Poem: Gradients of light

Gradients of light 

You may name them by colors 

Or by the shady love of the rouge beams 

I see them from heavens to hell 

Across their desire to feel 

The patterns of melting earth 

The tangents of galactic winds 

Languishing a destiny of tolerance 

They curled up towards poisoned lives 

Their unbound energy and infinite kindness 

Enough to skim through the treacherous ether 

They fail to reach the promised eternity 

Afraid to question the will of the masters 

As they are many and cobbled up 

They wander in crowded horizons 

As predictions make fuzzy end to all journeys 

Like the epics of the east and the proverbial holy lands 

With the hasty spikes they would weave a wrinkled leaf 

Naming as we see it now 

You may call it a sky of miseries

Infinite as it seem to eyes 

It is meager to the variations 

Myths of mountains, they always hid the sword 

Yet lightnings could burn the past 

Memoirs were etched in clouds 

As they floated in shapes so vivid 

Envious to the gods and demons alike

Poem: A Canine self

A wolf like he is 

Weaving heaviness on the dream hours

A night like grim he is

Wandering in the most manly hours

A beast like feverish he is
Feasting on the dust of us

A brown self with a red heart
Skin open and bleeding
Hair spinning over his pain
Misery like his eternal bones
Hissing streets where he belongs
Have a vein of blood and lust

Distant gaze and loving eyes

Wood like flesh he is
Wishing for a better life
For his canine self and others
He walked across his shadow and others too

Loving the dust of the dirty canals

Seldom he barks
Rarely he eats
Never he sleeps
Comes in my dreams and strange meetings

Still I wonder if he is a benign or a brute self
When I walk past his withering shades

Poem: The love of synonyms

Tiring as it may be
They gazed at this moment all along

The river of many bay
The blood of many vessels
The beam of many costs
The nest of many wings
The last of many firsts
The sheen of many rays
The reptile of many snakes
The magic of many prophets

They marched in continuum

The synonyms and their greed for meanings

Meanings, oh meanings!
As you cannot love your past
All the memoirs shrink to this question
What shall be the next moment before future

Poem: ‘Selfie’ Pictures

Morning 9 AM to 11 AM
I was in front of a mirror
That was twisted and turned
And was full of options to deceive
Even my oldest enemy out there

‘Selfie’ they call this
When I stare at my laughing nerves

Seldom I liked my smell before
I had bought my first perfume can
That was full of unknown aroma
Yet I loved it as myself

Selfie, now I have a phone with a camera
Selfie, I had a dressing mirror so old
Both of them are silent and watching
The silent side of myself

Poem: Morning spells of a Worker bee

Around three AM, he is awake
Uphill, upon a solitaire game
Loving the heat of his sweat
The distance whispers of his honey queen
The nearness of the morning howls
The mistakes and lazy gaze at the paining finger
The smiling mirror in his fuming eyes
The smiling lips in his coupled mirrors
The worker bee is dividing his blood
One for his sweat and other for the sweet love

Poem: Three lessons of an ancient dissident

Lesson one: Origin of dissidence

While you are born a dissident, you miss the love of conformity 

While you love being a dissident, you lose the opportunity to decide

Lesson two: Stalkers and dissidence 

While you stalk other dissidents, you follow your primal fears

While you gaze at fears, their dissidence becomes pale evenings

 

Lesson three: Past primes of dissidence

While you are living in dissident memoirs, you find pain around

While you sleep with dissident whispers, you carve a wound around

While you decide to leave the dissidence for others, you become one