Other poems

Trapped

A curious butterfly,

like an inquisitive thinker,

peeped into a deep cavity,

of a pitcher plant.

The unanswered question-

was of paradise and hell.

Unaware of dangerous results,

 trapped in a pitfall,

lured by visual bribes ,it was

grooved into a slippery way,

never to come out from the darkness.

It slowly drowned in gloomy tartarus,

consumed by the rapists of soul,

ceaselessly supplying nourishment,

through its bleeding heart.

First Published In Inklings Anthology

I am not a Pied Piper

I walk with trail of rats 

They crawl, wiggle, their tails.

I do not hypnotize.

I do not know road to river.

Break the row! 

Take diverse routes

Run salivating tongues into books.

There is a race above the trenches 

To observe

Be lab-rats!

Even the blind did not tag along!

First published in scaling Heights anthology 

Trail

I walk on shimmering sand

Barefoot; leaving trail of love

A distance is crossed Miles to be covered

Green waves strike descending feet

To deluge foot prints

I don’t quench my thirst

Longing is beautiful

My wet feet carry

Your quintessence

I go and go, like perpetual gyration

Leaving traces on you

First Published In Reflections Issue 92

The Past

Rotten morsels of past

In her nails

Uncombed tales

in her tresses

Bleeding lesions

On her chapped lips

Awry spectacle

Hanging unassisted

Spine-tingling image

In mirror distorted

Cursed curtains hiding

Doomed details

Single peeping hole

Was narrating a scary story

Once a famous star, she is

Now breathing a dying glory

First Published In Negative Suck

SAPLING

A small sapling was so happy in innocuous surrounding

Till it was abducted to adjust into some other bounding

It was fixed into that unknown destination

And asked to flourish making all new relation

The tender stalk suffer native’s separation

And establish itself away from foundation

It grew into a small plant but leaves became pale

And could not excel on new gardener’s scale

It was abused for its old roots

And for not bearing good fruits

This thought today gives me great distress

Away from us would she be blessed?

Would she be taken care with kindness in hearts?

Or would she go through many darts?

Why should she migrate to terminus unknown?

Can’t she grow where it was sown?

Would anyone ask for her desire?

Or world would once again conspire?

First Published In Nivasini Anthology (celebrating India )

The Last Dance

O hot saint!! Ignorant, I was living in mental trance

You mesmerized me with just one divine glance

Sitting far in long deep meditation

You have already reached salvation

I was so much fascinated by your godly charm

The orange nimbus around you, seemed like healing balm

I began to dance madly, endlessly for you

Decorating myself with shining drops of morning dew

Depicting passions of soul with cosmic expression

Clearly showing my obsession with every emotion

I splashed my feet in every ocean

And swirled on poles with total devotion

Standing higher in space encircled by glittering stars

I took in my palms the cold, red Mars

Rolling it on my body, on Venus I stepped

The hot volcanic lava under my feet, I neglected

Purifying myself with more and more heat

I prepared myself to meet the elite

Spinning faster than the earthy rotation

I was dancing just on silent cosmic vibration

I moved further, determined to end my plight

Cosmic energy was manifesting bliss with divine light

Crossing Mercury in haste to reach the brightest

Crazily dancing till end before my final rest

Spinning and spinning I merged into the hottest saint

Leaving behind every barrier, bar or restraint

Attaining truth, leaving behind state of trance

My consciousness was awakened with this last dance

 First Published In Reflections October 2012

And she sings the same song again

Under the lamp post

where there is no house;

she has a home.

Her forefinger often draws

a swastika on ash that rests

in the quiet hearth.

The earthen pot placed besides it

waits for a day.

She ignores the parade that passes by

shouting slogans for the forthcoming election.

Unfolding the half eaten foiled bread

she gives it to her son to nosh and sings,

"Look at the uncle moon in the sky!

Tomorrow he will bring us packs of pies and fries.

We'll fill our stomachs up to our throats then;

before the minaret can strike ten."

First Published In Shot Glass Journal

Silent witness- a mirror

She stood in front of me, blushing

and praising her seductive image;

taking off her draping, smiling

at the bites of her first wedding night.

Caressing her breasts, she sighed in sync with

the clattering of her bangles and anklets.

Body swayed in slow dance

while she stepped in tub.

I witnessed her; her hands were not hers;

when in trance they cuddled her  .

Years after; she  stops by me hurriedly.

her smile somewhat familiar.

I watch sweat beads from her neck slowly making their way

through her sagging breasts.

She inhales freely in the closed bathroom

from the ferns, placed on the small ventilation.

Fixed and quiet, I witnessed her life

where she didn’t give up .

First Published in Earthen Lamp Journal ( India)