Category: Uncategorized

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 white circles
like tired eyes.
They tell you that rain is
coming anytime.

With a distance of time
what had looked white
Would turn vague and
gray by growing years
Our wading knee-deep
muddy rain waters
In the streets by a white wall
missing in places,
The men who tucked in white
lungis in the waists,
Small coins that felt round to
fingers in pockets,
Far off rivers dancing around
heads of mountains

My sleepless thoughts were my guilt.
It’s long scroll stretched to starry sky.

I tried to arch over this vast expanse
To see where record of my guilt ends.

In the back of mind I have the feeling-
Between us, I can’t be blamed for this.

Whenever I make a poem
A blade sticks out of brick.

A quote sticks like a blade
From the brick of my ruins.

Forget a brick in the ruins
And see a blade in breeze.

After the eye drops, there is music
And lines follow a dream in words

In a glass train to tribal backwood
Where they dance dimsa for living.

A blackbird sits tight on clothesline
All day to sun-dry with underwear.

(Reading a poem “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird” by Wallace Stevens)

A daily sun has eaten plums
For our tomorrow breakfast.

He is who had ripened them
And caused them to wrinkle.

Just sayin all’s well that ends
And there will be no wrinkle.

(After William Carlos Williams poem This is Just To Say

The moon is red with
full blush.
Woman has fasted till
he is red.

Now, the sea blushes
in moon.
Now she sips her drop
of water.

What next we’ll say in
November
And we will prove our
aliveness

What it will be if body
is alive
And the eyes stare at
December.

Bliss is a windows screen saver’s
Grassy plains of bliss in a cloud,
Holding indefinite rain promise.

Bliss is to be as alive as possible.
To be old is near a very heaven
A dawn has moved so far away .

Old pensioner must prove
His existence to the world.

A body or its signed paper
Is yearly proof of aliveness.

November’s poems are not
Accepted for this purpose.

At dawn ,we like to be surprised
To hear a sea rage like the usual

This morning we were surprised
To find a crow sitting on the rail

And a silhouette piss by the sea
Just behind old submarine’s rail.

Seems we are alive after waking
And our serotonin levels intact.