Poems written in 2013

Contents
page16.1 January . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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page31Oblivion (2013-01...
.1.27 page43Panic (2013-01-30 03:21) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
1.1.2 page44The deaf crow (2013-01-31 01:...
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page71Flecks (2013-03-01 23:03) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ....
1.3.26 page95Mortal (2013-03-26 01:00) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
1.3.27 page96Word and melody (2013-03-27 ...
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page151Interior (2013-05-18 22:31) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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page152Fairy tales (2013-05-19 2...
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1.9.1 page260Noise (2013-09-02 0...
1.10.4 page294Discovering (2013-10-04 23:59) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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CONTENTS
1.10.5 page295Decision...
1.10.29 page319Rear view (2013-10-29 22:46) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
page3201.10.30 Semicolon; (2013-10-30 21...
1.11.22 page343Hear (2013-11-21 23:53) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
1.11.23 page344Melancholy (2013-11-22 2...
page3691.12.17 Clouds (2013-12-16 23:59) . . . . . . .
page3701.12.18 Bricks (2013-12-18 00:47) . . . . . . .
page3711.12....
Of the land which is the same wind as ever.
We have been cold all these days ,you see.

(taking off on The snowman by Wall...
Lonely
Others not being grows on us like
Dust forming in time lapse of a fan
Stirring through months of hot air
And whirri...
Riffling through pictures ,as of yesterday
We have made our overdue poem of today
The pictures are long and signing in dus...
Love never took the wind out of your sails
On the seascape but in the fight with waves.
It seemed like the phone wires up ...
We are primarily tuned to the new birthday
Of a child of long years,seeking its growth
To a world of awareness, strings no...
Radio

Radio is a gift from our dead, no more playing
But visually in the room of a memory’s corners
Of a man who has sinc...
Some times idle, just a stone in the lake
You look to a humming bird and a moth
And the least letter of the word for work....
The river is moody for this rainy season
But sleeps in restraint when ego swells
Less with no rain in the far mountains.

...
Anger in a car
He sneezes in anger as in common cold of nose
Sitting in a seat in the front of the car watching
Shadows on...
Gods in mountains
The mountain’s tail had stirred a dark movement ,
Further down, where we went to see a phallus god .
The...
Giggles
As we gleaned the night, the words came out
As giggles from an isola , in just parenthesis,
Sometimes mistaken for...
Visions
Your postprandial visions come a little early
For poems to appear on the green landscape
In the leafy edges of sum...
Curvature
Curvature decides the degree of the soft fall
Of a chiffon saree on a night’s lower midriff
And its husky voice ...
Four or more parallel bars strung by a thread
In the balcony’s outer space ring in the wind
Telling of its direction like ...
The banyan spreads dark hair on the muddy river
And its red fruits are dropping on it like rain drops.
Come to its folds t...
The dog might be Beethoven himself or poet
Who hated dogs doing oboes for Beethoven
But the orchestra went respectfully af...
Luckily my freedom is curtailed and I can hear
The sirens singing without running into rocks.
(Odysseus ties himself to th...
We are waiting to bury our fruit in the sands.

Cashew fruit

This young woman could be part of my fiction,
A daughter in ...
Smoke
The earth was then shaped like an oven
That would let out smoke from her eyes
The blue-gray smoke of love for her ki...
Stopping thoughts
The car seemed to drive as in a reality model
By a dreaming creature ,turning on his pillow.
The dreamin...
Tongue-tied like the evil man in a dark cloak
With hell- hair on the ears, covering a sound.
There was no option about mus...
Setting our boy time free, from home clocks.
A morning eight of clock, stood obliterated
By the deaf bird , with a song th...
Grandmother’s grandmother
We remember her in a white cloth
Over the head, covering a stubble
Fifteen day old, from twenty ...
Humble bees
Missing humble bees mean cats on the prowl
In bearded Darwin’s stretched out explanation
It is that cats are f...
Map
A fine warm line goes forward, in single track
And then loops and turns us toward the sky
As if the earth were sky wit...
Contrails
We went outside ,so we kids could flap
Our fingers at the contrails after jets
That came smoothly flowing like w...
Thumbnail
We talk this and that of deaths
Our common topic, over nights
Prolonged from light and sound
Of history’s ghosts...
Story telling
We are concerned with your story telling
About events, other goings on in place.
They do not exist in a plan...
For ever
A sales girl giggles,as she hands in
A wedding anniversary’s gilded card.
You have a lot to giggle about, lady,
S...
Plates
The world is in flux and earth’s plates are shifting
Without the Gonds who still dance their dimsa
Undisturbed by t...
Borra caves
A cow’s udders give off stone in milk
Flowing down through a grazing story
By a King, discoverer of lime flowe...
Sea rocks
In the beginning the rock was spiked flowers
Then it worked out to hung marble arches
Catching the sea in its fr...
The tortoise and the sun
As the sun climbed the temple banyan
The tortoise carried the world on back
As in apocalypse time...
Waiting
The train quickly demolished our waiting
The waiting in our things and other things.
The mountains were waiting to...
The sea rose like a wall
The ruins resounded with their mantras
As our footsteps felt the monks’ghosts
Striding in and out...
Fiction
Thinking largely, the world is fiction
A shout from a night dog’s throat
A poem from a boxcar of somebody
Memory f...
Temporary
It was a time lapse of a memory of small things
The reddish tiny worms that swim up and down
In the blood-tide, ...
Brittle
Brittle is peace of being , of staying intact
All of a piece, not a charred body on road.
Bodies are brittle and g...
Mystery
Whether it is pecking at the bathroom glass
All the time or when I go there is my mystery.
What is the mystery in ...
Life of a Pi
The pacific storm is a story of animals and man
Their together on the sea, with a gust of wind
In the aft, a ...
Distance
With a distance of time ,what had looked white
Would turn vague and gray by growing years
Our wading in knee-deep...
Weather
Our weather is purely for our reference,
A tether for the newly unattached mind,
A kite on a float for cutting off...
Poetry of memory
The tree arises in the white sky of a memory,
Shorn of its leaves,through a kitchen’s vantage
Going back ...
Tears
Birthdays are for celebration in our minds
From the annals of the history of the eyes
That flows within cool ducts o...
Compose
You compose ,from old bodies creeping up,
What an early night cumulates in the belly
A light of memory that exists...
Flecks
The roof seemed to sit lightly on its light
With the sun above and a looming rain.
The roof thatch took light in so...
Abstract
Abstract is a sleeping mass of the individual
Pitted against an amorphous darkness hiding
Things trees, houses ,p...
Contorted
In a blinding sun, leaves are a blur
And men contorted in their mouths
Like mountains waiting to turn clouds.
Th...
March

Summer is in light and winter in a shade
What the dickens is this madness of march
Says our Charles of real great e...
We have dropped the song of a humble bee
And a butterfly that would hit our car’s pane
In the higher echelons of God’s bal...
In the obscurity of a skull from electric pages
Opening endlessly by the flick of old fingers.
It is night that promises t...
In the walk is a dead-end wall , a four-letter car,
And such other denominations along with a wife
And a husband carrying ...
We have passed through melancholy
But cannot balk at the despair of words
In the nether belly, big busy black ants
Crawlin...
A hundred decaying faces from plastic chairs
Outside the restaurant hall slowly look at you
As saviors for the bored bums ...
Bodkin
The car sashays over the bump and down
Like camel ’s hump, on the crowded roads.
Fellow-travelers are bodies hangin...
The day went on with a few cross-voices
In spaces between sitting and thinking
With hands on laps and eyes upwards.
Five d...
And a music will soon follow torsos.
The torsos are waiting in shadows.
They will dance until the wee hours
Their stomachs...
As the sun fell behind vast blind mountains
Giving a few temporary lies to certain death.
The seer says I saw mighty warri...
To eliminate the buzz altogether in your life,
Her sales pitch abuzz as you unroll window.
The China bats she sells make m...
At the back, like the winter night’s
Picture in picture, thin at the edges
As if it is the sea at night touching
A sky bri...
The eye witnesses result waters flowing,
A few eye-drops of pity in a death scene
A Buddha pity of nothingness for people
...
Our self growing out of a banana fiber
Made of words of purported meaning.
Fiber grows transparent as the sun grows
Making...
As you plod along , drag your feet in the thicket
With shovel for deep digging scoopfuls of earth.
You cannot grow out of ...
The poem acts as one in the smallness of hour,
In chimes against the wind through jasmines,
When the tinkle sounds smell l...
The bitter one had always tasted terrible. (Please
leave behind here for your dead
All you consider dearest to your bosom,...
The dark maker has sullied his hands
As they shine against her whiteness.
Her many arms are stubs in reverse
With weapons ...
In the corner .from its twelve years of sitting.
It came in such and such lack of connection
A wire lost to wilderness, a ...
Carpenter of a philosophical-looking beard.
He stands nailed to the bathroom memory.
We look at ourselves in bathroom mirr...
In the evening you see danger in the air
On the road and off ,in this very room
And below the dusk of the apartment,
As th...
A few electrical sounds of mosquitoes
Meet their fiery deaths on dancing bats.
A day fly crawls on the thinking being
Mort...
A yard is tall springs from a word, its melody
A Rilke of god pontificates to a young poet
A trial by fire, a catharsis, w...
Around eyes livid and staring at nothing.
Eyes cannot be lying about in their anger.
The body is bamboo, a dried and stick...
Of thought, connecting things by dots
As under a pall of gloom, a joint desert
Under a breathless sky of waiting stars .
A...
Pain seems striking temples of beauty.
When paint colors splash to disagree
With their individuality, their pastels
And sh...
Are all the big child remembers at sunset
The sun to go behind trees and dog barks.
There are lotuses in a pond smelling h...
As a clinched heart wrings and eyes
Turn pink and wet with some cliches.

A soul strikes white like lightning,
An art for ...
Weather
At times the sun would beat us hard
Behind clouds in their wet promises
On the trees and in compound walls.
The ai...
Memes
A spring in the step is another meme
To hustlers of memes, internet freaks
Described as peddlers of mellow words,
Li...
Monologues
In our betweens, we talk to us checking
Nobody is around,in a high bass tone
And metallic,fine drum beats follo...
Disbelief
Inside a window is life and its poems
Behind a grille ,plants in their breeze
And words straight under the night...
Metaphors
Everything was everything else
The white swans in a lotus pond
Were of learning’s lotus goddess
A metaphor for a...
Free will, my foot
All things are happening to this me
Through a night that encompasses
Chimes in a ringing piece of the s...
Slide-show
A tiny red ant passed on the keyboard
A figure on a slide show of a memory
A shadow that would never come back
...
Images
Images do not mean much ,only idle fancy
A passing show sliding away by a train
With hanging people as big busy blu...
Symmetry
Our words have to fall in place, as stanzas
Like mornings reddening in backyard trees
Their dreams subatomically ...
Residue
Our ash and residue you may scoop up here
To collect a bag of bones meant for your river
In early mornings of slee...
Zebras
We are just thinking about real zebras
In the dark continent , in a thick forest
And in the light , speckled by the...
Apprehensions
At the day’s end there is slight twitch of body
A contortion of the soul, a pre- occupied mind
As a white wa...
Notions
I have notions that all this will be gone
Me gone , they gone and our words gone
Only the chimes will remain, thei...
Attention
There is a tiny flower curving at the wall corner
A cutesy fan head moving in stillness of shadow
An absence of ...
Revenge
As they run a marathon they have grown old
Their meat is faded and a revenge fed is dead
They have run to a finish...
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Transcript of "Poems written in 2013"

  1. 1. Poems written in 2013 Contents page16.1 January . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1.1 page17The mind of winter (2013-01-05 04:10) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1.2 page18Everything and no one (2013-01-05 04:15) . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1.3 page19Flowers for worship (2013-01-05 04:21) . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1.4 page20Lonely (2013-01-05 04:24) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1.5 page21Riffling (2013-01-07 01:03) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1.6 page22Love (2013-01-07 23:28) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1.7 page23Birthday (2013-01-10 01:27) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1.8 page24Radio (2013-01-10 01:29) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1.9 page25The color of ruins (2013-01-11 00:09) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1.1 page26Idle (2013-01-11 23:43) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 0 1.1.1 page27The van (2013-01-12 23:12) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 1.1.1 page28Concentration (2013-01-15 15:43) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 1.1.1 page29Anger in a car (2013-01-15 23:50) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 1.1.1 page30Gods in mountains (2013-01-17 01:17) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30
  2. 2. 4 1.1.1 5 1.1.1 6 1.1.1 7 1.1.1 8 1.1.1 9 1.1.2 0 1.1.2 1 1.1.2 2 1.1.2 3 1.1.2 4 1.1.2 5 1.1.2 6 page31Oblivion (2013-01-17 23:39) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31 page32Giggles (2013-01-18 23:07) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32 page33Visions (2013-01-19 23:26) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 page34Curvature (2013-01-20 22:11) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34 page35Chimes (2013-01-22 00:43) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 page36The banyan (2013-01-23 02:20) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 page37Beethoven is a dog (2013-01-24 00:16) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37 page38Choice (2013-01-25 00:16) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38 page39Sand (2013-01-26 00:28) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 page40Cashew fruit (2013-01-27 08:24) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40 page41Smoke (2013-01-28 00:33) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41 page42Stopping thoughts (2013-01-29 00:07) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42
  3. 3. .1.27 page43Panic (2013-01-30 03:21) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1.2 page44The deaf crow (2013-01-31 01:32) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 1.2 page45February . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2.1 page46Lemons (2013-02-01 02:49) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2.2 page47Grandmother’s grandmother (2013-02-02 00:21) . . . . . . . . 1.2.3 page48Humble bees (2013-02-03 01:31) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2.4 page49Map (2013-02-04 00:57) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2.5 page50Contrails (2013-02-05 02:52) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2.6 page51Thumbnail (2013-02-06 01:12) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2.7 page52Story telling (2013-02-07 00:06) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2.8 page53For ever (2013-02-08 01:13) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2.9 page54Plates (2013-02-08 23:20) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2.1 page55Borra caves (2013-02-12 23:48) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 0 1.2.1 page56Sea rocks (2013-02-13 01:13) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 1.2.1 page57The tortoise and the sun (2013-02-13 23:22) . . . . . . . . . . 2 1.2.1 page58Waiting (2013-02-19 06:44) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 1.2.1 page59The sea rose like a wall (2013-02-19 06:48) . . . . . . . . . . . 4 1.2.1 page60Fiction (2013-02-20 01:59) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 1.2.1 page61Temporary (2013-02-21 00:05) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 1.2.1 page62Brittle (2013-02-22 02:34) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 1.2.1 page63Mystery (2013-02-24 05:20) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 1.2.1 page64Life of a Pi (2013-02-24 05:32) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 1.2.2 page65Distance (2013-02-25 01:13) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 0 1.2.2 page66Weather (2013-02-25 22:56) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 1.2.2 page67Poetry of memory (2013-02-27 01:14) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 1.2.2 page68Tears (2013-02-28 01:02) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 1.3 March . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.3.1 page70Compose (2013-03-01 02:05) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70
  4. 4. 1.3.2 1.3.3 1.3.4 1.3.5 1.3.6 1.3.7 1.3.8 1.3.9 page71Flecks (2013-03-01 23:03) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page72Abstract (2013-03-03 01:12) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page73Contorted (2013-03-03 23:59) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page74March (2013-03-04 23:50) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page75Dropping a song (2013-03-06 00:48) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page76Genius (2013-03-06 23:08) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page77Ruminations (2013-03-08 00:03) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page78Spring (2013-03-09 02:09) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . CONTENTS 1.3.10 1.3.11 1.3.12 1.3.13 1.3.14 1.3.15 1.3.16 1.3.17 1.3.18 1.3.19 1.3.20 1.3.21 1.3.22 1.3.23 1.3.24 1.3.25 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 BlogBook page79Decay (2013-03-10 00:39) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79 page80Bodkin (2013-03-11 00:52) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80 page81The living room (2013-03-11 23:55) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81 page82Placebo (2013-03-12 23:23) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82 page83I saw (2013-03-14 03:02) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83 page84Unrolling the car window (2013-03-14 23:09) . . . . . . . . . . 84 page85Vertical (2013-03-15 21:31) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85 page86Variations (2013-03-16 22:35) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 86 page87The illusion (2013-03-17 22:30) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87 page88Headstone (2013-03-18 21:38) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88 page89Amulet (2013-03-19 22:48) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89 page90Renunciation (2013-03-20 23:55) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90 page91Plaster of Paris (2013-03-21 22:59) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91 page92Denial (2013-03-23 02:23) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 92 page93Nail (2013-03-24 00:25) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93 page94Danger (2013-03-25 00:56) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94
  5. 5. 1.3.26 page95Mortal (2013-03-26 01:00) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.3.27 page96Word and melody (2013-03-27 00:15) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.3.28 page97Marriage (2013-03-27 23:47) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.3.29 page98Connecting dots (2013-03-28 22:58) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.3.30 page99Beauty (2013-03-30 03:02) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.3.31 page100Slate (2013-03-30 23:15) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.3.32 page101Cliche (2013-03-31 22:50) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page1021.4 April . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.4.1 page103Home (2013-04-02 00:17) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.4.2 page104Weather (2013-04-03 02:24) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.4.3 page105Memes (2013-04-03 23:41) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.4.4 page106Monologues (2013-04-04 23:54) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.4.5 page107Disbelief (2013-04-06 00:15) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.4.6 page108Metaphors (2013-04-06 21:51) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.4.7 page109Free will, my foot (2013-04-07 22:32) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.4.8 page110Slide-show (2013-04-09 00:18) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.4.9 page111Images (2013-04-09 22:34) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.4.10 page112Symmetry (2013-04-11 01:55) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.4.11 page113Residue (2013-04-11 22:44) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.4.12 page114Zebras (2013-04-13 00:02) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . c 2013 hibiscusandgrowing.wordpress.com BlogBook 1.4.13 1.4.14 1.4.15 1.4.16 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 5 CONTENTS page115Apprehensions (2013-04-13 21:53) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115 page116Notions (2013-04-14 23:03) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116 page117Attention (2013-04-16 00:45) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117 page118Revenge (2013-04-17 00:30) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 118
  6. 6. 1.4.17 1.4.18 1.4.19 1.4.20 1.4.21 1.4.22 1.4.23 1.4.24 1.4.25 1.4.26 1.4.27 1.4.28 1.4.29 1.4.30 page1331.5 May . 1.5.1 1.5.2 1.5.3 1.5.4 1.5.5 1.5.6 1.5.7 1.5.8 1.5.9 1.5.10 1.5.11 1.5.12 1.5.13 1.5.14 1.5.15 1.5.16 1.5.17 page119Random (2013-04-18 00:16) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page120Joint and several worlds (2013-04-19 02:47) . . . . . . . . . . page121Not knowing (2013-04-21 00:04) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page122Uproar (2013-04-21 00:20) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page123Spring rain (2013-04-21 22:06) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page124The messenger (2013-04-22 23:28) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page125The ritual (2013-04-24 00:01) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page126The sentence (2013-04-25 00:13) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page127Almost said (2013-04-25 23:53) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page128Going loose (2013-04-26 21:32) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page129Returning gifts (2013-04-27 22:34) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page130Metaphors (2013-04-28 23:30) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page131Unusual (2013-04-29 23:59) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page132The Gir lion (2013-04-30 23:47) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ..................................... 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 page134The page (2013-05-01 22:51) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page135The grandchild’s marriage (2013-05-02 22:34) . . . . . . . . . page136Mere (2013-05-03 23:29) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page137The pigeons (2013-05-05 00:18) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page138Space (2013-05-05 23:23) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page139The daily routine (2013-05-07 02:35) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page140Ekphrasis- a quarry in ruins (2013-05-08 00:20) . . . . . . . . page141Paper flower (2013-05-08 23:48) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page142The music of flowers (2013-05-09 23:04) . . . . . . . . . . . . . page143Pure View (2013-05-10 22:17) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page144Mother’s day (2013-05-11 22:28) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page145Culture in dust (2013-05-12 23:18) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page146Balance (2013-05-13 22:51) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page147And you (2013-05-14 23:20) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page148Frame (2013-05-15 22:40) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page149Water (2013-05-16 23:01) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page150Faith (2013-05-17 23:45) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150
  7. 7. BlogBook page151Interior (2013-05-18 22:31) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151 page152Fairy tales (2013-05-19 22:22) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 152 page153Breeze (2013-05-20 21:22) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 153 page154The broken world (2013-05-21 22:25) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 154 page155Sleep in a train (2013-05-22 22:26) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155 page156Absurd (2013-05-24 00:09) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 156 page157Bones (2013-05-24 23:05) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157 page158The library (2013-05-25 23:13) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 158 page159Bokeh (2013-05-26 23:52) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 159 page160Chain (2013-05-28 00:32) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160 page161Tea (2013-05-28 22:33) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161 page162Full (2013-05-29 21:25) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 162 page163Waterfall (2013-05-30 22:52) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163 page164Grass lily (2013-05-31 20:54) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 164 1.6 June . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165 1.6.1 page166Derelict (2013-06-02 00:02) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 166 1.6.2 page167The driver’s mustache (2013-06-03 00:32) . . . . . . . . . . . . 167 1.6.3 page168The reluctant old man (2013-06-04 00:57) . . . . . . . . . . . . 168 1.6.4 page169Phone gossip (2013-06-04 22:47) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 169 1.6.5 page170Enema (2013-06-05 23:16) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 170 1.6.6 page171Unread (2013-06-06 22:21) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 171 1.6.7 page172Conversation (2013-06-07 22:31) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 172 1.6.8 page173Voice (2013-06-09 01:17) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 173 1.6.9 page174The silver mountain (2013-06-09 23:56) . . . . . . . . . . . . . 174 1.6.10 page175Password (2013-06-10 23:40) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 175 1.6.11 page176The hibiscus (2013-06-11 22:58) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 176 1.6.12 page177Closure (2013-06-12 22:35) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177 1.6.13 page178Cats in the clouds (2013-06-13 22:56) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 178 1.6.14 page179The wild elephant (2013-06-15 01:11) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179 1.6.15 page180Inchoate (2013-06-15 22:08) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 180 1.6.16 page181Smile (2013-06-17 00:04) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 181 1.6.17 page182Lines (2013-06-18 00:34) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 182 1.6.18 page183Own (2013-06-19 00:06) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 183 1.6.19 page184Agape (2013-06-20 01:01) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 184 1.6.20 page185Sleep (2013-06-20 21:52) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185 1.6.21 page186Well being (2013-06-21 21:29) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 186 c 2013 hibiscusandgrowing.wordpress.com 7 CONTENTS 1.5.18 1.5.19 1.5.20 1.5.21 1.5.22 1.5.23 1.5.24 1.5.25 1.5.26 1.5.27 1.5.28 1.5.29 1.5.30 1.5.31
  8. 8. BlogBook 1.6.22 1.6.23 1.6.24 1.6.25 1.6.26 1.6.27 1.6.28 1.6.29 page1951.7 July . 1.7.1 1.7.2 1.7.3 1.7.4 1.7.5 1.7.6 1.7.7 1.7.8 1.7.9 1.7.10 1.7.11 1.7.12 1.7.13 1.7.14 1.7.15 1.7.16 1.7.17 1.7.18 1.7.19 1.7.20 CONTENTS page187The jungle flower (2013-06-22 23:02) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187 page188The super-moon (2013-06-23 23:48) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 188 page189Stages (2013-06-24 23:38) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189 page190The god of the hills (2013-06-25 22:34) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190 page191White clouds (2013-06-26 22:57) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191 page192Money (2013-06-27 22:29) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 192 page193Scraping the night (2013-06-28 23:39) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 193 page194Who is this hooded man? (2013-06-30 01:07) . . . . . . . . . . 194 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195 page196Walking down the Himalayas (2013-07-01 00:12) . . . . . . . . page197Dance (2013-07-02 02:00) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page198Hard rain (2013-07-02 22:36) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page199Rooms (2013-07-03 21:15) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page200Phone booth (2013-07-05 02:51) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page201Cigarettes and poems (2013-07-06 13:20) . . . . . . . . . . . . page202Emptied (2013-07-07 02:59) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page203Old inkstain (2013-07-08 00:33) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page204Marriages (2013-07-09 02:21) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page205Shelter (2013-07-10 01:30) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page206Torque (2013-07-10 23:08) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page207Petal (2013-07-11 23:37) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page208Wild tune (2013-07-13 00:06) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page209Gold (2013-07-14 00:13) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page210Pebbles (2013-07-15 00:02) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page211Wrinkles (2013-07-15 23:09) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page212Asymptote (2013-07-17 00:43) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page213Grain (2013-07-18 00:47) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page214Nap (2013-07-19 00:11) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page215Ironing (2013-07-20 03:09) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215
  9. 9. 1.7.21 1.7.22 1.7.23 1.7.24 1.7.25 1.7.26 1.7.27 page216Stench (2013-07-21 00:00) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page217Worms (2013-07-21 23:32) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page218Shy (2013-07-23 02:09) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page219Hole (2013-07-23 23:53) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page220Murmur (2013-07-26 00:22) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page221The butterfly moment (2013-07-27 02:36) . . . . . . . . . . . . page222Some times (2013-07-27 23:27) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . BlogBook CONTENTS 1.7.28 page223Sun’s own day (2013-07-29 03:12) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 223 1.7.29 page224The duet (2013-07-29 22:25) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 224 1.7.30 page225Attic (2013-07-31 00:23) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 225 1.7.31 page226Sleeping birds (2013-07-31 22:53) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 226 page2271.8 August . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 227 1.8.1 page228Upstairs (2013-08-01 23:54) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 228 1.8.2 page229Wait (2013-08-03 00:07) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 229 1.8.3 page230Voices (2013-08-04 00:33) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 230 1.8.4 page231Grains (2013-08-04 23:18) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231 1.8.5 page232Vanitas Vanitatum (2013-08-06 01:10) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 232 1.8.6 page233Nausea (2013-08-07 00:41) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233 1.8.7 page234Kept (2013-08-08 02:26) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 234 1.8.8 page235Speech balloons (2013-08-09 01:01) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 235 1.8.9 page236Rock (2013-08-09 22:51) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 236 1.8.10 page237Distraction (2013-08-10 23:29) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 237 1.8.11 page238The village doctor (2013-08-11 23:18) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 238 1.8.12 page239Finding out (2013-08-12 23:54) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 239 1.8.13 page240Baggage (2013-08-13 23:28) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 240 216 217 218 219 220 221 222
  10. 10. 1.8.14 1.8.15 1.8.16 1.8.17 1.8.18 1.8.19 1.8.20 1.8.21 1.8.22 1.8.23 1.8.24 1.8.25 1.8.26 1.8.27 1.8.28 1.8.29 1.8.30 1.8.31 page241Anti-poem (2013-08-14 21:20) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page242Poem think (2013-08-15 23:25) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page243Echoes (2013-08-16 23:04) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page244Spectacle (2013-08-18 02:22) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page245Song (2013-08-19 00:23) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page246Building spaces (2013-08-19 23:10) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page247Contradict (2013-08-20 22:17) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page248Crabs (2013-08-22 00:34) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page249Frame of reference (2013-08-22 22:40) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page250Lineaments (2013-08-23 23:07) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page251Vulgar (2013-08-24 23:11) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page252Ruins (2013-08-26 00:17) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page253Conversation (2013-08-27 00:39) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page254Synonyms (2013-08-28 00:30) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page255Solitude (2013-08-29 00:01) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page256Conjunctions (2013-08-29 23:26) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page257Walking on air (2013-08-31 00:17) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page258Plank (2013-08-31 23:07) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . c 2013 hibiscusandgrowing.wordpress.com 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 9 CONTENTS
  11. 11. page259.9 September . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.1 page260Noise (2013-09-02 00:44) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.2 page261The shaman (2013-09-02 23:23) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.3 page262Waking in sleep (2013-09-03 22:35) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.4 page263Wet place (2013-09-05 00:56) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.5 page264Berry picking (2013-09-05 22:21) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.6 page265Looking out the window (2013-09-07 00:10) . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.7 page266Ladder (2013-09-07 23:19) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.8 page267Storm (2013-09-09 00:04) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.9 page268Word spaces (2013-09-10 01:02) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.10 page269Fail (2013-09-11 00:39) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.11 page270Raw material (2013-09-12 00:33) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.12 page271Specious (2013-09-12 23:24) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.13 page272Bus jack (2013-09-14 01:54) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.14 page273Jacket (2013-09-14 23:56) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.15 page274Circling (2013-09-16 01:11) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.16 page275Savor (2013-09-17 00:36) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.17 page276Onion (2013-09-18 00:25) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.18 page277Shades of gray (2013-09-18 23:51) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.19 page278Regret (2013-09-19 23:33) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.20 page279Pain (2013-09-20 23:09) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.21 page280Rain in September (2013-09-22 01:18) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.22 page281Smorgasbord (2013-09-22 23:51) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.23 page282Island (2013-09-24 00:47) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.24 page283Non Sequitur (2013-09-24 23:43) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.25 page284Decay (2013-09-26 00:39) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.26 page285Hollow (2013-09-27 00:02) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.27 page286Missing the bus (2013-09-28 00:29) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.28 page287Referent (2013-09-29 00:16) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.29 page288Publishing poetry (2013-09-30 03:03) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.9.30 page289Tart (2013-09-30 23:17) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page2901.10October . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.10.1 page291Framed (2013-10-01 23:20) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.10.2 page292Black (2013-10-03 02:22) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.10.3 page293Entropy (2013-10-03 22:28) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 259 260 261 262 263 264 265 266 267 268 269 270 271 272 273 274 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 291 292 293
  12. 12. 1.10.4 page294Discovering (2013-10-04 23:59) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . BlogBook CONTENTS 1.10.5 page295Decision (2013-10-06 02:23) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 295 1.10.6 page296Palimpsest (2013-10-06 23:14) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 296 1.10.7 page297Unleaving (2013-10-07 23:26) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 297 1.10.8 page298Curtains (2013-10-08 22:44) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 298 1.10.9 page299Quiet (2013-10-09 21:36) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 299 1.10.10 page300Letter of intent (2013-10-10 23:40) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 300 1.10.11 page301The blue pencil (2013-10-11 22:00) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 301 1.10.12 page302Running (2013-10-12 23:58) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 302 1.10.13 page303Point the pointless (2013-10-13 23:58) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 303 1.10.14 page304Vague (2013-10-14 23:20) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 304 1.10.15 page305Say it from happening (2013-10-16 00:44) . . . . . . . . . . . . 305 1.10.16 page306Fear of death (2013-10-17 00:45) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 306 1.10.17 page307Regret (2013-10-17 22:32) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 307 1.10.18 page308Eclipse (2013-10-18 22:58) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 308 1.10.19 page309Dirge (2013-10-19 23:15) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 309 1.10.20 page310In media res (2013-10-20 22:35) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 310 1.10.21 page311Wing (2013-10-21 23:23) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 311 1.10.22 page312Meaning (2013-10-22 22:30) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 312 1.10.23 page313Thingness (2013-10-24 05:56) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 313 1.10.24 page314Silk of fish (2013-10-24 21:36) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 314 1.10.25 page315Insect (2013-10-26 00:15) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 315 1.10.26 page316Thread (2013-10-26 23:45) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 316 1.10.27 page317The beat poet (2013-10-27 23:18) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 317 1.10.28 page318Fail (2013-10-28 23:27) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 318 294
  13. 13. 1.10.29 page319Rear view (2013-10-29 22:46) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page3201.10.30 Semicolon; (2013-10-30 21:59) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page3211.11November . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.11.1 page322Calling back (2013-11-01 00:07) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.11.2 page323No images were found (2013-11-01 21:49) . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.11.3 page324Detour (2013-11-03 00:11) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.11.4 page325City (2013-11-04 01:35) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.11.5 page326At the top (2013-11-05 02:01) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.11.6 page327Passport (2013-11-06 03:30) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.11.7 page328Desert (2013-11-07 03:38) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.11.8 page329Fiction (2013-11-08 02:28) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.11.9 page330The (2013-11-09 02:36) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . c 2013 hibiscusandgrowing.wordpress.com 319 320 321 322 323 324 325 326 327 328 329 330 11 CONTENTS 1.11.10 page331Love in grave (2013-11-10 01:23) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 331 1.11.11 page332Before I die (2013-11-10 23:01) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 332 1.11.12 page333Boat (2013-11-11 22:16) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 333 1.11.13 page334City in art (2013-11-12 23:43) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 334 1.11.14 page335Armful (2013-11-13 22:15) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 335 1.11.15 page336Fake (2013-11-14 22:53) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 336 1.11.16 page337Rubbish (2013-11-15 22:27) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 337 1.11.17 page338Matchbox (2013-11-17 00:02) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 338 1.11.18 page339Wink (2013-11-17 23:41) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 339 1.11.19 page340Words not written down (2013-11-18 22:41) . . . . . . . . . . . 340 1.11.20 page341Cloud (2013-11-19 23:36) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 341 1.11.21 page342Selfie (2013-11-20 23:18) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 342
  14. 14. 1.11.22 page343Hear (2013-11-21 23:53) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.11.23 page344Melancholy (2013-11-22 23:09) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.11.24 page345Percentage (2013-11-23 22:25) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.11.25 page346Bird by bird (2013-11-24 23:24) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.11.26 page347Full and final (2013-11-25 23:07) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.11.27 page348Poem Hope (2013-11-27 00:57) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.11.28 page349Blue (2013-11-27 23:14) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.11.29 page350wood pecker (2013-11-28 23:52) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page3511.11.30 Weather (2013-11-29 23:54) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . page3521.12December . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.12.1 page353Whirl (2013-12-01 00:17) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.12.2 page354Self love (2013-12-02 01:19) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.12.3 page355Things (2013-12-03 00:15) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.12.4 page356Ladder (2013-12-04 03:03) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.12.5 page357Moment (2013-12-04 22:25) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.12.6 page358Tyranny (2013-12-05 23:56) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.12.7 page359Ceremony (2013-12-07 00:19) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.12.8 page360Sound and fury (2013-12-07 23:50) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.12.9 page361Broom (2013-12-09 01:24) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.12.10 page362Barber (2013-12-09 23:49) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.12.11 page363Walking the mind (2013-12-10 23:12) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.12.12 page364Poemspace (2013-12-12 00:14) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.12.13 page365Landscape (2013-12-13 01:12) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.12.14 page366Branches (2013-12-14 00:32) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . CONTENTS page3671.12.15 Traffic (2013-12-15 01:08) . . . . . . . page3681.12.16 Machine (2013-12-15 23:22) . . . . . . 343 344 345 346 347 348 349 350 351 352 353 354 355 356 357 358 359 360 361 362 363 364 365 366 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 367 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 368
  15. 15. page3691.12.17 Clouds (2013-12-16 23:59) . . . . . . . page3701.12.18 Bricks (2013-12-18 00:47) . . . . . . . page3711.12.19 Less sugar (2013-12-19 01:39) . . . . . page3721.12.20 Trapped (2013-12-20 01:21) . . . . . . page3731.12.21 World (2013-12-21 01:07) . . . . . . . . page3741.12.22 Mirrors (2013-12-22 01:49) . . . . . . . page3751.12.23 grammar (2013-12-23 00:00) . . . . . . page3761.12.24 Meaning (2013-12-24 01:52) . . . . . . page3771.12.25 Gloom (2013-12-25 00:17) . . . . . . . page3781.12.26 Forgottenness (2013-12-26 00:41) . . . The mind of winter Sure one has to acquire the mind of winter Before one is born and raised ,in the snow Among gnarled trees encrusted with snow. Raised is a continuous snow falling process Where whiteness falls deader and deader, When we are born in the snow of old Santa A wispy beard caught in wisecrack flakes . We are now sufficiently winter in beards. We are awaiting the gray gnarl of its trees. In the meantime we listen for the sound .............. .............. .............. .............. .............. .............. .............. .............. .............. .............. 369 370 371 372 373 374 375 376 377 378
  16. 16. Of the land which is the same wind as ever. We have been cold all these days ,you see. (taking off on The snowman by Wallace Stevens) Everything and no one I dream of a blind poet ’s everything and no one The tiger that burnt vividly new year after new Everything , no one in particular, not just blind To the unreal library of other men’s unreal lives Asking God if transience is real or hallucination. You have got to be slightly daft to be the poet, It is others who are daft without being poets. Yet you are not you , in needless stratagems, Afraid to turn a pair of stiff feet jutting out Of thin white sheets, under yellow marigolds. The transience is unreal in library, floor to roof. (taking off on J.L.Borges Dreamtigers) Flowers for worship Flowers are not art but science of beauty Where they sit softly on walled pictures. Here they are not taken apart but add up To the canvas of beauty in soft fragrance With a camphor flame raising its dancing Hands on the glass covering gods frames. In a taken apart theyto the walledpictures, Their beauty adds up are flung at pictures Of gods standing shirtless, bow and arrow Their necks stiff with old painted flowers That will not wilt nor smell less in beauty. Flung flowers will make up our mountains Rising in a glass casket as in the snow hills Where a three-eyed God gently meditates.
  17. 17. Lonely Others not being grows on us like Dust forming in time lapse of a fan Stirring through months of hot air And whirring to gather noise in dust. The fan collects most of a monsoon In loneliness of whirring for nobody. Loneliness grows on park benches That are as lonely as fans whirring For nobody, with the bums away in Hotel rooms clutching their heads . Bums gather moss of lonely rooms As they do not roll in dusty streets And other bums have other rooms. Riffling
  18. 18. Riffling through pictures ,as of yesterday We have made our overdue poem of today The pictures are long and signing in dust From an old attic, with some lively ghosts As the wind chimes keep singing somberly On a morning silence minus a train blare. The pictures are sometimes unreal images Of men ,children wading in dream waters Their trousers rolled up to their wet knees Men are children confused between states Sleeps alternating between night and flood. And pictures are real of women climbing The attic for long overdue green pickles And the dream stops in confused states Of men and children, in mixed up states. The women are yet to pick up their wet White widowed cloths from the wall peg. The pictures are real in children and men In confused states ,in snakes and planes When the latter fall on the falling former In Freudian sleep mixed with nose cold. Love
  19. 19. Love never took the wind out of your sails On the seascape but in the fight with waves. It seemed like the phone wires up and down Through a milk bird in running train’s eyes. Your eyes are full of teary love, wet of regrets But with a click in throat enjoying every bit And the salt of it is fine on a lolling tongue. Love dangerously leans on the sleeping bed And would peep behind your wooden pillar , A presence registered for your own peeping Behind the wooden pillar rounded by dance. Love is the phone wires going up and down A bit of peeping behind well rounded pillars. Birthday
  20. 20. We are primarily tuned to the new birthday Of a child of long years,seeking its growth To a world of awareness, strings not pulled Horizons not yet explored, walls not climbed He that is inured to the loneliness of night. The child’s own melancholy had returned Sweaty in fear and flight ,a panic in attack Years ago,when a grand ma of stories went Away casually to the outer darkness of fears And the mind went in search of a body lost. We now have our newer stories to recount. Our stories shall be without old melancholy With newer grand moms still in the making Their stories of new hopes yet formulating.
  21. 21. Radio Radio is a gift from our dead, no more playing But visually in the room of a memory’s corners Of a man who has since gone out of the system Like a radio made obsolete by retrievable music, He whose ancestors had belonged to snow hills But could not step in the hills of hatred and fight. O’Hara had his De Kooning with an orange bed And a radio to perform Prokiefieff of week ago. Bukowsky’s radio got flung on the roof playing In a woman’s back against a highly orange sun. Our radio plays from light to a tiny arrowhead. Radio is dead but it is still orange in our sunset. The color of ruins We fear that the color of ruins has changed From green to yellow, in the eyes of woman And later to pearl-white in a plastic opacity. Our memory recall keeps changing the color. We love our ruins in tact from the same time In the same place , our own, woman our own The woman we owned in man egos, money And servants overhang, with a wash of linen Now to be done by whir of a white machine. Our servants are ruins, woman’s eyes ruins. Woman is ruins of kids away in far islands, Their shadows float in drawing room tubes. Grand kids are shadows of a changing color, From green of eyes to white of far off lands. Colors change according to time of viewing. Idle
  22. 22. Some times idle, just a stone in the lake You look to a humming bird and a moth And the least letter of the word for work. Words are humming birds of green pocket With a heart beating just behind warmth. Others’phrases are tiny palpitating moths That die by the firelight of your old winter Leaving heaps of fluorescent wings in gaps Of doorways, in balconies that precipitate To abrupt darkness of wordless mid nights. We scoop up their fluorescence to pockets But our work lies elsewhere, in other words Beating warmly in our chest of furious work. Our idleness is words working to warm light. The van Look the van is on the fringe of the river Where water and bridge and sand meet Taking ceremonial annual bath probably Its driver sleeping on the steering wheel Wonder what the van is thinking in bath As we trudged up to it in sandy footsteps. A man is passing by, our man, to touch The waters in reverence, for purification. He comes from hills holding a stomach In good care under city doctor’s scalpel . The van is not actually thinking in bath But only synchronizing sleep with driver. This man is walking up with a glass eye Blinking to catch beauty in sleeping van Against a sleeping river under its bridge.
  23. 23. The river is moody for this rainy season But sleeps in restraint when ego swells Less with no rain in the far mountains. Concentration The temple is beauty cast in flowers of dust A concentrated thought by chisel and spike And still beauty being explored by creatures Living for their death’s immortality benefits Where they lie in niches they project horror, A darkness of soul in bodies thought and lost. A man- lion -God lies concentrated in the stone A horror of a stomach pierced by a denied God In a stone pillar of a child’s love remonstrating A father’s egotistical demon ripe for his death A picture of God ’s anger, child’s beauty grasp A stony concentration, an exquisite stone child. A music of times lies concentrated in temple air An ether of gray skies lost to myth and history, The wind continues to blow music of transience. Death is neither here nor outside but in doorway. (On a visit to the Ahobilam temple of Lord Narasimha, the man-lion God who slew Hiranyakasipu the demon who refused to accept Vishnu as God)
  24. 24. Anger in a car He sneezes in anger as in common cold of nose Sitting in a seat in the front of the car watching Shadows on windshield moving like life events. Anger gets better of him like cold of a red nose. His rage is a sneeze, a seizure , innocent donkey A last laughter being of others in the back of car. Anger makes donkeys of us in the back of minds.
  25. 25. Gods in mountains The mountain’s tail had stirred a dark movement , Further down, where we went to see a phallus god . Their torso lay here with a man-lion-God in a hole, Who from anger fell in love with a mountain belle. Their head slept in the dizzy heights where beauty Had rested in fragrant camphor, red in sandalwood Trees and heaven’s silky yellow flowers that waved In our winter mornings of pilgrimage, with tea cries Piercing a morning calm like early morning birds. There we felt warm with tea in stomach, but cold Under the skin with bones shivering in anticipation. God would grant a moment’s sight of flowery smile Among hairless men and women waving as flowers In a warm sun flower bed, against a blue winter sky. The mountains lay in torpor in the translucent sky Their red tongues licked the warm cloudless sky. We come to these mountains to meet our old Gods. Oblivion Heading towards oblivion the poet is a river Flowing to the bay with not a stone to swirl Around on the way, just a word in the night. Pity he is not a mathematician with alphabet Dividing finiteness by zero infinitely to horizon And/or a hairy yogic torso stretched to roof So he could view his birth event topsy-turvy Beginning with a sky and ending with dust. His words are going to end in a sky of birth. Of course his words belong to others’oblivion And his own non-existence point from where He can view his sky clearly from holes of eyes.
  26. 26. Giggles As we gleaned the night, the words came out As giggles from an isola , in just parenthesis, Sometimes mistaken for the goggles of girls With bare shoulders, watching from pavilion Over popcorn popping , pomegranate seeds Of scattered giggles, an act of ball’s running Of eleven men with it on sweaty afternoons. It may not be giggles for a man in two- light And may have been just googled as giggles In a supercilious maturity over giggling girls With a long future history of devil-may-care But with a tinge of pathos for eye-wetness, In old eyes with light that may soon go out. But words are no girlish giggles with goggles Nor pony-tailed girls playing in the moon-light But are serious business for poets in two-light Caught in midnight wanderings of sickle cells In a paper that may certify the end of all irony.
  27. 27. Visions Your postprandial visions come a little early For poems to appear on the green landscape In the leafy edges of summer’s bird-less sky. You hallucinate a pail of water from a nearby Sink-well with silver streams falling to crop Like snakes of water flowing to earth’s music And lie in stupor on a string cot under a tree. That is when visions undulate in camel humps Flowing in miasma in desert sands of wind As if wind is water reverse-flowing to the sky. The words then transform your wind to water. In the midnight’s music the words transpose The night with a desert of sands in miasma. The visions turn thin poems as breaking light Streams from tube, words reverse flowing To the darkness , below your room’s balcony.
  28. 28. Curvature Curvature decides the degree of the soft fall Of a chiffon saree on a night’s lower midriff And its husky voice flowing from lower lips Seemingly moving in sync with intimations Of mortality, like the rustle of autumn leaves. A poet sculptor disassembles the female lip And makes it a lamp for sleeping bed room With lights off for curvature to work smoothly. She puts it on a light pedestal for public view. But curvature disappears from the public view As quickly as it has come ,like a lightning bolt. Bodies undone seems to work better at night. Their curvatures turn luminous on dark nights As reduced to their essential component parts . Chimes
  29. 29. Four or more parallel bars strung by a thread In the balcony’s outer space ring in the wind Telling of its direction like the weather cock For sea ships, but mostly in a diluting night. The tinklers make night a thinner proposition. A flower creeper is the end-user of its directions Its own direction having literally gone haywire Over a steel wire , off the tangent, to the roof. The creeper’s hands claw sky space in dance Touching the summer’s cement roof in its heat And burn its green in the greed of its ascent . It has not followed wind chimes for directions. The chimes better be there when a brown bird Descends for future chick plans on the a.c. unit The bird must mind not to sit on it too heavily. But there is time for sky to turn wet for chicks. The banyan
  30. 30. The banyan spreads dark hair on the muddy river And its red fruits are dropping on it like rain drops. Come to its folds to experience our sleep and death In an extorting sleep, interest for our light’s capital. The fruits mark time for periodic interest payments And interest shall cease only on the final redemption. In the meantime we sleep off our interest payments And each time ,hope that interest is not redemption. (Schopenhaur’s famous financial metaphor in which he calls sleep little interest payments for the capital of life we had borrowed at birth that will cease only on death,the final redemption) Beethoven is a dog Not in the movie, but in a poem and music He was the quintessential neighbor’s dog Whose barking barking barking in the oboe Played to a baton in Beethoven’s symphony. The poet is not luckily murderous with a gun He never keeps with him and is not missing . Point the gun not baton ,the dog will still bark Life’s symphony as if to Beethoven himself.
  31. 31. The dog might be Beethoven himself or poet Who hated dogs doing oboes for Beethoven But the orchestra went respectfully after him As closed windows brought music in poetry As a whisper in the poet’s murderous ears. The dog’s barking mixed life and art in poetry As a conspiratorial whisper in a closed room Its window holes letting in life to mix with art. (Billy Collins’poem Another Reason Why I Do Not Keep A Gun .Also, Beethoven is a comedy film by that name) Choice This here thing restricts choice by keeping Me committed to fulfilling of a white face In a space frame , as a spring pad for action All through the windy chimes of a dark night. I have no choice to come out of the frame. The sounds frame thoughts, the falling leaves. Much like a dog’s solo performance outside Beethoven’s music being performed in room But latter has no choice but take it as oboe. I am committed to this choice of white space For my morning filling , in the sound frames.
  32. 32. Luckily my freedom is curtailed and I can hear The sirens singing without running into rocks. (Odysseus ties himself to the ship’s mast in order to hear the sirens’song without the temptation to steer the ship to the rocks) Sand A day-hot sand had this cashew fruit dropped In it, half-eaten in the night by busy squirrels Who would make a ruckus climbing to get it. Beyond the river was this triangular mountain With a circular hole that had hid old time kings And monks who chanted ocher Buddha-peace. We now live cozily in the thatch remembering The cashew-fruits that lay in temptation’s way. Their taste is shriveled up on our sand bodies . Our knowledge is but a sensation , a sand fruit That cosied up to the beat of a summer sun.
  33. 33. We are waiting to bury our fruit in the sands. Cashew fruit This young woman could be part of my fiction, A daughter in law of my making , just a thought Arising from history of her mom’s wedded union Not approved by a family of society and uncles. Her dad is no turbaned folk hero of sand dunes Appearing through cashew trees laden with fruit. His temptation’s fruit has long since shriveled up Dried and lies fully buried under the river sand. She remains the union’s fruit , sweet and fragrant And her eyes shine in wet love and golden youth, A darling with a tiny finger to hold to world’s end. The daughter-in-law thing seems a piece of fiction.
  34. 34. Smoke The earth was then shaped like an oven That would let out smoke from her eyes The blue-gray smoke of love for her kids And for all of us in holiday knicker-pants Clustered around her for stories and nuts As the earth turned oven, the sun its fire. In her kitchen she had the earth-stove With a fire licking the dark sky of iron pan. She roasted nuts on it for kid stomachs. The smoke from her logs climbed the wall And the thatch of the roof blackening it To the color of the pan that had the nuts Dancing in pain on it like black deeds.
  35. 35. Stopping thoughts The car seemed to drive as in a reality model By a dreaming creature ,turning on his pillow. The dreaming foot pressed a dysfunctional brake But the foot did not exist ,only the story teller A god story-teller , with a grand logic of design, Who thought no end of himself up to the sky. The dream earth had no sky of billions of stars But rules followed are exactly of the earth air. But why these partial rules of the reality model When it can dream a better model than reality Like cars with no brakes but stopping thoughts. Panic As we had approached it we fell headlong Into its oncoming, fitful sweaty barrenness A blankness staring from our eyes, crazily
  36. 36. Tongue-tied like the evil man in a dark cloak With hell- hair on the ears, covering a sound. There was no option about music that came. Thesestretched endin Charukesi of our God Who were words to end in the deepest sky. We stood breathless as his feet measured sky. All the three worlds , under a palm umbrella One foot on our head and his wooden slippers Made no clicking difference to sweaty silence. Our panic held a bunch of iron keys in fists. Our breath went out of our body as the keys Opened inward sadness, a body held captive As he measured infinity starting from head. The deaf crow We were raising kid eyes to the leaf spaces To glimpse its brownness in a sky of trees Tracing its presence to staccato mating calls. Its brown body seemed moving like leaves In the morning wind, touched by sun glints. All was soft brown music that froze tree time
  37. 37. Setting our boy time free, from home clocks. A morning eight of clock, stood obliterated By the deaf bird , with a song that stretched Luxuriously on our bodies, no schools barred. Its reddish little discs of eyes glowered at us Down to the earth where we stood on knees Calling down in fingers that pretended to fly. Actually we were trying to test how deaf it was. (The crow pheasant is a fascinating brown beauty of the crow species, called jemudu kaki the Deaf Crow in Telugu) Lemons The girls walked past us with lemons In their spoons ,embedded in mouths With their eyeballs screwed on them Below pretty noses of glistening rings. As their skirts undulate over the knees The Lolitas with their lemons proving Infallible, in the little bowls of spoons Would march ahead , defeating despair By lemons that seemed good ,tasted sour But they could always make lemonade. The moon is a big lemon for the poet Above the firs in the snow mountains. Well he has his own lemonade to make In the smaller hours of his wakefulness When they are no firs to host his moon. The lemons of girls are good enough For the poet’s lemonade, so infallible From bowls of spoons as they walked. At times the moon lemon would slip off Behind the waving firs in the snow hills.
  38. 38. Grandmother’s grandmother We remember her in a white cloth Over the head, covering a stubble Fifteen day old, from twenty year old Widowhood, a semi-wet cloth resting On the wall peg, honoring a husband Dead in opium, who had made kids On the night ,on this side of her bed. We have to remember grandmother’s Grandmother now over rice offerings On fires lit, to sacred chants calling The spirits of the dead hungry in the air. We remember her name in the smoke. We do not know her grandma’s name. She must have had her own egg-head And a widow cloth over it to a husband Dead with opium, doing nothing except Make her many kids , on fecund nights. He might have had a good time beating Wife in the day , make her big by night And when he is weeping dead on the cot She too must have submitted her head To barber’s knives in his honor and hung A new cloth of widowhood on a wall peg.
  39. 39. Humble bees Missing humble bees mean cats on the prowl In bearded Darwin’s stretched out explanation It is that cats are fond not of bees but of mice. A woman there with bees in left leg poly-cast Has less to do of phone -selling and more with Less poems in ante-room of ageing darkness. We are humbled by bees ,in leg or elsewhere. At times we have them tingling in our sitting. They crawl our undersides, making us humble Because clovers live and die with humble bees With no implied moral of biblical humbleness. On the dark nights we look up the sky to find Missing ancestors, so many of them crawling. We lose count and we are soon blood letting From our left foot of too many bees crawling As if they are the stars we have lost count of.
  40. 40. Map A fine warm line goes forward, in single track And then loops and turns us toward the sky As if the earth were sky with our footprints Missing and or erased willfully by the winds. We map country homes with electric poles And abandoned substations with bat-homes. We enter casuarina trees in their tall homes. Beyond them is a rise of the sea with no map, Only a dull ocean sound for our cartography. Canada is immigrant’s map of a maple leaf. In a coming back to our culture, a pipal leaf Has the leaf-end that kids rub in wet hands To make a surr sound in a squeal of delight. We map our empty space with the old pipal As reference ,the wind’s whoosh in its leaves A midnight refreshing of memory, when weak. We map our places with their unique sounds. All places have to stay close to a railway track In their own interest, not to lose their identity. The train sounds are reference points in map. That way we run no risk of losing our address, As we are following our life’s line that goes on Endlessly on the mud track, when bush crickets Map our nights, by creaks addressed to stars.
  41. 41. Contrails We went outside ,so we kids could flap Our fingers at the contrails after jets That came smoothly flowing like water Under feet, surprising us behind trees. The birds took no notice nor their trees. They were not a pilot’s smoking trails And the sound seemed audibly missing Like the lagged sounds of the thunder And we would wait for it not to come Because there was no fun in the sound When there would be no light streaks. They were the trails of silent sky-jets That stretched like monkey god’s tails. They laid luminous paths and our eyes Shone with excitement in our finger nails Ready for a little white fluff to sky-drop To lodge behind them , like tiny pearls That would enter our fingers fluttering At flamingos flying here on yearly holiday From their frozen Siberian back homes.
  42. 42. Thumbnail We talk this and that of deaths Our common topic, over nights Prolonged from light and sound Of history’s ghosts, in fort ruins And deep hurts from crackpots And their furniture and lady talk. Old talk is our unbroken poems Not to be published to be read But left by themselves to brew And froth ,like wine in the cellar In a brown tingling from fingers. Labels speak as of stuffed birds. Some one you know is long gone Some one you don’t know will be Long gone, while talking to wife Passing his hand on bald head. He stares there in a face book Who went last year’s this time . His ghost is efficiently manned By sons behind his thumbnail. He now plays farm ville by sons And you may poke him gently So as not to hurt him too much In a rib cage with the bird gone.
  43. 43. Story telling We are concerned with your story telling About events, other goings on in place. They do not exist in a plane of their own. The figures are two-dimensional in mind, Hung by a thread ,triangularly to the wall. Their eyes protrude from sockets and lips, The eyes , one to the north and the other Screwed to the western pillar, in a squint As if dislodging a sun ray from the skylight. In short they lack flesh and some bones. And they loom large like noon shadows, Dark and menacing, in the high afternoon. They can scare the shit out of your eyeballs When you are not careful of their coming. They zoom past, on their soundless bikes And rip your alabaster necks from behind. Your gold will stop glittering for their highs And you will remember your grandmother. The insurance folks are not of much help.
  44. 44. For ever A sales girl giggles,as she hands in A wedding anniversary’s gilded card. You have a lot to giggle about, lady, Says the undersigned with a card to buy For uncle, who lives at the beginning Of eastern hills, with their cavernous Wombs of silences in lime and stone, And awaits daily sun sets to the last. Giggles stay behind wish cards folded In two, their floral sounds entering souls In a calligraphy’s long flowing strokes. No,these are not for sun-setting uncles But for golden springs of puppy love. Girl’s laugh shines wet on mouse lips. Wishing them a happy anniversary,sir As in all these years ,together for ever. Sunsets in the eastern hills are for ever.
  45. 45. Plates The world is in flux and earth’s plates are shifting Without the Gonds who still dance their dimsa Undisturbed by the rushing waters of earth dams. We could not have dammed the earth’s rock flow Only the Gonds in their early twenties headgear. Laurasia has since moved away from our plate. Our plate is now filled with new found minds. The mind is at the universe of motion ,a handful Of god dust freely flying about in morning sun Diagonally touching shadows on faces of sorrow. Our skylight is not a sky but a chink in rooftiles With dripping rain waters of poverty in minds. The blue monkey is indeed part of the universe . If the mind is a shifting plate away from Gonds Gonds can be dammed , their new year dances. They do not know the earth is changing plates And consequently when their time had begun And so their new year dances are all year round. They dance the shifting plates away from mind. The choreography is about mind’s blue monkey.
  46. 46. Borra caves A cow’s udders give off stone in milk Flowing down through a grazing story By a King, discoverer of lime flowers On the floor, through a luminous hole Where ancestors had lived their tales. The flowers hung as bats upside down But their shapes shifted through time Like ghosts of the ancients losing their Story tails, in their upside down stature. Up there they are Krishnas blue flutes Their music flowing like cow’s udders. On the floor they are ghosts dancing Their shapes to empty space of music. (Borra caves are a million year old naturally formed stalactite caves situated in Araku Valley of Andhra Pradesh discovered by a British geologist William King George)
  47. 47. Sea rocks In the beginning the rock was spiked flowers Then it worked out to hung marble arches Catching the sea in its frame like a picture. One sat down and bent to target the rock That would carry the entire sea in its bosom With the sea hitting it in mother’s playfulness. The rock was green and mossy in the overall Turquoise of sea with diamonds of molluscs Stuck in body like polka dots on sunny holidays. A fish jumping man would point a rock corner For squatting to catch the essence of the sea. The sea continues its tirade against the rocks.
  48. 48. The tortoise and the sun As the sun climbed the temple banyan The tortoise carried the world on back As in apocalypse times, a flood coming And a kind earth quaking with disaster. We offer our eyes closed and in prayer Our palms joined in a tortoise gesture. We then go forward to the sun in silver, The sun god on chariot of seven horses Behind temple tank of immersed bodies Torsos in prayerful baths, eyes closed. We offer prayers to the sun in whiskers Lighting our eyes with camphor flames. Our silver eyes are for his safe keeping. ( Visit to the temples of the tortoise God (Kurmavatara) in Srikurmam and the sun god at Arasavilli)
  49. 49. Waiting The train quickly demolished our waiting The waiting in our things and other things. The mountains were waiting to be dug in So as to make way through their wombs As the train cut though a butter of silence, The wombs of darkness as in green aqua. The women were waiting to turn red waves Of dancing with hands locked in each others’, Their songs reaching the blue end of the sky. Their dancing hands waited to inter-weave In fragmentary beauty under trees with boys Waiting on tree top ladder nets like monkeys. Waiting stood petrified in the stalactite caves Of a million years with history dripping as lime. Waiting turned to a dance in fluttering sarees By petals of interwoven hands, to woman cries That waited in caves to turn stalactite tears. (on a visit to the Araku Valley in the Eastern Ghats near Vizag)
  50. 50. The sea rose like a wall The ruins resounded with their mantras As our footsteps felt the monks’ghosts Striding in and out of the empty rooms Whose burnt bricks went into a huddle In sun-burnt bushes and pieces of rocks. The sea lapped up against the bare hills Like it did when it had first brought them From distant shores, for buddha peace. We climbed down the hill to the calm sea That would rise like a wall up to the point Where the sea ended and the sky began. (on a visit to the recently excavated ruins of Thotlakonda Buddhist monastery in Vizag)
  51. 51. Fiction Thinking largely, the world is fiction A shout from a night dog’s throat A poem from a boxcar of somebody Memory from an atavistic cave past. Poems soon disappear from throat And a world crumbles and is re-built From ashes , as kids play i-pad games Rules changing,themselves of fiction. I-pad is fiction, pure pulp of no paper, Eco-friendly but not friendly to echoes . Kids’games are fiction like dog’s barks Eco-friendly but not very echo-friendly. All things have to echo in some where Like in the boxcar or in caves of men Full of echoes of naked men scurrying Like rats from holes, leaving tail-prints In the dust of millions of funerals held Elaborately to the echoes of drumbeats.
  52. 52. Temporary It was a time lapse of a memory of small things The reddish tiny worms that swim up and down In the blood-tide, their spasmodic movements Fishes of the day, ready to savor and/or discard. Our permanence is temporary thing of the day The day being temporary in the east of window Its slow curtains effectively blocking permanence. Light spots are spot on after a violet light is cast As if they were temporary once but now and here Semi-permanent in an overall temporary scheme. What if they swim now ,as they had swum once In a purely temporary sea-scheme of years ago And the temporary sea turns a permanent sky.
  53. 53. Brittle Brittle is peace of being , of staying intact All of a piece, not a charred body on road. Bodies are brittle and games bodies play . The minds are brittle in their eye sockets Their seeing is brittle like a vitreous sky, A glass sky cracking in rain-less lightning. Eyes are cracked being brittle, out of sockets. Eyes crinkle out of their shape, from sockets Empty with air, like mouths, like sooty hands. Hands god loves are separated from bodies And later from all gestures of finger- pointings. Gods the broken hands worshiped are brittle. (In an apparent terrorist attack, fourteen people were killed and nearly 80 injured on Thursday evening in twin blasts in Dilsukhnagar, a busy suburb of Hyderabad)
  54. 54. Mystery Whether it is pecking at the bathroom glass All the time or when I go there is my mystery. What is the mystery in the sparrow’s mind About the bathroom visitors , their bodies Wet in the knowledge of a pecking sparrow? A sparrow tirelessly pecking at own reflection Is a mystery , set against futility of effort. How the bird can be stupid enough to peck At its own reflection, ignoring past failures Is mystery that overwhelms the bathing bodies. I cannot look it in eyes ,set high and tiny, Save sense a squirm in its body as I enter . Overwhelmed by no mystery it squirms lightly Which is the same each time I enter its space. The quest for mystery is mine, not sparrow’s.
  55. 55. Life of a Pi The pacific storm is a story of animals and man Their together on the sea, with a gust of wind In the aft, a fierce tiger prowling from Bengal A sailor dead, a zebra, a hyena for not laughing A boy on flotation to all three gods for praying. The pi has to live off sea air, a drinking water. The pi has no life, a variable radius with centre Drifting away in storm to carnivorous islands Where algae may snuff lives of God-seeker boys Who live in concentric circles, widening circles, The last one of which they may not complete.* The pi has to circle around his God like a falcon Or like the storm around a boat or its flotation It is a story’s version that makes the difference . (After viewing the film Life of Pi. -* Reference is to Rilke’s poem Widening Circles )
  56. 56. Distance With a distance of time ,what had looked white Would turn vague and gray by growing years Our wading in knee-deep muddy rain waters In the streets by white walls missing in places, The men who tucked white lungis in the waists, The coins that felt round to fingers in pockets, The rivers dancing round heads of mountains. The walls stretched interminably to a white sky Hiding bush and snakes in them gently rising, Feet shuffling to rustling sounds of dry leaves. The squirrels had built bridges for man-gods And earned three dark stripes on their backs. Strange birds sang in the sky deaths of lives. With more distance of time our eyes slowly fell And the body hurried past closing our spaces. The distances are now small, the skyline close.
  57. 57. Weather Our weather is purely for our reference, A tether for the newly unattached mind, A kite on a float for cutting off by others, A well for picking a pail of thirsty waters. The sky-strata grow wider for the asking. You ask if you want to be the shepherd In mountains to negotiate endless spaces. Your flock has endless feet for counting. You know you want to stop conversation. The weather is sun hid in a backyard tree. Its rain is deep in hiding in the beach sea. Its clouds are a nightly television thunder. Moon has temporary circles like tired eyes. They tell you that rain is coming anytime.
  58. 58. Poetry of memory The tree arises in the white sky of a memory, Shorn of its leaves,through a kitchen’s vantage Going back to several autumns of old memories, A point of view that looked the oncoming street. The leaves lie in state in a mishmash of rain On the roof with many days of rain accumulated For the crows to explore and the sun to render A golden painting of vanishing glory of rising. We have to take the aid of poetry for memory With the leaves lost to sky’s white wilderness. The trees make bland statements as in a dance. Meanings are merely extracted from memory. Memories arise from words falling from trees. They quickly fill our kitchens with nice flavors Like rising suns sending down shafts of memory Through the half-closed kitchen exhaust hole.
  59. 59. Tears Birthdays are for celebration in our minds From the annals of the history of the eyes That flows within cool ducts of river streams. The ducts overflow with salt choking whites But fill them with beauty flowers in outlines Of limpid pools on lazy summer afternoons. You celebrate birthdays of your baby’s eyes That stream with primordial salt of blue aqua, Tears that laugh at the grief of the mother A rising nipple in the darkness of mountains. Tears rise in the mountains , flow to the plains And vanish in the valleys at the sunset corner, Their history flows in the sun’s own timeline. Birthdays are not for greeting after sunsets. Their tears have already dried up at sunset. ( I have been greeting a face book friend on his birthday without knowing he has been dead for two years)
  60. 60. Compose You compose ,from old bodies creeping up, What an early night cumulates in the belly A light of memory that exists without body. Old you and you cannot but decompose In hair and teeth, neurons whirring about Like electric fans dusting body machines. Let words be the star dust of soothing light A light dust from milk overflowing the sky. In your deep nights, words fly off bodies. Their composition shall renew your bodies. You compose mostly against decomposition.
  61. 61. Flecks The roof seemed to sit lightly on its light With the sun above and a looming rain. The roof thatch took light in soft mouth Spitting a few flecks of light to the floor. The creeper spread itself on the scaffold In backyard, turning a green gentle sky As moon flowers waited to turn pumpkins. Flecks of moon danced to a light breeze. The wedding tent fought against the hot sun As a clarinet blew out its puffs of mouth. Flecks of a hot sun tickled the groom’s back Causing bridal flurry ,while her own dress Sported flecks stitched on a silken texture.
  62. 62. Abstract Abstract is a sleeping mass of the individual Pitted against an amorphous darkness hiding Things trees, houses ,people,birds with throats Stuck in a night’s silence, sounds disappearing Into the ether in between the spaces of things. It is a language of words wrested from things. Abstract is things not making thunk sounds, In the wing span of a fly buzzing in ear’s cave Or an ancient bat flapping its upside down wings In inverted world holes , an empty hollow thunk Against the silent walls of an ancient mountain. Abstract is fear in belly of things being there, When things are not really there, here or now, A sweaty chemical churning in thinking bodies When bodies have to perform things of words As if words are things that make thunk sounds.
  63. 63. Contorted In a blinding sun, leaves are a blur And men contorted in their mouths Like mountains waiting to turn clouds. Their cigarettes smoked like factories Making sugar and molasses in smells. The jute smelled rut and men’s feet. Their brown smells stayed contorted With spring flowers on the new trees. Room curtains were twisted in shape Admitting a sun contorted by sleep. Noses were contorted like gremlins. The sights were contorted in smells Of rotting arms, sweating shirt backs. A whole world sprang under elbows. The crooks of arms went contorted With framed faces going up and down. Some went contorted with laughter. Words were contorted in the meaning. Their beauty flickered as a nose ring In the dark night on a contorted nose. Nose smells ran contorted with eyes.
  64. 64. March Summer is in light and winter in a shade What the dickens is this madness of march Says our Charles of real great expectations. We were sputtering on our way to our god. Four in an afternoon is brilliant lake in teals From an alien land come flying a long way, To coexist in crowded bazaar of local cranes. Together we shop, say teals among cranes. The sun is hot says car glass with gone tint . Open the window to let in a shameless sun On feminine skins, training to remain soft In a marriage market, under strange hoods Looking like desert bedouins on camels. Lake is everyone’s shopping for stomach fish. Some fish dance in the empty air of baskets By the lake ,for women to decide their prices. Soon they are on way to hungry stomachs. Dropping a song
  65. 65. We have dropped the song of a humble bee And a butterfly that would hit our car’s pane In the higher echelons of God’s balmy hills. We have dropped a bumblebee from our fly. Women’s faces were flushed in our shame. Their songs went bone-dry in private blush, As our tigers growled in our private pants. See the buses bloated with men and parts. (concerning the recent gang rape of a woman in a Delhi bus) Genius Sleeping is genius waiting to be discovered
  66. 66. In the obscurity of a skull from electric pages Opening endlessly by the flick of old fingers. It is night that promises to be its depository As a skull hangs in the wind by a dog’s bark. The bark oscillates like a tree branch in wind, On a tympanum in your inner ear of sound. Twenty lines a day, genius or not, is nowhere. Pages do not grow endlessly as dog goes back To sleep on your tympanum, leaving its bark To echo in the outer ear of deathly silence. The empty flick of pages continues its screech On the cold marble of all this sleeping genius. Ruminations
  67. 67. In the walk is a dead-end wall , a four-letter car, And such other denominations along with a wife And a husband carrying separate dogs by leash. The wall overlooks nature ,always coming back To a bigger wall, a synthetic possibility in sleep. The dogs hang by the end of the metal leashes. The four-letter car has a driver stuck to phone That would make a four- deal journey on road, An intimation of mortality, while dropping words In electric-magnetic space for other organisms To pick up at random for liberal interpretation, Four-letter words crisp in organismic meaning. The car comes at my back, whisper and silent. This is their four-letter car, with extra a inside, Outdoorsy thing ,where everything yours is ours, Sufficiently long for large families out on picnics. Spring
  68. 68. We have passed through melancholy But cannot balk at the despair of words In the nether belly, big busy black ants Crawling the inside of bark, all the way. Please play your music down you-tube. Ours grows black humor by the hour. Spring is here , seemingly inexorable. So we exchange words for soft metal. If music be the food of love , we play on. For God’s sake let us change the song. Spring should drive away the black ants. Decay
  69. 69. A hundred decaying faces from plastic chairs Outside the restaurant hall slowly look at you As saviors for the bored bums and big mouths Their numbered slip is now a few places ahead. Look and see, we are now sufficiently decayed, And we are waiting for our grand decomposition. These people are now ahead by a few numbers And are waiting in their bored eyes for their own. Inside we have seen our food disintegrating, Home to a colony of organisms busy decaying Our faces ,our stomachs, our women, our kids. The lentils soup is friendly to our slurping faces. The hotel’s yesterdays have decayed it enough.
  70. 70. Bodkin The car sashays over the bump and down Like camel ’s hump, on the crowded roads. Fellow-travelers are bodies hanging in air In three-wheeled splutterers run with a rod In hands like a bodkin for making quietus. You can a quietus make with bare bodkin A noisy quietus ,by a prince of patience, Whose native resolution is sicklied over With pale cast of thought, a sitting bodkin With two other bodies, in their last prayers. After-life does not sound that fearsome. But how does one pull the waisted bodkin To make a quietus, while sitting a-bodkin? (Bodkin is a knife or some other sharp instrument referred to in Shakespeare’s Ham-let. It also refers to a sitting position in a running gig , wedged between two persons,on a vehicle with space for only two) The living room
  71. 71. The day went on with a few cross-voices In spaces between sitting and thinking With hands on laps and eyes upwards. Five different voices boomed in empty air, Their sounds raised from hands on laps To others’shoulders, brushing off dust Aided and abetted by a skylight of sun. Some times eyes would bore on backs Re-bounding on whites strangely lighting Their opaqueness to a translucent white. More re-bounding made dark silhouettes Of men in the opening sunlight of the day. In closing sunlight the figures would turn Softly sentimental, bruised by shadows. Placebo There is dancing froth in the liquid With sounds like the top of a sizzle. The acid in there has to turn to salt Wherever wedding is getting ready
  72. 72. And a music will soon follow torsos. The torsos are waiting in shadows. They will dance until the wee hours Their stomachs preceding in space. They look to feel funny celebrating. Better feel good with disease clutching, With froth in the glass slowly shaking Through the inner snake, to the point Where pain flows like a rocket cracker. Poems are the effervescence of words, A froth sizzling on the top of the night. I saw The seer spoke words that enacted death, Words wrapped in a worry over extinction. The blind king saw his words turning to ash
  73. 73. As the sun fell behind vast blind mountains Giving a few temporary lies to certain death. The seer says I saw mighty warriors falling And a golden chariot rushing without its sun A hundred sons falling to a cobweb of deceit. A blind poet saw the endless rushing of life By a winged chariot without its effulgent sun. A library of books rose to sky from his earth A knowledge that dated back to a sunny sky. (In the Hindu epic of Mahabharata , the battle of Kurukshetra unfolded for the blind king through the words "I saw" by an eyewitness seer who described the events of the war in a streaming narrative. In The Alef : Infinite wonder/Infinite pity by J.L.Borges the narrator describes the vast whirring world he has seen with the words I Saw..) Unrolling the car window The mosquito swatter bat is from the woman Of different pastiche colors ,overly anxious
  74. 74. To eliminate the buzz altogether in your life, Her sales pitch abuzz as you unroll window. The China bats she sells make mere sputters As they go about electrifying flying creatures Burning them to zero entities, in tiny air fires. Dress colors are captivating with small mirrors On the woman’s dress, signifying life’s snippets In a moment of your life at the traffic junction. They are the mosquitoes that will burn to cipher When the bat plays with life in a fireworks show. Vertical The picture tube plays its shadows
  75. 75. At the back, like the winter night’s Picture in picture, thin at the edges As if it is the sea at night touching A sky briefly at the horizon of rising. It is at right angles to the horizon. A conscious mind ’s spanning night As its chimes go on in empty night. All things are at right angles to it. Even the night watchman’s whistle. The watchman’s stick taps the earth Vertically, exploring essential hollow. Watchman is vertical to the horizon, Homo erectus previously on all fours. But moon is not vertical to watchmen. Being sprawled horizontally in trees. At night it hangs vertically in the sea. Variations
  76. 76. The eye witnesses result waters flowing, A few eye-drops of pity in a death scene A Buddha pity of nothingness for people But mere variations on themes of death. People die and live, in crawling numbers As senses look downwards from a bridge To capture a death, an enterprise closed A life that was made from people’s lives. The variations seem muted and exquisite, Subtle textures as softly lighted textiles In check patterns of death woven with life , Patterns not repeated in the grand design. The illusion Our everyday illusion begins to grow As the sun ripens to a fruit in the tree Hanging in glory for its falling moment. Our shirt sticks to the body of illusion,
  77. 77. Our self growing out of a banana fiber Made of words of purported meaning. Fiber grows transparent as the sun grows Making the body a silhouette by dusk. Silhouettes disappear as sketch outlines Bodies experience before the sun sets. Bodies are mind’s constructs in yesterday. Yesterdays are body’s constructs in mind, Re-assembled , as we grow out of words And get up and grow, away from the sun, Like naked sadhus who came to the river From the snow hills, hanging their selves. (This intuitive sense of self is an effortless and fundamental human experience. But it is nothing more than an elaborate illusion. Under scrutiny, many common-sense beliefs about selfhood begin to unravel. Some thinkers even go as far as claiming that there is no such thing as the self. Read more at http://www.newscientist.com/special/self Headstone A few sombre thoughts into it , this semantic Of a headstone would rise in tomorrow’s sleep Much against your wishes, towards the horizon
  78. 78. As you plod along , drag your feet in the thicket With shovel for deep digging scoopfuls of earth. You cannot grow out of it now , this very night. A name is a name, whatever rose you may call it. But if tomorrow lives you may still get out of it Leaving it nameless among roses spread on it. The lady poet would think of an arm not moving Not gesturing, to write without a secretary by side. But she is entirely free with the other arm to move Watching the horizon, ascending and descending. (Taking off on Louise Gluck’s poem Approach of the Horizon) Amulet This time I thought of my personal amulet Something for the road as I wake up to go. Just in case, the clouds can gather any time.
  79. 79. The poem acts as one in the smallness of hour, In chimes against the wind through jasmines, When the tinkle sounds smell like fine powder An atomized spray of daylight and life essence. This one is my protector poem round my neck Like the textured seeds of a certain hill tree We use mostly to count our god-mutterings, The very seeds found in delicate lip movements In the snow hills, on bodies smeared with ash. Renunciation The man comes back from the holy river Where he renounced a certain vegetable
  80. 80. The bitter one had always tasted terrible. (Please leave behind here for your dead All you consider dearest to your bosom, Said the muttering priest of the ice river.) We say return from a river purely bathed After you have done your hanging thing. The naked men would come from the hills Their purity not yet tested in a natural sky. (Here we write pure poetry in an azure sky About waters that washed down corpses.) The corpses had renounced all the worlds But their sun went on to rise regardless. The naked men have renounced clothes And now what to do with hanging things. We have no tears enough to wet our eyes. But we have genteel glycerine tears made To stream down eyes and keep them wet. But now what to do with the hanging things. Plaster of Paris Our sacred Goddess is back again With grass flowers already showing up On the river across a dry sand bed. Her pristine body forms in white mud.
  81. 81. The dark maker has sullied his hands As they shine against her whiteness. Her many arms are stubs in reverse With weapons yet to be put in them. A fierce tiger is in making in a corner. But a demon is yet to be conceived. In plaster of paris, good takes shape Earlier to mould and shape than evil With its several shades and tonalities So difficult to create in white purity. Denial First ,denial came across a cool waving fan And then a brown teddy bear that stood up
  82. 82. In the corner .from its twelve years of sitting. It came in such and such lack of connection A wire lost to wilderness, a snake in its coil. Self-denial is the appropriate loss of shape A posture upgraded from sitting to standing A solitude in the corner, a no-child situation To play around with, to snuggle with in bed. Denial is refusal to accept the old as living. It is also a puke in the car, a temper tantrum, A pretending anger like a striking old snake A refusal to accept new living as only living. Nail A rusted nail of ineptitude keeps coming off From the bathroom shelf made by a drunk
  83. 83. Carpenter of a philosophical-looking beard. He stands nailed to the bathroom memory. We look at ourselves in bathroom mirror But cannot open its shelf with much force. The nail is there holding his flimsy memory A rusted memory , Jesus-like of Jerusalem. One nail drives out another , one heat other As the bard in ever lasting memory nailed it. We are waiting for another hard as nail driver Of a philosophical beard to liberate this nail From the rusted memory of bathroom mirror. Danger
  84. 84. In the evening you see danger in the air On the road and off ,in this very room And below the dusk of the apartment, As the air turns orange and suffused. That is when the world seems fraught, And metal meets twisted metal in flesh. Other times it is an intermittent growl Of a striped fear in grown up minds About kids sleeping on mats in huts Likely to be picked up by phantoms, As they lay dreaming of morning broth. At times it is just the flow of a paper Discovering the bloom of a tiny red flower In the synapse, in the alcoves of a mind. Mortal The sleeping eyes turn softly to tears Being rubbed of their latent darkness. They then water our sentient feelings Their light in constant fear of going off.
  85. 85. A few electrical sounds of mosquitoes Meet their fiery deaths on dancing bats. A day fly crawls on the thinking being Mortal by a night’s smallness of hours. The insects do not feel death in bones. We are inevitable of coming non-being, Our being projecting non-being in void, A future into the mountains of pyramids, A body staring at a stony ceiling of crypt, A mortality hardly felt in bones of being. Word and melody In the inner most of your word and melody A reading goes, a word quietly tucked away A moon caught shining , a dead poet writes A letter to a young poet rustling a memory.
  86. 86. A yard is tall springs from a word, its melody A Rilke of god pontificates to a young poet A trial by fire, a catharsis, where a nose blows And its melody an arbitrary hum in the head. Write if you must, if your yard overgrows , A vegetable crawls in pumpkins on ground Its flowers turn yellow moons on the earth. They are word and melody of a poet’s letter. Their flowers are moons fallen to the earth . Marriage All night ,the mind flows over everything Making it explicit , a foolish woman’s view An extrapolated existence of one on to two
  87. 87. Around eyes livid and staring at nothing. Eyes cannot be lying about in their anger. The body is bamboo, a dried and stick lady With leaves staple food for cuddly pandas. Their new existences bawl from tiny bodies Independently of bodies in throes of anger. Marriage leaves bodies in a dense foliage Where they cannot prance in moonlight Nor climb down leaving bodies to their sky. Connecting dots Strange and dreamlike is the language
  88. 88. Of thought, connecting things by dots As under a pall of gloom, a joint desert Under a breathless sky of waiting stars . A poet’s love lives far off and breathless In a station where the train is parked off, And falls asleep in dreams of its waiting. A day turns an hour in a second stanza And a second in the next one of waiting. Words are a wait , strange and dreamlike. As the stars are connected by a few dots, An hour turns a moment of endless wait. Beauty When a balled up curtain hardly falls Beauty seems wrested from a silk shade. A magazine’s gloss is placed on a table Moving far and away from its outer space In disagreement, with its square shape.
  89. 89. Pain seems striking temples of beauty. When paint colors splash to disagree With their individuality, their pastels And shades in violence with each other Beauty is sacked, nailed and bleeding . You have its red blood on your hands . Beauty is also truth, if somebody else’s. Hunger in bones may make a cat walk. Truth is symmetry or blatant lack of it. Slate Earth on earth, the black slate is a blank, A slate for throwing at a child for failure, Who learns his first letters against crows Citrus leaves mingled with Christchurch Sandalwood paste and waters in alcove. God’s child will supervise from a cross up If child is learning alphabet against crows On the lemon tree, thirsty in pot pebbles. Son of God , thirsty crows , citrus leaves
  90. 90. Are all the big child remembers at sunset The sun to go behind trees and dog barks. There are lotuses in a pond smelling hills. The water we drink mixed with indup seed, So as to clarify the muddy waters ,if any. In the gold of a sunset the slate is filled, Rather too much with connections, wires Arrows straying beyond the woodframe. But we still see faint lines of an alphabet, Thirsty crows on trees, gowned teachers Amid smells of sandal paste , lotus ponds We drank waters from, mixed with seed, There at the top , below the wood frame. Cliche Nothing frayed about a poet’s cliche Except it sticks to a body like rags The threads coming off, around holes Like blue sky through tree spaces Of a child’s head looking up at God A god of blue body , peacock feather And a flute stirring the river breeze A tree and the woman of shut eyes. God is tired old cliche of blue poets. The cliche moves to death smelling. When death happens that is cliche
  91. 91. As a clinched heart wrings and eyes Turn pink and wet with some cliches. A soul strikes white like lightning, An art for art’s own sake, a beauty Glistening from the wet grass dew Putting bare feet up to it in cliche. Home It is where you always got away from To the trees ,to a vast sheet of sea calm, Only to come back to its old bird chirps And bats black to tamarinds at dusk Divested of ghosts by autumn leaf-fall House corners purring like lolling cats, Deep wells in waters unreachable by eye. Home is where you come back to die To lie on the earth, on hairy straw mat A cotton swab in the nose-holes of life Eyes closed in a final count of dreams, At the very space you had first come From the vast sea green of a stomach.
  92. 92. Weather At times the sun would beat us hard Behind clouds in their wet promises On the trees and in compound walls. The air-conditioner drones mournfully As sparks of violence fly relentlessly From a body going in vibrating mode In solo dance while audience sleeps. Our words are infatuated with the sky. And our eyes turn upwards for water. Our words pour from eyes in streams Of water ,reminiscent of last year rain. The air-conditioner is birds’split home When it doe not turn hot for our insides. The birds will come when they are hot Enough for a fresh parenting zeitgeist.
  93. 93. Memes A spring in the step is another meme To hustlers of memes, internet freaks Described as peddlers of mellow words, Like a new spring in our street leaves. Words are newer algorithms vaguely Connecting spaces of big time chunks Hop- skip- jump over stones of words In puddles formed around vague huts Their walls touched in midriff by rising Waters kissing knees tucked to below. Frogs are memes of no kissing princes Heaving croaks in throats of memes. A spring in the step is one in the leaves, Not in the box of rising ,a nasty surprise. Frogs do not dance in true Gangnam Constrained by absence of forearms. A spring in their step can sure go viral.
  94. 94. Monologues In our betweens, we talk to us checking Nobody is around,in a high bass tone And metallic,fine drum beats following. We are nobody’s clowns , just desserts In motley, just joking for living, splitting For effect, duly obese and monologous. We wear words like tatters of our coats. Hark ye ,this thing is coming on again. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are alive And licking and times are not that bad . Polonius is waiting behind the curtains Neither borrower nor lender be,says he. When we are keyed up in our behinds, We clap gleefully and beat our drums We are cold in our flesh and our fetish Our satire is not one of the airy things. Our screams at the end of the bridge Are monologues full of wind and sail. We hear our black speeches in between As they disappear among other people With monologues,uttered mouthfully In the privacy of their own boudoirs.
  95. 95. Disbelief Inside a window is life and its poems Behind a grille ,plants in their breeze And words straight under the night. A canvas stretches through the wires Bringing the world inside of people Typing away furiously after the seas. Wonder what they are doing rubbing Their eyes of disbelief, sending down Stuff and thoughts to me, the obscure Recipient, typing away here in a hole. The wires cut the trees in their smoke. A scrap of sky evaporates above them Till a sun will arrive to redden its face. The day noises wait till it fully reddens And disbelief ceases to be suspended.
  96. 96. Metaphors Everything was everything else The white swans in a lotus pond Were of learning’s lotus goddess A metaphor for a child of beauty, A recall of imagined sweetness. The child made a speech on stage On a poet dead to a growing beard Amid claps for speaking his mind, A metaphor for a lauded virtuosity, All you remember now in bald age. A screaming titya bird terror struck Then in a child is now a dead duck In the lonely deserts of old despair. Fear is now metaphor for bellyache A rumble in a nether world of belly. Metaphors rise from vague spaces.
  97. 97. Free will, my foot All things are happening to this me Through a night that encompasses Chimes in a ringing piece of the sky With white flowers embedded in it. The fan blows on like a sky rumble . Night is the very thing happening. I have the free will to will it away, Not to drink water , write poems. Write about free will and deaths Embraced ,under a building’s fall A trade-off done out of free will By those who had courted death By debris of builder’s negligence. Free will, my foot, I say in flowers At the elephant corner where I think And explain determinism of death. Flowers are ten rupees by elbow. My foot took me to flowers where I was determined to think of debris. At night I would pick on the word To write about, free will, my foot.
  98. 98. Slide-show A tiny red ant passed on the keyboard A figure on a slide show of a memory A shadow that would never come back However much you point- clicked for it . The ant will have to pass its funeral Slide-show once, a memory cluster In my mind , in its mind , all-ants mind, In separate slide-shows of species ants The atavistic ants of passed ant-lines. A long ant-line is a funeral slide-show Of memory clusters of men about ants And of ants memories of passing men. The white stuff they carry at the head Is their memory clusters of our fingers On a keyboard, kicking in a slide-show.
  99. 99. Images Images do not mean much ,only idle fancy A passing show sliding away by a train With hanging people as big busy blurs. The tracks people mean only squatters Off houses of tarpaulin sitting with crows. These dark birds squat on the tracks to hit A train’s bottom, wanting to get at truth, A morning’s getting at sky’s orange truth. Images do not get at truth ,only at blurs. They move slowly like squeaking train fans As if to get at truth, unhindered by crowd. But nobody ever got at truth in a local train.
  100. 100. Symmetry Our words have to fall in place, as stanzas Like mornings reddening in backyard trees Their dreams subatomically growing as god In particle collisions like snowflakes of petals Among nights flowing as infinity of stanzas. The stanzas have to grow from an asymmetry Of three-lines followed by four-lines and five The end-words singing music with no meaning But a symmetry of sound and the April foolish Smells flowing from googled words of search. The sights have to form symmetry with smells From eyes that smelled a fragrance of nature. There are particles in collision in inner space An insect struggling on its back in washroom Its legs struggling up in asymmetry of space. An act of pure bliss is to turn it back on its legs By a flick of toe , god’s symmetry in my brain A god particle to set symmetry back on flight.
  101. 101. Residue Our ash and residue you may scoop up here To collect a bag of bones meant for your river In early mornings of sleep lost to a stomach. Irony is what is felt in bone marrow in a bag, A supreme chill of Alaskan cold, as in a snow With crystal ice streams,where it is so clear And so transparent below fishes swimming And jumping over the waters of destruction. The stories are tied up with all the anecdotes The irony is too explicit for poems in words. Residue does not leave you longing for truth.
  102. 102. Zebras We are just thinking about real zebras In the dark continent , in a thick forest And in the light , speckled by the dark. A predator sees zebras in a slow fuck, Pistons of loosely motioned shadows Thickening in an afternoon of the forest Like zebra stripes after the smiling act. The zebras tend to smile after the act And some times before , in anticipation. Their camouflage acts fine when smiles Are mistaken for tiny shadows moving On the floor of the forest in dry leaves. After the act no difference exists in smile Between the zebra’s and its predator’s.
  103. 103. Apprehensions At the day’s end there is slight twitch of body A contortion of the soul, a pre- occupied mind As a white wall rises with the sun on its top And the trees have dis-appeared to overlook. A job is upgraded to nay-say of recession plan Now a fear of not being there as the sun rises. Hold on ,we have multiple reasons vibrating As fears turn shaky like several thumbprints One on the other to reinforce a sleep- heavy Night’s ruin of dreaming sleep by mosquitoes. Use your hand to swat them flying on cheeks. Their blood is yours in the veins, full of flight.
  104. 104. Notions I have notions that all this will be gone Me gone , they gone and our words gone Only the chimes will remain, their echoes A dust, an amulet for keeping , a residue. Notions are gone like nations , oblations, A water for pouring in rivers of sunrise. Laughing is gone of man beast and bird On a boat in the lone sea and a sky falls In the sea , a breath gone , a body gone. The sea turns dust of the remaining sky. I have notions that all this is not there With the sun and the clouds and the sky Falling in the sea, in their fit of laughing The wind sporadic from the mountains. Mountains are not there in the horizon The horizon is a notion from our dreams Embedded in old mountains not there. Notions are not there when bodies gone.
  105. 105. Attention There is a tiny flower curving at the wall corner A cutesy fan head moving in stillness of shadow An absence of drilling machine sound in window An absence of an insect struggling to come up On all sixes, an insect flying by the flick of a toe. I have to pay attention to syntax and grammar Verbalizing acts, grammar logic, thought breaks The dark of silence, try to make bridges of words And fail to live many presences and their absences. I have to connect insects with fans, sky and wind The presences of things, the sounds of my heart The absence of many things, the words in syntax Words that are flowers curving at the wall corner Insects that are sent flying symmetrically by toe, Windows that have garnered sounds of presences And absences showing up in a vast dark beyond. Yet I have to collect sounds by words in their logic, Sights by their absences, smells by their night sky Move my attention around in a maze of presences And their absences, and maintain my presence.
  106. 106. Revenge As they run a marathon they have grown old Their meat is faded and a revenge fed is dead They have run to a finish, their boy duly dead Revenge fed is dead to the lost and living beard. You have grown old, your meat is sooner dead The viand flits too soon, your angel light a panic Attack of terror’s grip, a shrapnel flying in trees, A dead sun’s orange , a smoke beyond the grave. (Remembering Emily Dickinson’s poem Mine enemy is growing old- after the Boston bomb blasts)

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