You will not find poetry anywhere unless you bring some of it with you. Joseph Joubert

Friday, June 27, 2008

I am evolving...

Midnight flashes
The Queen of Silence wakes up
To the choir of Moon-lit dreams
And leaves of flesh
Are lulled to sleep in the boughs
Of their dull-smoking love…

The streams of myth
Flows down the decadent hills
Queen of Silence calls
Fra Pandolf to weave a mask
of hers in the same colors…
But Pandolf’s brush was busy at me.

Duchess and dreams…
Dukes and diplomacy…
The Queen of Silence has read
Their motions, their appeals…
If for the stars, a tadpole sings
I’ll count the waves that thought would bring.

Walking over the silent hours
Did I trample over any dead muse?
For my dreams long time
Did subscribe to its honor
Does not post me any grace.
Is muse covered by the Gracious Queen?

The carpenter who taught me wizardry
Blowing through his hollow bones
The words of tall-standing palm-trees
Has told me…
If tonight the herd of dreams
would be seen along the river
He would trap one for me…

Tuesday, June 17, 2008


an asphalt tearing

the mirror as it sinks down

leaves nothing...

But what you would see



Monday, June 9, 2008

Music within and without.

The radio-skull
Play volume like dolls
Silence wounded- bleeding grape-wine
And the hand
Comes out, points me out to the Halloween eyes
Scattered all over the sky
Mary would not see her lamb again;
lost in the forces of music
Of the tribal hegemony…

Days are shameless
Repeating access to our activities
and the routine
Printed of the bony-machine.

Smoke of volume exalting high
Passion running down the kitchen-sink!

The skull turned off.
Noise quits confidently.
Silence wants a coffee!

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

For my Professor

So innocently charming
The lips that you pout
In anger, in storm
On my mirror
And earth...

Like the bee that drone within
Your charm makes a clockwork salsa.

You call the doped colors of
The illustrated lanes…
And lull the hallucinated panthers
For the ethereal moon-dance.

But I, swear by the dust and dirt
that would ever dress the highway,
And the mud that would make your God
I see before my eyes
A draped analysis.

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

When u r here..

Adoloscence is an Utopia...of strange symbols and feasts... When u run through it nothing but ur follies are ur friends... contd..

Sunday, June 1, 2008

the lingering silence....