Songs of charm - A Prelude to the lyre

I must say that I am astonished
By the variety of things;
By the vanity of deep eyes
By various stars by the sea

Simple orchids
They are hard to miss
Simple darkness
I need in variety of lights

Madding by a crowd
I love this island

Let lions may roar
Confused may I supper
Alone be the beatles
I do what I preach
And let songs do unwind

Infatuation - A half poem

A spelling that mistakes
for years, a name
calling life a love
why do we exist
In a mere mirror of time

Jealous of darkness
Death bemoans
A traveling sickness
A poetry that engages
Ageless scare
Upon this nature
Unto this last flower

I perish; yet exist
Countable letters
Yet plenitude of dreams
All in a mercy of time

Songs of feminine - Cryptic self

A love lace is broken
Pain in my eyes
Past in thy tenses
Stolen pieces
They call it
A board of errors
I burned me down
Ashes for them
But coal is mine
Yesterdays are many
Today is ahead
Tomorrow we maketh
Call of letters
Christ is cautious
Cause is beauty
Because of charm
Mary was gracious
Stolen thieves
May forget my chains
Casted on tomorrow

Songs of feminine - Mystic self

I wonder what you are
My life, my life almighty
Sun may shine
Stars may sink
Love may shrink
Yet life do exist
Care its wings
Speed its silk
Waves are steep
Vision is preset
Life do exist

Paid Potatoes

Paid potatoes were abundant
Kits knew how to hide

Animals live love life
Hands are tied up
Spell bound is social ills

Caves to hide my heart
They are made of red eyes

Apple, orange, naked earth
Stale, state mate, simple skies

People pad my pleasures
Pots are lost among sea weeds

Spider songs

I could speak a lover
Perhaps more for one life

Still I am subdued
Oceans coexist in leaves

I engulf my hearty half
Speaking up my stormy sense

Sudden Death and there after ...

Split into many oceans
One love for thousand lives

Carry forward my stray cats
Poet of living signs

Repeat my prayers
Reasons in thousand storms

Pretty, charming nimbus
Awaiting my embrace

Game on; slits of lights
Living larger than leaves

Spot on science;
Shows of courage my sickness

Stalking of an Empire >>

Unconscious were they
Like the bay of Gaundanamo
Boarded to heaven many a times
Peeling hearts that they had
They amazed the skill of a vulture

Hardships of an empire; its known
Untried by blood and sweats
Stones continued to hinges
Shadows never die, though lie

What did we gain, naked are the mirror
Instance happieness, juvenile freedom
They carve a space deepest in time
Tremors are gone, left with blood of a slave
Master and his master rejoices, amicably yours ...

Dryness of a morning ^

It is as steady as a stale shadow. My morning with Sun nimbing somewhere ahead of time. Violet petals were far from awake, heeding to their eternal wishes in dreams to come. True itself, lies were withering many times in breathing crimes. Stretch of the day was beneath the complete sky. Trend of winds were as predictable as the good words. They lived as per expectation.

They need a change; wild orchids , graves of silence, stellar skies, tremoring leaves, slit throats, split molecules, many universes, vibrant verses, harking heavens; not sure of what they possess they shed light and resorted in spinning mountains, quite subserviently ...

An Ecologue ; A meta-poetic.

It begins so in disguise : I would be craving to be a winter green which otherwise does not exist. A vague sense of togetherness with loneliness; Words seldom reflect what they mean. a sense of mystery prevails in nature. May be its labour in its beauty and its expressionless that constitute aesthetics.

Why do I diverge from myself ? Irrespective of being deeply reflective and introspective, I tend to complicate the incompleteness. 

An authoritative, impulsive behaviour pervaded all my senses. Inspite of this aversion to all personal, territorial attachments and knots , I tend to melt into dreams and desires all the times.

An interrupting question; why do we like to reflect on water bodies just as streams of consciousness? Is it the primordial remembrance - the lose of a perennial abode? Or a prophetic sense of last resort in times of annihilation and apocalypse ...!

Never know for sure. Porous lungs and fragmented nerves burn at ease. Ashes cannot reclaim the flames; yet they can recollect the pebbles that were pearls once and for all.

Is poetry addictive or withering ? Not sure again. It has a thrust of imminent cognizance and warping senders of time.