Monday, September 20, 2010


Traveler, I can not ask you, now
To be here with me, spend some time
Since, I am buried under this field
For a thousand years.

But I can tell you
Through the bright flowers
In this field, that, how history
Shattered this place for years

I can tell you through
This small stream, that,
How lush is this place
And even daemons loved it

I can tell you through
Every rock in this place, that,
What a rumbler is this castle
Telling stories all night

I can tell you through this
Mountain in the east corner
That how a shadow move
Like a snake is this place

I can tell you through the
Chinook wind, that,
How mystic is here at
Every winter and early spring

But traveler, now I am lost
And buried
In a quadrate of solid darkness
That, I can not understand you
From your foot steps

That who you really are and
Which trails you will suffer
The pain in your eyes
Where they came from

Traveler, I can not ask you, now
To be here with me, spend some time
Even if a second before
Your toe touched my heart

Traveler, I am buried and then lost.

Friday, April 9, 2010


My burning stigma
Effaced by her touch
A headless horseman
On a gothic painting
Passed through
Our aroused silence
She embraced me
Escaping from the chill

My body taut
Fingers entwined to
A ball of fire
Ignited by her red nail polish
Breasts on my chest
Her heart
A primeval drum
Pounding with the rhythm of
Our mating dance

I kissed her nape
Breathe the scent
Molecules of desire
Loneliness and sweat
Eyes closed
I stood on the shadows
Hearing only
What her body told me

I wanted to swim
Across her body
She understood
Her hands encircled
My neck to drop me
Into her ocean

We kissed
A burning tongue
Etching her shape on
My abdomen walls
I lost her there, but
I know she is waiting
A half-moon on
A pedestal of darkness

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Mumbai – 9/11

The guns are awaiting
 An accurate moment

A chillness
Frozen the time
To make every target still

Rusty road
Smoky walls
Yellow-black auto rickshaws
Red buses, metallic cars
Trucks, an ancient palette of
Red, Yellow, green, violet, blue

Motor cycles and handcarts
Stench of urine
Pan Masala and beggars
Sharp edges of
Pouting structures
Busy moving eyes, legs, hands
Flabby arses
Doves scattering like an offbeat song

It’s time to fire

Bullets penetrating through
Hearts and disappearing into many dreams…

Thursday, March 18, 2010


flaming stairs
keep climbing
burn alive
sparks shape
a figure of you

Words faces
steps legs lips

smudge – weaving
a shroud
so lengthy

A wave long dead

- where is the sea?