Poetry - Silence ...

Silence,

A shivering bird

wet feathers

shrugged and flew

for the blue sky

wings spread

into the vastness

Gentle stream,

a serene pond,

simple images

an honest heart

thick green forest,

an arrow left

killed the deer

Hunted and the hunter

meet in silence

faint whispers

I killed you

and shall eat you

do not despair

you have to suffer

have to let you

let us do it

in silence

She closed her eyes

I opened mine

and stared across

the empty space

you lay next

I felt scared

Didn’t wake you

for I knew

we are but

shivering pigeons

trembling deer

in the cloak of

…silence

It knows

without saying

everything we know

and beyond

like the sky

where all birds fly

When you asked

the next morning

what is it

on my mind

said nothing

you said

“I am so shy”

my dear

it is so

because I know

the unsaid silence

is better than

answering your “why”

I am waiting

for you to join

where I am sitting

alone in the company

of our sweet little

…Silence

Poetry - Rubble

I may not tow the line you draw

I do not draw my own line to tow

I am not a rebel

I may not follow the system

I do not disrupt it

I am not an anarchist

I may not fit in any of your slots

I do not exist outside of it

I am not a nobody

I am the rubble at the end of the road

to some I stink

to some am still useful

they dump what is theirs

but has no place in their homes

has no place in their lives

Sometimes dogs come and sniff

they lick me pick me chew on me

I let them for they feel me

Sometimes come the rag pickers

they assort me sort me use me

I let them for I empathy them

But sometimes just sometimes

come the rare species

they find their art in me

lifting my spirits

giving me a slot

no more a rubble

There is gold in me

there is dirt in me

You can take the gold

thinking you have taken me

but I am not the gold

I am not the stink

I am the whole lot

I am the rubble

you get the whole lot

or you do not get me

Poetry - Caravan to Nowhere

Come - come my brother

Come - come my brother

you play the crazy beat

I get into a trance

in the middle of desert heat

there is a pond

oh so serene

I peep into it

and it has all the treasure

you can spend the life

ravishing these in leisure

I bend further

to kiss the mermaid

Do you want to live?

Or waste yourself in escapade?

came the voice

from the camel rider

of the caravan

headed somewhere

Where you go? I asked

Does it matter?

Not really?

Will you come if I tell?

Not really?

then come - come my friend

come - come my friend

for we go just nowhere

we just go everywhere

for you won’t be happy anywhere

come - come my friend

come - come my friend

came the sane beat

my heart pulsating

my feet itching

I lift my hand

for him to hold

and like I told

I became the caravan

it goes nowhere

I reach with it

everywhere

And for you my friend

who sits ashore

looking at the dust storm

wondering where it came from

here is what i say

come - come my baby

come - come my baby

where you go? you ask,

Does it matter?

Not really? you say

Will you come if I tell?

Not really? you say

then come - come my friend

come - come my friend

for we go just nowhere

we just go everywhere

for you won’t be happy anywhere

Poetry - Writer

Pigeons sat over the wire

two men looked down their roof

the watchman lay on the charpoy below

I moved my lips as he moved his hands

the tea vendor brought out his stove

it was to be a few minutes before tea boiled

The room was empty, the cot was still

putting shoes on I went downstairs

a milky white day had begun to come out

the man with greying hairs, combed neatly

sat near the khomcha (cart), I stood leaning over a car

Tea was poured, to begin each’s day

the man with greying hairs went for labour

the tea vendor touched the money to his forehead

I stood a while looking in the distance

The watchman still lay over his charpoy

I climbed up the stairs, huffing and puffing

lying on my bed, coming back to myself

thinking of the day, of where am I in it

Nothing much had been brought over from the night

nothing much was told out of room’s window’s sight

nothing much was there in the day to delight

I got up, thought of the tea, and began to write

Poetry - Lost

There is no set path to reach me

and there certainly are no rules

leave all the pathway and roam stray

there is a random chance you may bump into me

I have no destiny, that has forsaken me

I don’t recall any past, I have left that past

I can’t find my present for I am so lost

find me and if you do, let me know for I am so lost

I flew last night to cuckoo’s nest for sleepover and stay

we drove over to some place nice to have a light brunch and all

cuckoo let me sleep on her bed and slept on her sofa

I was so disappointed for cuckoo could have slept with me instead

Not that I like cuckoo all that much neither does she like me

but it is fine for two people to find each other when I can’t find me

but it didn’t happen, there was no finding, there was just sleeping

in the morning I drove down the road watching many lost people

a bus bumped into my car and broke through its doors

I didn’t move, just kept driving for I was so lost

You move so well you move so fast when you are so lost

I don’t know what will I do when I am not so lost

for it has never been easier to live on then when I am so lost

if I could do, I would rather do, do nothing and be forever lost

Poetry - Far away love (Paris)

She came to see me

wearing the gaudy lipstick

she had never had them before

wanting to make me see her

Sitting beside the placid lake

she asked what girls I like

I said the one who likes me

she bit her lips and sat still

I talked of work, of bosses

of things I don’t understand

of things I don’t know, nor care for

she said our thoughts don’t match

Riding pillion on my bike

she made me go around

pretending to pick a restaurant

assessing how far will I bear

She danced showing me her moves

with eyes closed I held her hand

she said is it as fast you can drive

I accelerated letting the habits go

Hugging me cautiously she ran in

driving back I still had a bit of wind

I liked her but didn’t want to say

I had fallen in love of someone far away (Paris)

Poetry - Looking why I am ...

Is someone somewhere,

looking for something,

just the way I am?

Am not really looking,

looking for something,

as, looking is what I am.

Are you one of them,

doing something

and saying,

doing what I am?

Do you get bothered when,

people want you to know,

doing this why I am?

Tell them not to do it

it doesn’t really matter

this, doing this why I am?

If they still persist

and you can’t resist,

just run away by saying,

that’s the way I am!