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A Night is Born

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The blazing heat of the day  dies Sun dims in a faint orange glow. Conceived in the dusky delight, as the colours of twilight dissolve in darkness, from the late evening's pregnant womb,  the night is born  Children frolicking under the street light return home as darkness falls As their carefree laughter echoes afar the night is born Old man on a beachside bench  his pale eyes staring into blankness as the racous waves roar under the moon light the night is born  Shirt sleeves rolled up, buttons undone  caressing the stubble,  tiplers scurry into  watering holes of the town. As they drink, fight and puke the night is born  She lets her hair loose reminiscing the long last togetherness she let's a plaintive sigh of despair As the garish glow of the screen falls on her face the night is born He gazes the sky without stars turns the book down, taps the piano keys as he gulps the last drink of the day the night is born It is an end and a begining, both hope and despair, for it i
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This Day & This Age

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Weariness of a late-summer afternoon  Delightful hues of the dusk Leaves ruffling under the autumn moon A nameless night  Raining on empty roofs  Blank  wordless walls in fright Splintered debris of dezires In Glowing gloomy embers Growling In Dying despair Shadows of the passing Moments Weighing down the being Burried under Blowing waves of  torments Searing inferno on  hell's doorway Dainty damsels on heaven's stairway Oscillating  is the heart midway Deserted streets damned and dank A Dog howling in a shreik staring At the lament list long and blank Nothing to blame  Nothing to become  I, the fool, continue to Be
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The Story of Life in a Room

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Like all the rooms that make up buildings, this too was made of brick and mortar and had a roof. The window on the West captured the green foliage of  the tri-trunk Rain tree. The one on the south overlooked the sewer flowing in sombre silence,and also offered a view of  roofs housing other lives. A being named I  inhabited the Room's space riding the wheels of time in  aimless madness. On many early mornings when sleep still  eluded the weary eyes,  a name-less bird called to say, ' yet another day was born' and woke up the day to life. On the garish days of the year,  black bees pollinated the flowers of bright pink-white hues that dotted the dark green canopy of the  Rain tree. In  late afternoons, as the sun began its descent, through the spaces between fluttering  leaves streaming rays fell on the floor in quivering patterns of light patches modulated by the leaves dancing to the afternoon winds. When the  heat seared the spirit, I pulled the dirty drapes down the w
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Language of the Night

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What language does the night speak  To the multitude  beings on earthly space,  Wandering like specks of dust in a smoky haze The gleaming moon streaming shiny light Through the windows of concrete rooms Feeds the thirsty soul milky blooms Darkness' drapes unfolding at night's fall Pouring many a deadly glance Enfolds sordid spirits in silent trance Breeze in tender ease flows to hearts Soothing battered bodies on the way Waving its tender hands in magic sway Stars dot the blacky sky  In precarious flicker changing colours Rendering hope  its transient flavours Night does speak  In multitude of words To ears that hear
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Boundless Night

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My Years pass in pinning madness shattered hopes die in bloody bitterness My Days, wander in   somber folly wasteful hours pass in a mindless reverie At dusk, I light the fire of life the smouldering embers soothen my strife In Night's arms, drinking the   darkness gazing the glittering charms I sing   in wilderness My life takes flight to distant horizons freed from its plight Comes the spiteful dawn cracking streaks of light into Body's chambers drowns the spirit's flight If, to see only sorrow's might in absence of light be a boundless night
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The Last Word

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How many poems! Were written to you... Dissolving my soul into words I smeared it in my sweet angst... Your ugly unkindness lacerated my Being Gathering its shreds... I continue, to 'Be' In nauseating disdain I write, my last word to you: 'You are a mockery of all that is Woman' Words will be written; not to your titillating flesh,but to men and women Whose beauty lies in their intelligence; in their Character; in their fights; not in their made-up looks Turning inward I seek, to realise the Self... In reclusive musing  immersed in, pervasive consciousness
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Lassitude

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Tumultuous thoughts swirl in mind's commotion Atoms of air stand in still suspension Sans mercy, silence gropes the Suffocating Soul Scorching sun spurred the agony and parched the Being Life's rhythm repeats   in the heart's beat I tug at the beard pull out a thought's shred; inspect its form and pull out another In dreamy thoughtfulness under the cloud's shadow, I rest in the lap of lassitude
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