, have souls stoned;
take you away, leave me ivory-boned?
Blossoms that bore all blows, no longer bide.

Memories do bring you to this maimed bed,
yet I crave you as God would long for gongs.
Grey is my world for I have still not bled
many tears or truths or hopes or songs.
Lord let me die and shroud me but unwed
lest my soul should reach not where it belongs.

Siesta

                    Picture Courtesy: Google

The fervid fumes of a summer noon;

the opaque zest of a sky stark,

crept like synonyms of 'spark'

into the eyes and made me swoon.

Faraway from trills and tune,

under Humility's archaic arc,

I napped, a sapling sans a bark;

I slept with my silver spoon.

But Aye! The Succubus came so soon,

drowning dreams and limping a lark;

dooming the day to a dismal dark.

And Oh! The Sibyls no longer croon!

Lost are those nimble Nymphs that hark.

Yet in its face I float; I hope to paint an Ark.

Meera's Muse

           Picture Courtesy: Google

The garish eve defied its span,
swallowing night in its stride.
Amazed, she gazed at the bride,
who eclipsed a coy caravan. . .

The groom, his brow dripping tan,
stood by a mare of golden pride.
The maiden rose; "Mother", she cried,
"Who is going to be my man?"

"Look there", the amused queen began,
"Kaanha is your groom, you're his bride;
turn to him when your tears have dried!"

Entranced, the princess divined this plan;
slender hands caressed the idol, deified-
cried Meera to the muse, "I am your bride!"