For you

 

I have craved the taste of your skin
For what feels like centuries, and I am
The evolutionary urge of sunbeams permeating
Soul and brain and movement
I am human being, hungry for immortality

Your lovely body is my youth’s rite
I pace hungry for the cherishing of a lifetime
Your hot heart, nearly too precious to hold
How can I serve you better, my dear?
I have worked starving just to have you

By my side, for a few mortal years
And I am a puma on the barren of
The rough anonymity that separates our lives
I’ve been a hunter and a digital firebird
Just to get a few inches closer to your life
I have desired through life-plans of ambition

And I have been silent to the failures
That must be endure, just for a few moments of bliss
I have felt the light that rises in your smile
And in your delicate form, I have felt

The lessons of history and sacrifice
The language of aroma, the stuff of hope.

On the wage of Art and Price of Youth

There is a romantic mark
In our hearts of sinking days
That sad similitude of being awake
While we dwindle our life’s wage away

Exhausted by nature, loved by none
We must dream up magic
From suffering’s destiny
And find fond bliss in monotony

And balmy incense to reveal
The melodies beneath the toil
And the smiles that do not turn away in vain
I to these restless symbols purge

The love that got away of destiny
Where free-will was a measure
Of our intelligence and motivation
That were the hours of our youth

Whose vulgarity of error was nothing more
Than the brief centre of an aching heart
There is a romantic streak
That burns our nights to the ground

Some call it art, others sacrifice
I must press on in solemn epiphanies
That break the butterfly wings of time
For all the ache is nothing more
Than mere beauty in experiment.

Wish

Wish

I kiss thine eyes with my soul
With mystic empathy mine
But you do not look or see me!

Ah God! If I might once again
Feel the dreamy youth of feeling purely!
With identity projected, in wondrous joy!

The old-time longing for unity
It’s thrill is still in my cells
Like a circling memory of oneness

My whole heart leaps nearly to you
There, but you do not look or see me!
There is no method to convey sometimes
The inner possibility of energy
The old-time agony within my soul

The hush of alienation, loneliness
An eclectic talent for feeling separate
If only to magnify the unity-of-all-things
I kiss thine eyes with my private feast
A light blur stirs for thee from me

But you do not look, you do not see me!
And I was in my lonely light, with frenzy begging
For faces of the spring, for golden
Words spoken to me, as if I had
Thought poetry at the ocean side

For a lifetime of romantic depths
Without the shudder of youth
That passed so quickly, I am getting old.

Before the azure sister of spring

Before the azure sister of spring

I met a traveller from an antique land
With golden lips and stories of the future
He spoken of love outlasting weary fate

The lone and level destiny we all must face
I would have sung his song
Had I known the lyrics of dreams

These echoes and lights unto eternity
And seasons that pass with a blink
Of tears and farewells, and all

That is beautiful will come yet again
In another body and mind, to be sure
We are all nomads travelling

From one place to another
And we know where we go
Even if we feign ignorance

The rivers have always mingled
With the oceans and everything
Has always been single, by laws divine

And the Earth never could kiss
High heaven, and the birds never stooped
To eat long there, but preferred

To stray among the clasps of sunlight
What is this sweet embrace of youth?
Is it the cry of life or the nudge of death?

THE LAST ROMANTIC

i

I’d like to write a Love Letter
To the act of writing herself
If I’m alive now, then I was dead
When I didn’t write, it’s Skyward again

ii

With unbothered Golden Sun
The blueness of the stars is my
Final muse, the magic of the music
It’s not easy to state the changes
Internal, apprehending language
Is a habit of association that didn’t convince me

iii

My spirit craved something more
Than duality and dull metaphors
So I soul-shifted into the gear of silence
For a Silver Breath, and it’s a gift
To be writing again, Love Letters as always
To a world, I didn’t always know

iv

What to make of it, tragedy unfolded
In months of boiling water and multiplication
Tables, how the worlds counts her profit
I knew I didn’t want to exist in a vulgar way

v

My most prominent objects were inside
Subjective, I was like the last romantic
Of a generation, giving free-feeling a fair hearing
Without conforming to some drab pragmatism
Just yet, pretending I was a spiritual guest
In a colourful experimental world, language
Could suffice, at least as a tentative medium.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/silver-sleep-and-pomegranate-flower-453025759

I Died for Beauty

I died for beauty many times
Though my heart was scarce
I poured it on the page to be a poet fair

A dead breed, adjusted only
In the tomb, I died for beauty
Like the extinct Romantic –

All of us speaking of love
In wild adjoining rooms
I questioned God softly

Why I failed, to be a writer
In such a world, it was because
The world had grown ugly

Over the centuries, without nature’s
Touch, ‘I died for beauty’ I replied
The future cared not for beauty anymore

My ancestors wept and my descendants
Did not know, that the moss had
Reached the lips, of all wombs

That came before, I died for beauty
For a poem, lost and covered up by names
Of all the poets that came before

The Universe does not applaud the meek –
And poets’ love a royal dress
Distinguished to nobody in particular

I did for beauty anonymously
Without a trace, a unit in diversity
My own wheel in the starlit dark

I cannot say why I turned for beauty
In tides of Supernova, I died for beauty
Like last night, on some unfrequented road.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/dari-411941266

In every flake that flies wide wandering skies

Leaves will rain the end of years
A pageant death-parting
O’ Autumn, it’s my soul

That gives you ear & listening
And hence who once was here
Cannot be forgotten yet –

My held breath in the day’s decline
Leaves will wash away what
Was once the blown night and day

Leaves and rain till the year’s flooding end
Your cheek against mine, the watery-way
With tears and of the blown night

The doom that waves her secret sign
Against my death, was my life in vain?
Adieu, waving last whispering of trees

Leaves will rain my last remaining years
With colors that will breeze to you?
Would ye ever wave an Adieu, for forgetfulness

Is coming so take flight all worries
What do you say to the breeze?
And what in that hush, say the breeze to you?

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Dance-Me-to-the-End-400908151

A Would-Be Love Sonnet

If I die before love, strike me
With the purity of footsteps of karma
That in the next life, my holy force
Will flash the incredible whispers
With poetry, and warm affection
Since, in Love I’ll die a second time
To myself, once so selfish and conceited
I will serve my kin, as is ancient custom
Wooed by joys so terrible, biological imperatives
And then I shall say, ‘Whoever loved like we did’
And I shall boast, with irrevocable delight
Those roses I shall burry in eternal months
And with the light that endures, with the love
That consumes all the fruit, new lives will be made
To love again, with burning hearts, subtle flower-kisses.

Cycles of the Clear Bright

The cities will be ruined
And what will remain will be
Heavy dew, thick mist, dense grass
Fields, far as roads once ruled

The drunken parties of men will be gone
Fled into the fifth watch of
Galaxies, tunnelling into oblivion
Somewhere near the speed of light

Passing are all ruined palaces
Empires will crumble, as if gladly
To make way for the new
The coasts will swallow peninsulas

The skies will perform cleaning
Volcanoes will erupt
And broken gates will ease in
New wild gardens, waterfalls

Over bridges, time renews all
Life does not question, she moves
While we rest in moments of snow
Beneath migrating rains

The gravestones of Earth will be hidden
Only the voice of screeching owls
Will remind the lantern light
Of Nine Spring mornings
What all was once, can be again.