Gone Away...

On the Silver Oak tree,
I planted my childhood dreams,
I hid one that wintery night and the blue moon watched me.

Dropping late eve’ shows,
For stars were at stake…
I watched the wind dancing on the Asoka trees instead.

Joey my pillow is wet,
From tears I needn’t exuberate,
For now you are a good old boy,
I must be happy, but I’d much rather regret.

O’ Neem I know not your hooting call now,
For my ears are choked,
With a thousand million DB and some chorus of the smoke.

There are no sweet, round pebbles,
All I can pick is greed,
Of sugar-hungry souls, pouring out like ants from an ant-hill.

Watch me moon, watch me now,
Worming like a squeak,
Every day I push and pull at doodles of useless strings,
But stationery and frozen I stand, like a piece of meat,
Like packed in old newspaper,
Not a liberated kite, elated and in glee.

My home is here,
My land is gone.
My love is my happiness,
My family my strong.
That thing I cherish both here and there.

His love embraces me tender,
Just like the Guava tree’s shade.
In Maverick manure I grow,
It is pure beauty that I grace!
It's true love always there that seldom needs show!

Robin peck my bananas crazy,
Though I’m not behind the curtains, watching.
Squirrel cuddle the grass mad,
For in life there’s no stopping.
You never know when it’s sun,
When the clouds come marching.

Gone away to my love,
Gone away with my knight,
With him I shall return to make the earth my land…
As green as the Parakeet’s guise!
I promise.

Creaking Shoes

Image: red shoes by sarinni deviantart

Nothing holds the lament harsh,
too big a wig, too scornful a laugh.
Eroding flesh for her punishing stand,
Nothing worthy in all's command.

Fainting light of her love,
Fist in a pot painted gargoyle.
Breaking isn't what shaping did,
Many compulsions to chose between.

Upon the reclusive wind,
She signed a pact and summoned a dream.
Dauntless below,
Fearless above...
She breathed.

Love lost her heart found,
Not no more in her misery bound,
She stepped out...
Blistering but braver,
Tear drop now evaporating fear.
Her feet dance in joy...
Conchs of time her toy.

Out and away from semblance,
Sore from helplessness,
Weary of suppression.

Out of his misery grasp,
Out into the sun,
Drying her spirit drenched.

Standing out of her creaking shoes.
She sways!
Light as ever!
She sways.

CURSED

Oceans of my mind I cruised,
Like a toy duck,
Rippling and touching with waves.
I still need an object to inflict my pain.

I’m searching for it,
That God forsaken soul.
I reach the bank and He takes me by my hand.
Warm sand caressing my feet,
Kissing my nerves purgative weeds.

My feet hit the cold rocks,
Sharply knifing.
I shiver in the cold pain.
Sorrow, suffering, pain, defeat.
A burst of light and a pleasure orgasmic.

“That is what it is my child,
Suffering is inflicted pain is kind.
Only pain shall cut open thy soul,
Revel ‘cause your forlorn no more.”

Whir

I'm the ocean in the drop.
I rest my head on sand's arms.
Blowing a conch,
Into the chaos inside my head.

My Story

I'm here. I'm there.
I see myself everywhere.

Again and again, full in all the fragments.
Never broken, not so still.
A butterfly in the caterpillar's dreams.

Stealing, running, growing lean.
Becoming all I could have been.

Whatever I touch turns to tin.
In this world of hate I believe.

In a tub I swim like a fish.
In the cupboard I breathe like the sky.
And in my hands I die like a fly.

Destiny's Boundaries

Here, where the horses graze and the stream makes its course known,I find freedom. In the lap of the green pastures and mystifying unknown banks, pebbles rotund where the water's passionate kisses lie ample. Like ripened, luscious fruits, sons of the sun.

I meditate, under the halcyon shade of the leaves. Self-possessed in bucolic ramblings.
I make love to my spirit. Slowly and languidly. Planting one kiss at a time.
Elated like a fickle, little butterfly, I surrender.

What an orchestra nature is!
The leaves, the song of the creek. Chirping and buzzing to make me believe.
Solemnly, I visualize the distinctive line between the sea and the shore. Slowly fading. Talking. Telling stories of those that strayed its path, some plunged head-on, suavely some floated alone. The water drank up their stories but the shore stored them, carefully beneath the pebbles.
The crane dips its beak, to quench its thirst. My thirst for freedom is unquenchable, its depth feverishly imaginative and arcanely unknown.
Solace
Under the cranes wing I find thee.
In its flight I find me.
I'm free.

MANAGERS
Interpretation is a product of experience.