'Aniket...where are you? i love you...i miss you...'

standing at the top
Of a cliff...
Over his head
The unlimited sky
And below
A limited life
Just flowing by...
This life...

he cried...
In severe pains
And shouted out loud...
Again
For the third time...
'Aniket...where are you?
i love you...
i miss you...'

his words..
The teary cry...
Echoed back
To him...
Kissing the mountain range...
Those deodar...fir...green dense
Waving in bliss of the morn...
A sacrosanct sense...

he closed his eyes...
Tears flowing like a flood...
Opened...
Just like his tears
Of happiness...
Just like that...
Full of passion...

and he heard
'he is not here...
he is strumming his guitar...
But here I am...'

he opening his closed eyes
Closed...pressed...heart
Saw...
John Lenon...
standing straight...
Double fantasy picture...
A shooting scene happened perhaps just before that...
He was all with his spread out love...
Love that caused fire...
Love that made people sing and dance...
Love that caused enemies hug...
Love that made people cry with joy...

he stood...
Surprised...
Remembering smoky days...
A terrace
Of a building
Fourth floor...
And dear Aniket...
Singing
'Imagine...'

he was then
Transported to a kind of heaven
-Central Park,New York...
he saw the star...
he bowed...
he smelt tasted savoured
Undying Love...

he saw Aniket...
Smiling...
With his guitar
Hanging from his shoulder...
And John
The sweetest John...
Just by his side...

Love ... As primacy...of being...

'this beautiful tranquil morn
i am again born
And am i not dying the same?
this beautiful tranquil morn...
Which carries flowery smell...
And so much of Hope
And so much of Faith...'
 
Thinking thus
he looked at the vast
A picture
The greatest painter was painting
Infront of him...
Through his mortal eyes...
And their immortal sense...
from where the light
Once entered into his being...
Some decades ago...
The first Light of the Day....
And the Light of the night too...

he looked at the picture...
Eternal...
And always on the flow...
Much like a journey
So fascinating...
Much like Love
That takes in all
And gives out all...
From fullness to fullness
How the picture him teaches
Everything stays...
A possibility so unchanging...
Infinite...
Yet so changing...

he looked at the way
His signs fell
On every thing...
And also coming back to him
Like signs of Hope more...
More of Light...
More of Love...

And he remembered Isabel...
A Rachel...
An ewe...

he remembered Durga...
The power incarnate...

he remembered the Virgin...
Mother Mary...
her eyes kept quiet on her child...

he remembered
Artemis...

he remembered
A green green pond...

he remembered
An algaic form...

he remembered
All...

And tears of joy...
They fell
Like giving him more joy...
he felt...
Love as primacy
Of being...

A Mother and Her colt...

he looked at the colt white
How his mother the mare
Who after giving him birth
Imprinted him
With Her smell...
Her exhale
She made into
The baby's nose...tiny nose...
Cuddling the same...
Loving him the ultimate...
Showing the tiny
That She was there..
She is...
She will be...

Imprinting him...
The colt...
With Her experience...
Her deepest love...
Her sense...
Her whirls on Her forehead...
Her Agape...
Her sublimity of Being...
A Mother...
A Source...
An Origin...
A tree...

he just looked at the two...
A Mother...
The Holiest...
And Her offspring...
A white little one...
A colt...
Yet to learn...
The ways...

But the Mother...
Hadn't She
Made Her imprints?
Upon him?

Aurorae...to Aurora...

Dear...
Isabel...
Come stai?

Have you seen the sky?
At Port Alba...
Last night?

Why?
For I
Thought from here
At California
To send you
Something there
Through sky post...
A bunch of starry flowers...

The sky is the same you know...
Even if you are some few thousands of miles...
Away from me...
But the sky is the same...
Ain't she?

Seen those?
Those flowers...
Starry ones?
White gem like sparkle
At each stem?
Weren't they wonderous?
Well...
When i was sending them...
i had in mind
A rainbow as well...
For rainbow colors i wished for you dear...
Isabel mine...
A night sky
With rainbow colors!

Immagina!
Amore mio!

Aurorae!

O Aurora mine!
Sent Aurorae for you...
Last night...
For knew
There might be a geomagnetic storm
At that particular zone...
And it was perfect
For Aurorae
To happen...

by my soul
And prayers
Infinite...
had i not collected them?
For you...
Dear...
Aurora mine...
And the skyman...
He was there
Smiling...
Feeling me...
my opened eyes...
my helpless yet satiated state...
my feverish yet most calm forehead...
Cool...

Dying...
And living most the same...

Hey Isabel...
surely you saw them...
Aurora mine...
That rainbow at night...
A splendour spreading
Across the nightly breezy sky...
So geomagnetic!

-Frances...

What a morn! White ...blue...pink...dark...and...white...

White...
With a brown tinge on her neck...
She was sitting...
By the wayside...
And he was just passing by...
(The way he does...usually...)
he looked at her...
Her sitting calm...
'she got stories...'
he thought...
And surprise!
It seemed she heard his thoughts
For she smiled...
As if by her smile
She said it all...
he smiled...
Knowing there was never a better
Reply
Than a smile...
She nodded...
The smile she just wanted...

The sky had again the blue
And the white...
And dark clouds too...
And after a few days...
Missing pink
he saw pinkish hue...
Again...
After so many days...
Pinkish hue...
And then
His favourite chai stop...
He had been absent...
The chaiwallah...
For the last few days...
Rain and wind
Sea breeze...
he was unwell...
by his smile he told him that...
And those street children of Him
They were back...too...
'where have you been?'
he asked them...
They were eager to tell him
That they had found a place
To rest their legs
And their heads
After the day...
'under that bridge...'
The youngest of them
Showed him...
he smiled...

The tea came
In simple glass...
And a biscuit...

'how are you?'
The man living with the banyan tree in the middle him asked...
'Good...'
he nodded...

Then resting his back
Against the motherly tree
Getting more sweet
Because of the rains...
he lit up...

The smoke he exhaled
Must be polluting...
so he prayed...
To Him...
'i am polluting You not
Not Your beauty...
Forgive me...'

'can i sit here?'
he heard someone...
A frail weak voice...
he looked up...
A man...
Weak as a beaten cow...
Thin thin legs...
White...
But depressed...
'sure...'
he nodded...

'put my sister
In her grave...
What a fate...'
The man thin as beaten by fate
Muttered...
To his own self...
he said nothing...
he was listening
A man's darkest times...
'she was young...
her eyes had only joy...
God is so cruel...'
The man sobbed...
he looked at his neighbour...
Reddened eyes...
Clumsy shirt...
A cell phone peeping...
From left shirt pocket...
his wrist watch had stopped...
his legs...muddy...
his shoes muddy too...
And his eyes closed...

he looked at the man' s defeat...
he looked at his temporary defeat...
'hello...
Good morning...
You need to eat something...'
he shook the man up...
The man looked up...
his eyes were so teary...
his face was so forlorn...
'i am guilty...you know...
i was involved into a rough fight...
And they
The enemies mine
Took her life...
Yes!
i need to teach them a lesson!'
The thin frail figure
Had rage coming out sudden...
Revenge...
Blood shot...
'you are so weak...
How can you fight?'
he asked him...
'i carry...things...'
Saying this...
The man...
A gangster?
Perhaps...
Took his right hand
And placed it
At his back...
As if he was asking him to feel
The nozzle of pure steel...
The cold hard nozzle...
That had fire...
Iron pellets lethal...
'God...'
he took his hand away...
Immediate...
'can i make a request?'
he asked...
'hmm...'
The frail enraged revengeful man
Who had buried his sister last night...
Nodded...
Looking determined...
Firm...
Thinking some
Plans...

'you need not to kill...
Just...
That...
Might harm your sister more...'

Saying this
he stood up...
Another experience...

The Sun had risen...
The chai wallah had customers many...
he could hear his busy hands
Working with pots and pans...
And cups...
And kettles...
And jars...
The street children were playing near
At the park...
With a discarded torn thing...
A football...
Someone had gifted them...

he moved on...

Light show on the road one wet evening...

'this rainy wet road...
i just love it...'
he thought
As by the headlights
Of cars...so many...
Motorcycles a few hundreds...
Various hues and designs were continuously being sketched
On the wet shiny canvas
Of the road...
The varied taillights
They too added...
Pyroart...
White...
Silvery...
Different patterns of red...
Laser beam like they sketched...
Drawings...figures...changing...
Appearing...
On the road...
And those big five or seven stands...
High up...
Like steel sculptures
Miniature Sun like shone...
Bright...
Giving a yellow wholesome idea
With orange and saffron
Over a whole area...
A radius...
Of only Light...

he going slow
On the road
On the move
Watched the show
Of magical lightbeams...

And by the drizzle
The beams got more of shine...
As if dirtless... Dustless air
They needed the most...
For their shine
To evolve utmost...
As if the breezy evening
Was their suited companion
To help people like him to see pyro signs...
On the road...
A wet drizzling breezy evening...

Lemniscate equating Love...

he was listening to a song
with an opening
like that of a sloka...
but a song...
with beats tapping rhythmic
suitably placed...
vocal falling perfect
in accordance with the chords...
and rhyme...
and the interlude...
like someone elongating a soft cry...
losing and giving one's all...
into the song...

A spreading continuum...
Ever spreading...
From one location-
The source...
First to the immediate...
Then the second one...
Then the third...
Then a dozen more...
A few dozens added sure...
One gross...
Then a few more grosses...
A few more...
A few thousands...
Thousands ....
'what is this?
An infinite?
What is infinite?
How can one measure that?
Infinite?'
he thought...

'it...is...
An Is...
A Be...
A state...
you fool...
It does not grow...
It is endless...
And so...
It does not grow...
quite naturally...
It is...be...
Just Be...'

An answer came...

'lemniscate...
i remember...
a ribbon
like lying eight...'

he muttered...
thinking math...

and then he thought of a song...
deepest one...
yet the simplest....
ethereal...
not puzzling like math...
not taxing...

simple yet deep...

and he then found
Agape...
and
she...
perhaps resting...
perhaps weaving a story
not to be shared by her ever...
perhaps looking at another part of this same sky...
perhaps...

and he had
both again-
a death...
and birth...
losing all
and gaining all...
much like the song...
Lemniscate?

Mirrory life...

Dear...
Isabel...
i find myself
In you...
Yourself in me...
Sometimes not ...
Always...
Always...
Like the perennial...
An universal truth...
And pitchers of our souls...
so full
That i the fool
Upon your shoulder like a kid drool...
And you mind it not
For in your flowery pot
You know me the kid only grows
And you also get filled
With the eternal sense of joy
Rarely felt...

Unwittingly dear,
My growth...
Helps you the sapling of a Mahogony...
to grow
Too...
To be the tallest...
The strongest...
The oldest...
The biggest...
The most wise...
And also the youngest...

There lies the perfection of Faith
There lies our path...
Our death...
And our rebirth...

Equated...
Assimilated...

Like a single mirror
Reflecting everything...
The sky...
The rainy morn...
The city in work submerging fine...
The autorickshaws speedying non chalant...
The shopping mall like a material planet...
The immaterial soul
Getting higher...
The rising
Of a rock of Gibralter...
The songs of nightly dolphins...
The college gate filled with happy teens...
The music of monsoon mixed with spring...
The dark deep enough to become Light...
The day light as good as the lunar scaped night...

And those puddles of water
By monsoon bred
Here on me...
And surely upon you
There...
Never dead...

They become mirrors little but true...
The wet and the shine
They reflect on me and also on you...

Thus Isabel
Love divine...
There lies the mirror...
The mirror of living it fine...

-Frances...

A red petal on palms...opened...

The wind sent her
A red red petal
She came by the sea breeze...
The breeze that carried moisture
The breeze that carried the sense of losing all for the good...
The breeze...
The sinking breeze...
Which made him sink more...

She brought in...
The breeze...
With her sinking feel
the red red petal...
And she the petal...
like a feather almost
Flew straight and dropped on his palms-
opened to catch dripping wetness...
Of the sky...
Opened too...
Like a Love song felt
But never sung by anyone...
Never perfected...
Beyond any human effort...
Godly so...
he was then sitting by the window
Trying to catch the cool
Of the drizzle
Palms opened like a child
Through the iron grille...

And the red petal
Of a krishnachura
Came flowing
And got stuck
On his palms
Already wet
With the drizzle cool ...
he felt the velvety soft
Of her dress...
A fiery shape also..
A design
By Him naturally embedded into her...
he took the petal...
Staring at her...
her design...
A yellow orange red combined...
A color of fire perhaps...
But so velvety...
A kind of warmth...
Never causing burns...
Only erasing pains...
By her warmth...

he looked at the moist petal...
On his tiny palms...
Opened like a prayer...
Soft
And with inexpressible warmth blessed...

Finding her in She...

'i think he the bard...saw
Him in this lightning...
i seriously think...
he saw Him in everything...
In inanimate
And animate...
In trees...
And also in her...
his love's flushed coyed face...

i think
he saw
How words can be emptied
For his God
And also for her...
And yet
Words...
i think... he surely thought
Are so useless...
They can never touch God
Or his Love...

For both God
And she
Are so spread...
So wide...
So all encompassing...
So calm...
So benign...
So lovely...
So enchanting...
That they both can only create a happy stream-
Continuous...
Persistent...

They can never be caught...'

Thinking all these
he thought of her...
And found
How an angel...
A beauty like never seen...
A picture of a woman
A Rachel...
Getting mixed with Her...
The She...
The Woman he worshipped...
All through his tiny worthless useless profaned existence...

A traveler's account...

'Dear...'
he wrote...
'you seem concerned
About my ways...
Worried...
Thinking about safety...
Talking about weather reports...
A storm...a gale...a fog...a lashing rain...
What's the need
For so many journeys?
When there might be a storm approaching?
A gale...
A hurricane...

Well...
i check all weather reports...
At CNN...
and BBC...
At local channels...

And...
i rely on Nature...
Like a mountaineer relies on rocks...
On the avalanche...
Like a seafarer relies on the Sea...
i rely upon the Road...
And She...
And also He...

And then there are birds...
They are the best possible forecasters of weather...

They know exactly when to sing...
And where to fly
If there are storms brewing...
To save...
Themselves and others too...

Their flight itself is a sign...
So i look at the sky
And watch them flying...
If they are not rhythmic...
If their flight and wing flaps are erratic...clumsy...
i know...
Like a Ramsey...
A storm is on the way...
And
If they fly in groups...
In shape of a 'v'
Or sometimes like a line...
A series of dots
Placed on paper
But moving
In such a way that
The first dot can be connected to all
Other dots by straight lines
Without cutting across any horizontal line...
Like one dot
Connected to all
By lines
Straight...
Then...
There is only Happiness...
And no storm...
No gale...

So...
i go...
i see birds flying slow
And gliding...
i see how white wood roses bloom
And fall in sequence of their own
On green green wet moist grass...
i see how in semi dark
Light posts some flash
Like beeping silent a message...
i see roads being covered by red flowers like carpet...
i feel the wind...
and the oceanic breeze...
i see trucks and trailers
Moving fast to their destiny...
i hear footsteps of His omniscient presence...
i hear prayers chanted in His absence...
i see old men walking up a steep bridge...
i see a little dog hungry starving
In the cold wind freezed...
i see light
And dark
How they combine...
i see misery
And pains
With happy faces intertwined...

But for a traveler...
It is the only possible way...
To get swayed
And yet never getting swayed...
To die a hundred death
But dying for only a Faith...'

Happiness...

Late evening...
Like those leaves
Of shining eucalyptus...
Bathing cleansing purifying germinating...
Under the lovely light
As cast ripe...upon them...
A tired yet satisfied sleepy love laden
Page of softest heart opened...

Slowly...
A happy heart opened...
Like a superslow movie mode...
Pressed on a player...
Not paused...
But so discernable...
As if all shapes and sounds
Dropped with their most pleasant fulfilled ways...
Emancipation of every visible object...
Reaching their desired state...

Like the street...
Cool...happy...
The people...
Drenched...
And
Willing to be drenched more...
The cars
And their drivers...
Finding happiness in radio stream...
The violinist...
Happily adjusting copper knobs
To bow a new tune
On G string...
The television screen
Showing a foot tap dance Spanish...
And a motorcycle
Resting by his big brother
At a garage...
Happy too...
A picture...
Happy hanging quiet memorable...
And the curtains of a hall...
Dancing too
With the breeze...
And a child
Drawing only smileys-
Following the Professor
At Carnegie Mellon...
Fahlman...
He was then Happy too...
Perhaps...
It was then drizzling also...
In his mind...
Happiness...
Inside...

A revert...

Not that he was waiting
But a revert was always forming...
And
He informed him...
That a revert was on the way...

A simple oneliner...
But that shone
So with cheers
That he thought
'God! What are You trying to work on? With me?'

And then...
Sitting beside
The window...
Watching things from a distance
Which he had witnessed
And felt...
Already...

Like in a detached but involved way
Looking at a movie
Or a clip
Which he himself made...

he felt...
'if it was His object...
If He wants actually that...
By His rains...
Birds...
Flowers...
Streets...
Books...
Knowledge...
And finally...
Wisdom...
The deepest...
The Holiest...

Then...
i am just here to pay Him
More of my gratitude...
More of my Faith...
More...
For He had opened all doors...
Even
For reverts...
Oneliner...
Still...
A revert the same...'

Thinking this he...
Bowed...
And
her face
Also somewhere glowed...
And a cuckoo then also sang soft...
Somewhere...perched...
On that coconut tree?
Perhaps...

Seen from the perspective of Love...

'these trees...
The way they tossed and moved their heads...
They must have got the happiness inside...
They might be singing a song...
Like ...
A Beatles...?'

And
Thinking this he savoured
The music as created...
By the breeze of a season of monsoon
A humming tune...

'i just want to hold your hand...'

And he cruising
This time through known roads...
Known places...
But
Seen from a perspective...
A particular one...

Known streets...
That known chai shop...
That barber's glass...
'open'
That parking lot...
Filling...
That bus stand
Peopled...
That long billboard
Glistening with drops of rain...
That traffic guard
Fluorescent...green...
That fast food corner
Getting smoky oily...
That book shop
Hanging mags and weeklies-
All known landmarks...
Flagged on map
In his mind-
They looked unknown...
Stupendously unknown
And so so beautiful...
As if they were installed new...

By the first available mail of the morn...

"Dear Isabel...
Sending this by first available mail...
For felt like sending this to you...
With me so many things happening...
Coming out incessant like a dam gate opened...
Felt like you could be a bit confused...

Hey Isabel...
There's no confusion...
There is only a curious fusion...
A flux...
Can never be perhaps measured
By units of light...
What they call it?
'Lumen...
and
Lux?'
i guess so...

Once wrote
'au revoir...'
Well...
There's actually nothing like that in the whole world...
There are only journeys to be made...
Vertical...
Horizontal...
And
Deep down...
Inside...

And...
After that there's only coming back...
To Life...
With a singularity of purpose...
With force never used...
With a calm befitting a muse...

And of course...
With more of Him...
The God...
And white white doves...
And nests being built by birds...
Nests all over the earth...

And...
Gabriel's star...
With a blue ribbon tied...

A star...

That on your bosom i placed...

With a vow...

With a promise of rain...

Just that...

And a road...
To travel like a free boat...
Not castaway...
But by dreams cast...
And a severe lust
Not for pleasure derived by any rush
Of blood...

But
A pleasure...
An undying lust
For Life...
Living with peace...
And with
Only Him...
And
Like two balls
Attached pretty close
At the centre
Of the earth...
A great rotating disc...
In the most restive state...
Fixed..."

-your Frances...

(by the way...
i am still traveling...
Just discovered a place
Where a small tree
Stood happy
With awesome peacefulness...
Pale yellow her blossoms
Falling like shower...
On the ashphalt...
Bluish dark...
Another tale...
Another dream...
i see...
Evolving...
And
La radice...
i feel that here...)

From road to river...a journey another...

'when it is drizzling
And the sky is dressing black...
So lovely is her black attire...
For a party whole day when she is so dressed...
When her sister Neptune's daughter
Is also on her way...
Why am i here on road?
i should sail to the river mine...
She must be happiest this morn
She must be dancing fine...
When the sky had readied a party...'

Thinking this he sped up
To the friendly river...
The road...
Full of red krishnachuras
Like rolled a red carpet welcome...
And the drizzle falling gay
On his face joy did spray...
And he sped up...
To the flowing dancing simmering river...

Arriving at her gate...
he first got the feel
Of breezy flowery fragnance
And the sky
Hovering dark over the river
Was about to plant a kiss...

And she arrived...
Neptune's daughter...
With her tempestuous cool moist rapid force...
he just got laid
On the grass not delayed...
By any other normative thought...
Standardized ones
Which often sadly all of human kind perform...
(not that he had ever any object to that...
But
Then his all body and mind and soul
Just wanted to lie flat...
At that moment nothing else mattered...
So...
On the grass he laid his soul...
By the Neptune's little daughter...
The most friendly one...)

And they all came over him...
The rain...
The breeze...
The flowery shower...
The stray flying leaves...

And the river too!
And he thought he saw someone too
Like him flowing floating...
And then he heard a voice...
'hi mate...
I am here too!'

There he was...
The Architect lying there...
Just by his side!

he smiled...
He smiled back...

A journey they both wanted to track...
Perhaps...

'even You?'
he shied and a bit embarassed,asked...
'yep! Any issues?'
He shot back...

'nope! Why should i
Object to Your ways?'

he guffawed...

And the rain and the sky
And the breeze
And the river...
They laughed out clear too-
In unison...

Waking up...with songs...

'alas...
i am no ornithologist...'
he thought
Hearing a particular call of a bird
From somewhere
Staying in her nest
Calling incessant...
A bird
And her call...
he standing still
Just outside
Of his home...
By the road...
Geared up for another beautiful day...
Tried to decipher
Simply by comparing
Tweets and chirps
he had heard
And stored in his random memory space...

'it is almost the same
i heard yesterday...
when i rose
To feel the storm...
And leaves blown...
From trees last morn...
but this call is different...
It is quicker...
Sharper...
And...
As if carrying a call...
A wake up call?'
he tried...
An analyst's mind...

And he prayed...

'Salim Ali...
If You are there...
Help her...
Help her with Your wise ears...
And
Help me...'

And he waited...
A few minutes elapsed...
The night was turning into a day...
he waited...

The call stopped...
And after few seconds...
It became happier...
Not that sharp...
No hurriedness...

The call became a series of single telegrahic dots...
A string of single calls...

Followed by another...
String...
A song now...
A song simply brilliant...
Rising a bit up...
As if she...
The bird
Got Hope too...

Someone must have woken up
Whom she wished to rise...

For another song could be heard
From another tree...
Somewhere...

Another bird...
They were exchanging their stories...
Sharing them by simple sounds...
Ethereal waves...

'birds have their own language...
They don't talk like human...
Their talks are not that frequent...
But still they talk...
And exchange thoughts...
Ideas...
Happiness mostly...'

he remembered
Salim Ali...
Once more...
And moved on...

he felt he got a song too...
From a bengali flick-
Made few decades ago
By a tall man...
(Who wore often a pipe
On his mouth...
Belonging to this part of the world
Who walked long
To win hearts...
Through his dreams
Of a cinemascope...)

A song...
Like that happened in him...
A song sung celebrating
Waking up...

A possibility of a day when it drizzled the whole night...

'what a night...
And what a possibility of a day...
There is no light
But it is drizzling like very smooth
Fine drops like spray...
Small puddles being generated...
On streets...fields...parks...and minds...
And cuckoos singing...
What a night
And what a possibility of a day...'
he thought as
he got ready...
To go out again...

'And those darling buds of May
They might be still asleep...
Cosy...dreamy...
But from distance even
Calls can be heard...
Someone thinking of forgetfulness...
Someone recollecting Life faraway
Despite snowing...in a cup of warm coffee...
Someone getting drenched by rain
Falling noiseless straight into her soul...
Deleting all one's pains...
Knowing moments passed
Would never come back...'
he thought
Hearing a sweet song
Of a bird
Imagining possibilities of a day...

Though technically it was a day...
And it was a night too...
And there were drizzling shapes
All over the town...

Puddles formed here and there...
And a sea kissed breeze blowing happy...

And he thought of wearing a pair of leather gloves
And even before going out
Of having a cup of coffee...

Come stai? Isabella mine?

Isabella...
Come stai?

If you ask me the same...
i wish i could tell you in details
Where a traveler me is roaming
In which land he has found clouds with poesy only foaming
And which land sublime carries the most beautiful feel
And where i have discovered myself so young...like a kid
And where a grand ol' man i have accidentally met...
And so many other exuberant things...
Happening relentless...
Within...
And without...

Remember...
Once talked about
The Inceiver...

And another morn
When you were so sad
Seeing me packing my bag...
We discussed marvels and diamonds
Fallen across the horizon
Of life...
Remember...
Dear Isabella mine?

i wish i could just rush to you
And tell you everything...
In all details..hiding nothing...
Opening my heart...
my mind...
my journeys to every possible kind...
diving deep...
running horizontal...
And also flying
A kind vertical...

Wish dear Isabella mine...
Tell you every thing jumping with joy...
And wish to see your those kind soft heavenly eyes...
For which i time and again living die...
And live more...
Only to be at your Port Alba shore...
To get that smell of pizza and cappucino...
To get under that Dante standing tallest casting a shadow
Of bliss...
And to get that feel of your beauteous touch...
Your struggled face...
Your white and pink dress
Blowing in the wind by that sea...

Wish i could just be there...
By your side at that park fair...

Wish i could leave everything
And run to you dear with my spreading dream...

To all friends...known and not so known...

When
This evening red red line sketch
On the western frontier...
On the friendly river...
A vermillion feel...
Sacred...
And
Someone Louis
A French...
Dialled a number
And got connected...
And
So many others are getting connected...
One world
A dream
Gets a desired shape
Not very vast
But still in small bits
Happening...

The He...
Or
The She...
Or
They both
Might be watching...
All of us
We
All...

One world...
Oneness
I pray more
Pray more
To open all doors...
In every corner of the earth
This bluish green Our own...
One are we...
One fate...
One Life...
One existence...

And
One sense of
Everspreading Love...

One...
We all...
One...
We stand...

Putting all into Cloud...

'Like a series never ending...
When images flash one after another
And they can never be kept
Due to primary lack of space...
What should one try to do?'

he thought
Looking at the street
Swept by the drizzzling joy
And other allied imagery
Like two girls cycling hard
Through the screen of rain...
And an old woman looking up
Her umbrella overturned...
And...
A small bird tending her wings
Sitting lone on a roof top...
And a boy jumping and dancing
His mother falling behind...
And a car playing Lenon
Disappearing at the bend...
And a rickshaw with a man in suit
Moving slowly as if lost...
And on a terrace opposite someone's saree
Like a flag fluttering
As understood...
And...
Several other civic things...
Lamps from night still shining...
A tap unclosed dripping water...
Wasteful life flowing unnoticed...

'when images come and go
Like that...
How can one hold them tight
And never lose them from sight?'
he wondered...

And somewhere within
Answer formed...
'technology...dear...
Think of external hard drives...
Better still think virtual...'

And he jumped in joy...
he knew he got his toy...
he opened the flap
Of the gadget cool
And sent all files to the Cloud...

'when several Clouds are so available...
Dropping them into a box
Or a Google® owned Drive...
Or an Apple® thing starting with i...
Why should one get so worried?
Catch'em all with your eyes
And just put them into Clouds...
A storage virtual...
And yet unlimited...
Much like flowing images!'

he gushed
And clicked and tapped fine...
Putting them... uploading...
One by one them all...
Into that eternal thing
A floating Space available
All through one's limited life...

And outside...
Images were still being born...
And he knew
he got no worry at all...

'Space is actually unlimited...'
he dipped next into that thought...

'Just pardon me...'

'Just pardon me...'
Whispered he
Seeing her
Under a canopy
Of branches of trees...
Old and new ones...
In the forest...
In her white flowing dress
Standing quiet
With eagerness subtly expressed
Upon her face...
her keen eyes...

'just pardon me
If i fall in love
with you...
And if i break into
A song...
Like that those branches long
Perpetually weave...
Like that this grassy moist algae ridden forest sings days historic...
Just pardon me...
If i in your wait find a long term insurance...
If i in your white find a license
To kill my own all hatred...or fear...
If i just sit at your feet...and blow a kiss like a prayer...
Just pardon me...
In the name of God...
If i leave here my senseless bod
And become just a whiff of perfumed air...
If i live here building a hut
Within me...a small cottage humbled forever...
Just pardon me...
dear...'

The One...

Have you noticed the calm in the air?
Dear?
The calm as felt by those long trees
Waving their happy leaves in the mild breeze?
And as expressed by those pink petals of those flowers
Waking up from dream?
And the happy-going-stopping-trembling feel
Of those clouds floating shifting eternal?

Have you made a scan of His retina
Blue?
So deep...like Mariana trench...
But not suffocating?
A deep where mind only gets free?
A coolness that only breeds Peace?

Have you ever noticed your sleeping child?
Under the sky...sleeping quiet?
As if that sleep is his or her proper attitude...
Have you raised the curtain of doubts
And just by any chance peeped?
Into that child's white mind?
Into those dreams of white colts and doves?
Into that pampering Love-
Which no beauty soap could one provide...
Have you ever experienced confusions and malice forever died?
And how they perfectly get replaced
Only by an overwhelming gratitude
And binding and auspicious sense of Faith...
Which nothing can topple...
No accident can make them turn turtle?
Nothing...
Have you ever felt being kissed by the One?
The One...

His ways...dark and blue...

And what he always feared
The storm...and the lightning...
They entered...
With fury of their own...

'that old young man...
i am going to disown...
For Him i am here...
In this wasteland with no shelter near...
Only that thin long coconut tree...
She could never save me...
Can she?
From this fury?'
The kid thought...
Panicky...
Nervous...

And looked at the sky...
Blue had gone
Dark heavy clouds there did collide
And those flashes...
Blinding searing one...
The kid...
Sweating profusely closed his eyes...
Just then a spear came white silver
With fear he shuddered...

'i got to find Him...
The architect...
He had left me here...
Without any direct...
Where to move?
This Wasteland?
And no white or blue
Only dark clouds...'

The kid closing his eyes prayed
For Him...
The grand old man
The architect...
Who had seen springs
And wells and hurricane...
And just then
In his wet pocket
Of shirt
he remembered
He had given him a smooth triangular stone...
Which in the dark shone...
he the kid recalled
The architect's call
'remember kid...
Even if you are old
You are young
And you are never young
If you are not old...'
the kid got confused
Trying to realise full
The grand old spring filled man's words...
'this stone...
Keep it in your hands
And if you are afraid
Just hold it on your left palm
And press it hard...
You would feel its coldness
And hardness too...
That feel you should allow into you...
And if the lightning spear like start to blind you
And dewy sweat get pasted like glue
On your forehead
Or skin
Or nosetip...
Just lie down flat
On the open ground
On the grass...
Be a part of that land...
Earth...
She is the most neutral
No lightning could cause any fever
To you then...
Upon her breast
Laid perfect
You are the safest...'
The kid recalling those words
Ran to the middle
Where the rain came lashing
With stormy rage and lightning spear
And he lied down flat bare
On the ground...
Getting into the earth's muddy mound...
And those long grass
They enveloped him...
The triangular stone
he kept pressing...
And prayed...

How long he was there
he could not guess out
But he woke up hearing a known voice...
'the rain had stopped
And so also the storm...
Look up kid...
Just look at the springy morn...'

he at once
Opened his eyes...
And saw Him
The architect
Fully drenched
And he smiled...

The morn was breaking...
Birds after the storm had started gathering twigs...
Some cuckoos started singing...
Seeing the Light...

Aloof...

Sometimes it is so good
To stand aloof...
And watch Life
Flowing by
Like a stream
And also a dream...
Like square lighted frames
Seen from a distance...
Like a tree standing lone
Yet reverberating a tone
Of the wind...feel of a drizzle
A skin by passing beams of cars...a sizzle...
Like an ice cream vendor blue yellow white shed
Like a road that to infinte scape led...
Like a less traveled and taken city lane
Where with abundant love young couples
Stand and sit and exchange...
So many things their hearts kept...
Like a flower in monsoon fragrance draped
Tossing gently as if swept by an inherent fountain
Of joy never ending...
A life towards positivism forever bending...

Sometimes it is so much a need
To stand aloof and yet to plant seeds
Of Hope...Faith... And Love...
And only of His written and unwritten deeds...

A take on an afternoon with Lisa Gerard ...

'Lisa Gerard must have felt that...
Surely she must have...
Otherwise
She would not have done that...
Would not have lent her voice
To create that...'

he thought as he was riding down
The road...
One afternoon...
Easy one...

The sky
Looking like a mirror image
Of his mind...
Blue and white...
Accentuated Spring;
Only...
This Lisa Gerard theme
How come she
Dropped in his mind...
From up there?

'Can beauty evoke such a feel?
Of death?'
he asked himself...
'Can beauty be so much that one can hold no more...
One's little hollow inside is so filled
That one just wishes to die?'
he asked again...
A self propelled query...
No petrol...
No gasoline...
Only
A sense of a Being...

And
This Lisa...
A theme of rose petal bed...
A theme of a death...

he looked around...
The afternoon seemingly unbound
Horizontally out spread to reach life...
Got inside him
Gradual like a music unfolding...
A music of life and beyond...
The lanes...
The bridges...
The blue and white paints on pillars...
Lamp posts...
All seemed so beauteous...
Like a dope...
A medicinal equilibrium
Attained...
By His singular charm...

he looked at the vertical plane
Of his tiny existence...
'i am temporarily here...
At this moment...
Next moment i might be on another street...
And the next my co ordinates
They will change...
Seen from outer space
Who am i?
A dot?
Not even a dot...perhaps...
A miniscule microscopic creature?

Positionally fixated?
Am i ? Really?
Nope...

Who is?

Anyone? '

he thought...
Looking at the traffic on return...
Daily life
Slipping away...

'Nope...'
Came the reply...

And he did fly...
With Lisa Gerard singing a theme
Of a beauty...
Dying...
Evolved...
And
That feeling of death
Brought only Hope
Of Living more...

'what a paradox!'
he thought...

And he rode on...
Blissfully living...
Riding...
Dying...

And round that corner
Near a petrol station
he saw a florist shop open
And bouquets hanging
So colorful...
he slowed there...
Taking in the smell
Of the city
By blossoms kept-
Preserved perhaps...
Amidst the prevalent color grey...

and he rode on...

O how they carried him...

And
They carried him
All stepping forward
They carried him
Home...
The blood all over him
His armour broken to pieces
Only a brave and blessed
Die...
For not one
But for all...

And so they carried him...
O how they carried him...

Through the thronging weeping dumbed crowd
They carried him...

And he...
Sleeping fine...
he had dreams
Of meeting Him...
Standing right there...
A Man...
Amidst a cornfield
Whispering a love song...

They carried him...

Finding a father...away from home...

he looked at the man's face
Cobwebbed...
Crowfeet at eyes
A bamboo stave...
"are you a painter?"
The man asked...
him...
he was sipping tea...
By the road
The day had been such a beauty...
The cars...the buses..
Busy plying fast...
And the people
Stopping and moving
gently...
They seemed...

And the breeze
Somehow managed to play...
Through those concrete...
Spring had come to the city late
But came she...
In shapes city like...
Holiday packages pasted bright...
Vacations...tours...
Movie tickets flying in the wind...
And shadows of scarce trees
On pavements falling still...
On dices of floors...
On railings hanging precarious
Still
Spring had come...
For she deprives none...

"are you?"
The man asked again...
Sitting comfortably on the bench...
Wooden ...
One leg crossed over
Another...
Simply dressed...
A dhoti white...
A pinkish loose garment...
And a bag...slinging type
Rested on his lap...a few paint brushes peeping out...

'na...
i am here for a work...
But why?'
he asked taking another sip...

"o...me thought you were...
For you looked with eagerness
The moving lair
Of shapes...the people...the cars...
Painters tend to do that..."
Saying this the man stood up...
Straight...
Paid the chaiwallah...
And took the street...

he stared at the man's receding walk...
Straight towards the circle...
Where some people were seen from a distance...
Sitting and talking...
On the brick wall...
Dangling their legs...

The man did not look back...

he finishing the cup of tea
Asked the man at the counter
'how much for a cup of tea and a biscuit?'

'you need not to pay sir...
That old man walking away...
he paid up for both you and him...'

The man...chaiwallah smiled...

'but...'
he was so surprised...
'yes...that man...we know him...for he paints on city's abandoned walls at night...
We love him...
And he had confided to me
While paying up the bill
That your face resembled his son's...'
The chaiwallah explained hurriedly...
And started pouring tea from kettle into rows of glasses neatly arranged...
Customers were coming in...
Tea break at office lane was on...

'o...where his son now?'
he asked...
'he had died last year...
Right here...
At this spot...
While crossing the street
Unmindful...
he was young...'

he stood surprised for a while...
The man old with bamboo stave and a bag full of paint brushes had gone...
he could not find him in the crowd...
But the light springy breeze
And the thin shadowy feel
Were there still...

he thought of running towards the circle...

And then he looked at his motorcycle...
he rode on...
Towards the circle...

'a son must try to find his father...
If he is a true son...'

he thought
And Father Mackenzie's face
he remembered...

he went from first to third gear...
In quick time...
Zigzagging...
he was in a terrible hurry...
Was he not?

How can one move if you are there?

Tell me...
How can one move
If there you are?
So poor little cuddly thing?
Tell me...
How can one
Make journeys wide and far?
If someone like you are there...
So poor little helpless being?
Tell me...
How can one move
To meet the limit
Of the unlimited space and dimensions...
If you are somehow coming there
So poor little cuddly being?

A journey...a spectacle...

Driving almost all the last ten miles
Feeling sleepy with Petre by his side
Snoring hard...
Francesco felt...
he needed a smoke...
So thinking
the mini truck
he sided...
Down they were gliding
Down a mountain...
Last night they had spent near
The dormant crater...
Samples they had collected in vials
he and his friend and guide Petre...

Now...
'i need a bit of adrenaline push
A smoke...'
Francesco thought...
Parking the car on the slope
putting it on both
Gear and handbrake...

Petre...
he was sleeping still...
The seat inclined fine...

Francesco stood
Leaning against the bonnet...
A sky...
Dark...
And a clear rounded white moon...
The sky...unobstructed by any thing...
From the mountain range
And the cutting
Looked dark and still clear
The moon...O dear...
She had lent enough light...
By his chronometer
It was only three fifty five...

The eastern sky he looked
A canvas developing...
The painter ...
He...
Might be preparing
His brushes and colors...
Francesco took his puff...

he waited...

At four five...
he knew He got started...

First a jet flew...
Across the eastern view
A thin sharp white line...
And then ...
By four fifteen
Things started changing...

He had started painting...
He...
The master art...
Ribbons of clouds..three
Appeared visible...
Three ribbons...
And soon
By four thirty...
Those ribbons were all pink and orange...
And in between those long wide bands
The blue color appeared with slight grey...
A day ...
It had started...

Francesco lit up his second cigarette...
'i need to wake Petre up...
he must see the spectacle...'
Thinking this
Keeping his eyes fixed on the sky
he knocked at the glass...
'hey Petre dear...wake up..kiddo...'
he said...
Impatient a little bit...

'the vials are at the back...
In trunk...if you them need...'
Came a reply...
Petre in his dreams ...in sleep
Thought of vials...

The sky...
Those pinkish orangy ribbons of cotton
Like took more colors...
They looked like colored cotton bands...
Yellow...
Orange...
Pink...
Blue...
Grey...
Light purple even...
'mio dio!
A spectacle...'
The moon
Staying still constant...
Had gone to sleep
Fading slow...
In the lap of a whitish snow
Like cloudy bed...
But that was another part...
Of the same sky...
And the east...
It was a feast
For eyes...

Exactly four minutes and five seconds...
The thing ran...
He had put his colors
And bands...
And snow...
And light...
And brush strokes...
And Peace...
And kindness...
And calm...
Into the canvas...

After that...
It started to fade out...
Two birds flew across...
Chirping...

And holy cow!
Petre had woken up...
he had come out...
Silent...
He was standing at the other side...
Reclined...
Francesco smiled...
Petre smiled back...

'hey...
Before we get into the car...
i think you need to call her...'
Petre...
Francesco's shadow told him...
Frances smiled...
he searched for his cell phone...
It was there...
In his pocket left...
Of his shorts...
The screen...
It appeared...
'there is no cell connection here...'
Frances told his friend Petre...

'no issue...
At the next stop
Where we would be having coffee...
You can always sit down
And write her a letter...'
Petre said...
Smiling...
Francesco laughed...
Loud...
And they got into the car...
'it must be mid day...
There at Port Alba...'
Francesco thought
As he fired the ignition...

An evening turning to a star...

This evening
Turning
Slow
Into a night
Is like
A young woman
Getting wiser...

This evening
Turning
Slow
Into a night
Is like
A young woman
Getting brighter...

This evening...
Turning
Slow
Into a night
Is like
A young woman
Getting lighter...

An earth fairy perhaps...
Getting loosened
From all bounds
To be there...
In the vast...
To be just there...
To be another star...

Another...
The most shining one...

Loving you..after dying and gaining birth...

he looked at the infinite glory of the Sun
And the power of His supreme Love
As presented to his eyes
In forms of children shouting...clouting and mock fighting...
In the park...like living life as fun...
And the green staccato rhythm as implanted by the trees...
The Spring like an enchantress coming to his skin...
Cuddling with hope...
And joy...

he felt he had become
Another form...
A Prometheus?
Perhaps...
A tortured man
By Jupiter...
And
Also the man who had loved back Life...
A man who had seen the darkest of the dark
Enough
To see the heavenly spark...
A man who had seen Hope dying
Under a wreck of heavy ruin...
A death...
And rose from there only loving more...

he looked at the streets...
The roads...
And like a child
Born
Out
Of
A
Tortured Man
he nodded
And smiled...

And His glory
With which he felt reconciled
Only dropped joy more...
And he thought
It was time to break into a song...
A song...
For someone...
An Isabel perhaps...
An Isabel of his own...

A squirrel and a humming bird...

A squirrel running fast
With a nut held in his mouth shut
Met a humming bird...

'why in a hurry mate?'
The bird asked the fast
The restless busy body...
The squirrel...

'O got to carry
This food
For me and my family...'
The squirrel talked...fast...

'and you?'
The squirrel asked...
The bird
With white breast
And wings blue the deepest...

'well...
I am in search
Not for food though
But of Love...
Love that broadens me...
Helping me more
To flap my wings the fastest...
To also hibernate at one fifteenth of my normal state...
To love you...this tree...and that...
To love that birdling who had starved...
To love that angry unknowing cat
Who being enraged on me spat...
To love all my foes...
All enemies...
To love them more than you my friend...'

She said...
The tiny hummingbird blue
With white breast that only love did sew...

And the squirrel...
The boy...
The kid so innocent...
he just sat quiet
At the tiny blue bird's feet...
And thought...
'why not i give her an offering?'

And dropping the nut
he let it roll...
For the rows and columns of ants...
Whose little holes were filled by flood...
And who were living without food for long...

'hey..the nut got away...'
The hummingbird warned...
But the squirrel smiled...
'i got enough at my store...
i don't need really anymore...
But...i need you as my friend...
i need your hands to me extended...'

'O sure...
Sure...
Why not?'
Saying this the bird stretched her blue wings
And the squirrel upon them fell asleep...

Getting to know her...one morn...

'God!
Haven't ever heard so many birds
Singing and chirping in unison...
What for?
Why this joyous motion?'
he thought
as he stopped
In a midst of unprecedented greenery
A dawn yet to break out
A night yet to close out...
An idyllic scenery...

'you are so thirsty...
Are you not?'
he heard a chirp...
A sweet chirp...
And looking back
he found her...
A girlish woman
In her blue and white...
A swan...

'yes...
i am...
And so i am here...
But ...
Tell me bird...
Why this chirp?
This incessant song?'

'celebration...
We are all celebrating Life...
And being birds
We know exact
When to celebrate
And how...

Just listen...
To the celebration...'

She said
The bird of the blue...
The white swan...

And sitting on a log
he by her side...
Heard...
So many songs...

'tweet tweet...
Tu-rutu tu-rutu...
t turu t turu...
Tut tut tut tut...'

Endless they seemed...
A cacophony...

'why you choose this hour?'
he asked...
Still in a trance...
A sense of pure honey
Dripping somewhere within...

'for at the dawn
We birds know
We got another life
Another day...
To live...
To celebrate...

So we sing out
Loud
Sing songs of love...
Express our biggest widest dreams...
Our joys...
Our everything...
That's how we start the day
For we know come what may
This morning we got
A moment to reckon
With hope and pristine love...
So we sing
Loving us...
Our sense of being...
And Life...'
She sang
Soft
Telling him...
The secret of their being...

'but then...
Why cuckoos sing
the whole day of spring?'

'O their clan is the most poetic...
They live and die with spring
To only spring they stick
For in other seasons they have too many works...
In other seasons they have all hardships...
Only in spring
They are let out free
By the He...
So they take spring
Into them
Till they get the satiety...
And get enough
To survive all hurricanes and storms...
All chill of winter...
All leafless life of autumn...
All scorching heat of summer...
Poets are like that...
They survive on memories...
Happy ones...
That's their clan...'

She explained smiling...
he looked at her
White skirt...
White top...
With yellow painted flowers
And her blue crystal eyes...

'Zeus is up
Awake...
And I have to go now...
I need to fly...
My friend...'

Saying this she smiled again...
he felt a happy pain
Somewhere in his heart...
But true friends never part...
he knew that...
So he stood up
And watched
How she had taken her flight
And standing tiny
he only her admired...

When she shone...

She like a calm
Shone ...
A bit subdued...
Just like one
After a mass
At a church...
Engrossed...
Uplifted...
Touched
By her God...

She shone
In her own glow
Of love...
As Meera found perhaps...
Or Radha...
Love maddening yet so much blessed
That she shone in her whitest dress...
She shone in her peace...
She shone in her depth...
She shone in her sinking feel...
She shone in her sleepy restive ways...

The moon ...
She shone in her philos...
In her eros...
In her agape...
In her beauteous glorified rounded shape...

And
By her
Every bit of atmosphere...
Shone...
From the outer one
To the innermost...
By her...
And
The calm dropped
On every little blade of grass...
On every pebble on the road...
On every face of the earth...

A shooting based on a monsoon twilight script...

'i think monsoon and clouds and rain and the Sun...
They are the best friends...'
he looking up again
Thought
(God knows how many times he had looked up
To the sky...
Even when he was riding his motorcycle...)

C.V.Raman probably had
A better idea
Of spectrum...
Of light...
How rainy drops act as prisms...
Causing deflections so unnaturally bright...
Luminous...

Luminosity spread across
The sky...
The darkish pinkish orangy...
The trees looked caught in the same spot
As if one great director of films
Had made them stand so
And through his lightmeter had adjusted every bit of light
Absorbed and reflected...
The streets...
They shone too
As if they were also part of a movie set...
Based on love in monsoon twilight...

The characters...
They moved...
Played...
Danced...
Perfectly sequenced...

And he...
The traveler
Just got a glimpse of the shooting done...

On sly...
Sitting on his bike...
Silent...

Deified...

'Isabel...'
Francesco called...demurred
Voice somewhat sad...
'what?'
Pat came the reply...
She was there...
For him she was there any given time...
For she took him as her child...
And she looked...
At his eyes...
Tired...

'told you...
The journey might be killing...
You can't alone do everything...
Told you...
Have I not?'
Isabella patting Francesco's cheeks tried
To keep up him...
his spirit sometimes drooping...

'but then i got you...
Haven't i?'
Francesco asked...
Looking into her eyes...
For an answer...
A reply...

'si...'
Isabella smiled...

And he...
Frances thought
He had arrived...
Into him
And also in Isabel...
he smiled
And
Looking still into her neopolitan eyes...
Blue...
Deep...
A deity...

he muttered
Humbled...
'grazie...'

A story of two dolphins...

Once a man
Brave and strong
Went to sea...
Leaving his love
At the shore waiting...

The man being brave
And the bread earner
Had to leave his love
At the shore waiting...

And soon his tiny boat
Became a dot in her eyes
Waiting as she was at the shore
All with her anxious eyes...for him...

But the evening had a storm to rage
And the boat never did return...
She...cried 'bu'...several times...
'bu' in her cries meant a 'No...' vehement...

But he never came...
And she...
Thought of going to the sea herself...

No one heard of them
After that...
No one...

Only a few weeks after that
Two baby dolphins arrived...
Right there...
And people were amazed
By their jumps at moon lit night...
And 'bu...'
Both of them sounded right...

Tearing across the shore...
The sea...

At a mexican cafe...

'amigo mio...como estas?'
She asked...
Seeing him...
The cafe was about to be closed...
And a song by Mazz was still audible...

'strange..'
he thought...
'beg your pardon...do i know you? Somehow?'
he asked...hesitant...
She stood...
Looking at him for a while...
And then slowly replied...
'I think I need to tell you
A recipe...
Of chicken soup tortilla...
Homemade one...
A can of sliced tomato...
And chilli powder...
And olive oil poured
Handsome...
Chicken pieces boneless some...
Aroma filling the room
From kitchen...
One evening...
And a song...
Like the one on...
Remember?'

Saying this she
Leaving him perplexed
And perturbed...
Walked towards the door...

'the cafe is going to be closed...hello! Sir?'
he heard someone knocking off his dream...

Of a cafe...
A song by Mazz...
And he opened his eyes...
'que bonito...'
he muttered...
And took up his key chain
From the table...

A dip into her...the river...and a birth...

'aha...'
the moment he slipped in,
he dipped in...
And exclaimed distinct...
Thus...

he had dipped in...hadn't he?
The cool of the river of the morn...
Sweeping...

The same river feminine who
Had made a journey
From Uttarakhand...
Through several cities...
Towns...villages...
Carrying wastes and sewage...
Still she...flowing pure
Having rocks and minerals and elements to cure
Of her all impurities...

The same one which someone in time ancient
Prayed for, like a proper saint
And was Given...
By the omnipotent...
The same she...
The river...
Of Life...
Genesis...

The same she
Dipped in he...
After a journey of a morn
From night to Light...
And only exclaimed with ease...
feeling aches and numbness his
Going away...being washed
he just gushed
'aha...'
And standing half filled
By her soothing water...
he closed his eyes...

his wet torso
The breeze kissed...
And he felt how
The Sun through the clouds
Of monsoon peeped
All over his
Wet body...arms...face...
felt he goosebumps
Body hair sprouting out...
As if he was being born...
Again...
Again on a blessed morn...

he heard nothing...
Only felt water on his skin...
Lapping...
Laughing...
As if playing...
A slight tremble...
A toss...
he was like momentarily lost...
Or was it for ages?
was he standing there for too long?
he did not grasp...
Only heard songs...
Songs all over him...
Wrapping and enveloping him...
Songs from the sky...
Songs of cranes flying...
Songs of the He...
Songs of the She...
Songs...
From the Himalayas...
From Manas Sarovar...
For even as far
As Atlantic...
Dreams of seagulls
And dolphins...

he stood
Motionless...
Only the river...
She understood...
Properly...
How he...
Dipped in...
Sunk...

A prayer for her...who got that dream...

'seeing the blue in your eyes
Is like getting one inch more
Nearer to Him...
Seeing the white in your dress
Is like getting one metre more
Nearer to Him...
Seeing you on two arms half folded
Resting your chin...
Looking at the sky...with clouds so white...
Absent and lost...
In dreams of someone...
Your favoured one...
Your love...
Is like finding my Lord in you...'

he muttered...
Seeing her...
By the window hers...
Through which the day light fell
On her soft face lit up...
And her eyes...so transient...

'she must be
Having a journey...
Of her own...
Very very own...
Very self possessed one...
Like that perhaps...
Leonardo had...
When he conceived Monalisa...
Or that kind of a dream
Must have Jibanananda seen
When he thought of Banalata...'

he thought and muttered...
Not disturbing her...
'let her be...
In her dreams...
Her flight...
Let her be...
Drenched in Light...'

he prayed...
And silently retired...

Post match swim? A river...

And he sat down...
Playing forty minutes...
Football...
his limbs were numb...
And his friends...
They sat down too...

Sweating
They all...
The ball kissed by dewy grass shone
Still...
And he heard his young friends talking...
One said:
'God! Could have passed the ball
To the left...
Before the defender rushed in...'

'or you could have back kicked...
I was there...
You did not notice me...'

'no...
The centre line went too up...'

'no I did not...
I was only standing half...'

'and you fell into offside trap...'

The analysis continued...

he heard their animated discussions...

These post match dissections
he just loves them...

And looked he at the ball...
Shiny glistening leather...

And a white feather
Stray...
By the morning breeze on float...
Came and dropped...
On the ball itself...

'a blessing?'
he thought...

'hey guys!
Let's do one thing...
Each of us home going
Do some work...
We write down our exploits
And errors...
And we would be meeting again...
Right here...
After lunch...

We need more practice...
The match is near...'

he said...
his friends nodded...

'but before we go home
What about having something?
Like...
Going straight to the river
And having a cool dip?
A swim?'

Someone suggested...

And he and his young adventurers...
They rose up...
The river was calling them...
She must be flowing...
Cool...
Glistening...

Artemis revisiting...

'you dreamt of me...
And so I am here...'
Said she...
In bows and arrows...
Like a huntress...
A deer by her side
Standing...
Calm...
Smiling...
Both of them...

he looked at the beauty...
White garland of rose over her neck...
White blossoms like armlets...
Spreading fragnance so ambrosaic...

Her face was shiny...
As if she had worn some kind of a cream...
Straight from some heavenly parlour...

She was youngish...
Her voice had tenderness...

'who are you?
An angel?'

he asked...
Could not remove his curious bedazzled eyes
From her...

'you wrote about me...
Once...
And you forgot?'

She asked...
Smiling...

he looked at her eyes...
Benign...like a sea bluish green...
Her hair...braided and tied by twines...

'Artemis?
Twin sister of Apollo?
Daughter of Zeus and Leto?'

he gushed...
Recognising her...
Finally...

She smiled...
The deer...
She smiled too...

'you dreamt...
About me...
Aren't you?
Last night?
When the moonlight
Fell through the curtain of leaves...
Trembling in the breeze...
On your sleepy face...
And you prayed...
Your left palm
On your breast...
To Zeus...
To Apollo...
Seeking Peace...
And tranquil Life...
So...
See?
I am here...
With my deer...'
She informed...
She the omniscient informed...

he bowed...
And on the grass...
Which had wild flowers...
White with yellow dots at the center...
Smiling in the breeze...
he bowed...
To touch her feet...

The lamb of a traveler...

On the side mirror
Flashing lights sketched
Only hurriedness...
And indicators of cars-
They appeared like bulbs not required...
he thought...
On road home...
The breeze making him sleepy...
Loving and caressing his arms and neck...
he thought he was by love only decked...
he felt genteel to the most...
as if he to meekness raising a toast...
'agnus dei...'
A perfect lamb...
Not the one terrified though...
But the one who only heard Him slow...
Softly murmuring a song...
In his ears he heard that for long...
Like a music meant for Life...
Like something only to deep dive...

A few kilometres more...
Tired he the traveler having heels sore...
Dreamt sleep on a grassy bed...
Under the sky painted darkish red...

A promise...eternal...

Sometimes...even a promise is as good as the real take...
A promise...so full of monsoon...
A promise full of rainy breeze...
A promise of moisture on the lips...
A promise so naturally bestowed...
Never be faked...

Like the twilight of a day...
And a sky lit up by dying light...
Not seen blatant...
Covered by clouds...
But felt and seen by eyes...
Eyes that see the real
And eyes that get the unreal too...

Sometimes a promise is as good as a deal
Than any too apparent feel...
A promise of a rain...
A promise of a monsoon happening somewhere
And she will be coming soon...

That kind of a promise...
An act of Faith...absolute...

Like this flowery breezy twilight...
Red red blossoms dropping on soul mine...
From thousands of krishnachuras...
Yellow yellow blossoms falling too
From millions of radhachuras...

A promise of a day
Coming to a course already traversed...
Beautifully...
And more to be covered...
A beautiful...wonderous...fantastical tour...
A promise of an opened door...
A promise...
So pleasant...
Like rain drops soft...incessant...

Regeneration...a conversation...

'Frances...
Your mom's photo...
i placed it at the parlour...
And...
i see it at the stairs...
On the wall...
i am confused...
You took it there?'
Isabella asked
Confusion writ on her childish face...
In her white long skirt
And pink bordered dress
She appeared like a doll...

'si...'
Francesco replied...
Working out something on paper...
Revising his own writeup...

'purche?'
Isabella was confused...

'Dear...'
Francesco looked up...
Smiling...
'why don't you sit
For a while...
And let me clarify...'
Francesco smiled again...

'i got works Frances...'
'i know...
You got works...
But certain things are even greater
Than works...
Like knowing...
Knowing is believing...
Knowing is Faith...
Knowing is a journey so good...
Like knowing Death
Is a staircase...
A regeneration...
A restart...
A reboot...

Mother passed away...
Ten years...
Almost...
A decade...
But i remember it was her journey
Beginning...
Her rebooting...
Hence she is at the stairs...
Climbing...
And more properly placed...
Than at a parlour...
A showcase...'
Francesco clarified...
And looked at his Isabel...
White and pink...

A girl...
A child...

Frances started again...
A recitation...
Solemn...

'The person is divine...unshaped
He is outside and inside...unborn
Without breath,without mind,pure,
Higher than the highest imperishable...'

'Gita?'
Isabella asked...smiling...
'no...For a change...
Dear...
From Upanisads...
All the same...
The Mundaka one...
All the same...
You can call it a song...
A rhythm divine...
The conservation of mass theory...
A Tagore...
A Wordsworth...
An Einstein...
A Copernicus...
A Newton...
Anyone's work...
For divinity is everywhere...
Upanisads are everywhere too...dear...
So also Gita...
On leaves on grass...
On petals...
On you...
On me...
On Abramo...
Donya...
Cicero...
At the pigeon pooped alley
Beside Tabachchi lotto store...'
Francesco smiled...

Isabella...
Smiled back...
'in my works...too?'

'assolutamente!'

A death for Him...a prayer...

This sleepy cloudy morn...
These coconut trees and palms...
Leafy painting they how evoke
Against the sky which water like sponge soak...

This monsoon so pleasant mystic
This morn so balmy ascetic...
This life so silent and blessed...
This noiseless painless death...

This He and Only He manifest
This Love reaching Agape...
This connect with a Carol...a kind song...
This euthanasia for which Buddha longed...

This June coming like a vagabondish charm
This dream of July a rain filled mid term...

O Lord!
i wish i cry...
O Lord
i wish at Your feet i just die...
And be born again as per Your wish...
To lead a life with Peace unleashed...

A playground and six trees...

'one...two...three...'
Counted he
The trees...
Six in number they stood
Somnambulant
Like six old men...
Wise...
Perfectly alive in rise...

'i think i have been here before...
And played a football match here
On this particular ground
One monsoon after rain
With childhood friends...
Yes!
Those trees they were there then
Probably one more
They were then seven...
Yes!
They were seven...
And there was a goalpost painted white
At the extreme right...
Facing west...
The horizontal top bar of which
Had the middle bit inclined...
Downy...
And for that one goal we missed...
The shot rebounded...
Hitting the bar...
Yes!
i remember!
i had been here once
On this ground still green
After last night's rain softer and yielding...'

he thought...

Standing on the ground
Of his one childhood...
With six trees standing too...
And the benign milky curd like Sun
Collaborating his view...

And two cranes at the fringe
Of the ground played...
Where the ground even...ended
And a marshy land took over...

he stood happy breezy sunny
Like a new born lover...

City to country ride...one evening...

'when the evening is so cool
And when the moon is still
Under the shroud of translucent cover of cloud visible...
Why not i take the road?'
Asking himself he rode...
The cruise...
'first half of the mile
i will be the slowest...'
he planned navigating a chart...

'A country...muffassil kind?
Why not?'
he thought...
And the road he took...

Ahoy!
After an hour or so
When the city faded
And the tridentlights died natural
And the people's cries and hootings
Of buses and vehicles almost ceased...
he felt he smelt the jasmine breeze...
And rain drops still accumulated on semi dark long leaves
he noted down in his mind...

But then why again this sudden hype?
A few decorative lights...
A flashing bulb...
A small crowd thronging at a ground...
White tubelights...
Rubbing against rusticity bright...

Ahoy!
A village fair!
Simple people in simple attire...
At the evening they had thronged in queues they waited pretty long...

A canopy...big...a shed...
A simple penny entry gate...
A big wheel...rolling on...
A crying child held by a peasant woman strong...
A nut seller's tirade...
A tree nearby shadowy calm bred...
An evening far away from the crowd
And yet so much crowd
Simple though not so loud...

A drizzling hope and joy settling quiet...
A life to be lived right...

City to country a journey so good
At a village fair he solemnised stood...

She the sacred and cool evening...

The evening...
She came after a spell of rain...
Fresh...moist...
As if she had bathed
And had worn
Her saree meant for a special occasion...
As if she had prayed to her lord
For the rain
All through those six days sultry...
She chose simple things for her dressing up...apparel...so paltry...

A rounded spot on her forehead
Red...
And a creamy orangy saree
Matched
With a red border...

The evening came
Like a woman out of her prayer...
Straight from the temple...
Chaste and simple...
Washed hair...
Shine...and black-
so divine...

And she walked slow...
Vermillion flakes visibly tangible on her brow...
And coolness emanating
Against a western orange setting...

She walked by the park
Children still running...too eager to cash in
The day's last spark...
They had a match a bit delayed
By the rain...

She walked past the lake...
Love birds counting anniversaries of May...

She walked past a library lane quiet
Three old men reading newspapers under yellow spot lights...

She walked past the terminus...
Buses coming home with people tired so out of gas...

She walked past a painter's studio
A man in colored apron standing arms akimbo
Lost in his world of Vinci and Picasso...

She walked past...
The evening sacred and cool
Touching all and sundry
and a great fool...

The bridge on the river and a journey to heaven...

The bridge wooden looking fragile
Still went to the other side
Of the river...
The other side
Full of green tall trees...
And their tops swept in the breeze...

The boy and the girl
Were in the middle
Of the bridge...
Looking weak...
Making screeching sounds
Every time they tried
To move their feet...
The moth eaten planks looked like waiting
For their feet to cause them leave
The strings rusty and fall steep
Into the blue river...

The boy had eyes fixed on the green
The other side...
'loving colors and the breeze...
i think i should try
To go to the other side...
To those tall trees...incense bearing...
So fascinating...
But...'

The boy stopped here...
The girl had her eyes on the boy's
And nothing else did she see...

'what?'
The girl asked...

'i can't risk it...
You...how can i risk?'
The boy looking at the sleepy wavy green murmured...

'you love that place...na?'
The girl asked...

The boy bent his head to right...
To the extreme
To show his willingness...

The girl flashed a sunny smile...
Her ribbon she knotted tight...
Her shoes she took in her left hand
And the other hand
She extended to the boy...

'let's go...'

She said smiling...

And the two...
They walked along
Side by side
Over the moth eaten fragile bridge...
Which could break and fall
And slip straight into the river...
But the river was so blue...
And the sky too...
And the land on the other side-
It was so green...

A journey they started thus
based on Faith...
They were mere teens
And had no dearth of that...godly sense...
They had only innocence
And no apple tree around
And no Satanic shape
In form of a serpent...
To lure them...
To them tempt...

They had only God
And no Lucifer...
Perhaps...

So they walked...
And reached...
The other side unhurt...
To Heaven...

To Isabel... (an impassioned address)

Hey Isabel...
Where are you?
Am i not dying for you?
hey Isabel...
What do your earbells tell?
O i am cut and bruised and felled!
hey Isabel...
Abuses fly rapid like a storm
And malign hearts conspire a half chance torn...
But i am still standing like a sage
For have i not also seen glorious days?
Have i not taken part in three generation's funeral?
Have i not sipped blood and gall?
hey Isabel...
Have i not ripped knife into my own bones?
Have i not gifted a sanguine rose?
Have i not prayed with a pure heart
'mea culpa...'
without being haunted by any speck of doubt?
hey Isabel...
The road seems long and tiring and full of thorns...
But have i not worn wooden shoes like an ascetic born?
Have i not bent and stooped to touch feet of all?
Have i not tasted the venomous gall?
hey Isabel...
Where are you?
O the sky is still like a morn blue...
hey Isabel...
Apologies for being so much  passionate...
hey Isabel...
The bus had gone far and i am so so late...
hey Isabel...
got only prayers ringing for peace...
like a man in grave dreaming a kiss...
hey Isabel...
Sorry for being so lost without calm
But knowing taken not any wrong turn...
i pray to God
And also to you the same...
hey Isabel...
Where are you ?
my imagined dame?

Waking up...also a journey...

Atop the build
So by yellow lights blazed
The architect
Stood...

The iron rods were jutting out the same
Out of concrete...

'seen the light?'
He asked...
The kid nodded...
'seen the green?'
The kid nodded again...
'how far have you transgressed?'
Was the next question
Whispered as if...
Contemplative...
'not far...
Cause i am still tied...'

He looked at the kid...
'naturally...
Tied we are all kid...
Tied we are the same...
But then
There is also the flight...
Love life...
Joie de vivre...
Remember?
The deepest root
Going down in search of water and minerals?
And birds and birdlings on chirp...
And tired traveler sleeping off under a shade of a big banyan?
Remember?
You once wrote a whole world on that...
Remember?
You had Anu...
Monideepa...
Ved...
Sonai...the little girl...
And so much of being virtual...
Mind...
And so much real...
And Agape...
Remember?
Those one lakh words?
Remember?
A pestilence stricken city?
Before that?
And Saurav?
And his childish revolt?
And remember
That Gandharaj tree?
Your mother?
The biting cold?
The hallucinogenic trance?
Remember?'

The architect smiled...
The yellow light painted joy
Upon his old wrinkled face...
His nose top glistening...
His eyebrows shining like a pair of bows...
Bent perfect...
Sharp...
Penetrating...
Deep...
The kid stared at Him
Amazed...
he thought he should bow...
he was about to do so...
Feeling weak at knees...

'stand erect...
Be drenched by the saffron of the cloud...'
He the old millionaire
Muttered...
Audibly good...

The city from the top
Looked like a space
Being painted all saffron...
And gold...
The kid looked up...
The sky was blue...
And it was another experience...
Of waking up...

Remembrance of the Father...

finding the white swan
Flying across...
The Sun rising gold
he thought she by her mere passing him told
he had not trodden along the road
To that architectural marvel-
A building old made of white marble...
For long...

he thought...
he was at Nuova Marina...
and the white swan
Like a ballerina
Dancing to the tune of the breeze...
Flew by...
Gently...swooping down low
Before rising against the gold of the sun...
As if to remind and show
him the path ordained...
The Faith...

And Cicero...
The youngish speedracer of the whole of Napoli...
Thought of Father Mackenzie...
he imagined His calm face
His white blinding dress
And soft kiss...

And so many other things
Like His slightly bent gait...
His humourous sense...
His insight...
His bending down to appreciate
A grass flower waking up...

And the seven kilometres
he glided...
In two and half minutes...
Thinking only of Him...
He standing white...
Bright
And an altarpiece...
Made of glass...
Forming a perspective...
Through which the gold entered like rays
Of joy...

And also
Cicero
the youngish speedracer
Felt...
How gold melt
And seeped from top to bottom...

he sped...

With the swan in his heart...
The gold in his head
And the Father all over his soul...

A moon lit evening...and one impressionist...

'had i been Claude Monet
i would have captured perfect
And created a work...
Naming it
Impression,lunarscape...
Much like the Sunrise one...
But on a different platform...
Differed Space
And Time too...'
he thought
Looking at the moon
Through the bamboo thicket
Peeping like a little girl
Playing hide and seek...
One evening
So heartwarming...

he looked at her
her silvery moist face
Without any cosmetic
Any adornment artificial...

'aha...
She is so much like a dream
And alas
Even if He is so kind
So wealthy...
So rich...
i am so poor...
Not a Claude Monet
To create a canvas pure
Of an impression
Cast so vivid
But lost in transit...'

he thought
As real engagements caught him
The table was made ready
And he had to attend a party...
Away from the Moon...
Amidst hurly burly...

A painting and a boy...

It was snowing like cotton
and the evening had only white
All over it...
The boy stood there at the station gate
With his eyes filled with paints
He thought he witnessed
A beautiful evening again...
Looking up as he saw flakes
Of snow circling and dancing mid air suspended by the magic
Of the wind...
He his overcoat tightened
And looked ahead...
The road leading to the gate was all white
And the rows of yellow streetlights-
How they lent hues on the snow...
Yellow and blue and darkish shadows...
The golden rails of the stairs
Marble under a thin cover of white
Under the faint loony light
Glistened like real gold...
And he the boy stood there
As if he was struck by some painting so moving...so bold...

A painting of a station gate some centuries old
And a little boy standing right there
On a snowy evening with moonlight fair...

A dream of a white colt...

'seen a white colt...
Bianco cavallino...
Last night
In my dream...'
Francesco told
Not told...
he thought...
Not did he think
he did sink
Into the dream...
Of the colt white
Running free...
Running happy...
Running like a wind
Of the sea...
Breathless...

he did sink
And Isabel?

She just sat...
Her cheeks were so pink
And she was also participating...
Into that run...
She relating...
She transcending...
Slow...
To a white little dream of a colt...
Running breathless
With the wind...
Amidst heavenly green...
A dream he had seen...
Of bianco cavallino...

Silk...the lake and the Sun...

When the golden orb appeared
Like a round plate
A silky saree orangy pink spread
On float... wavy
On the lake...
he saw...

A saree with golden hue
Too-
Spread
and by the breeze trembled...

he looked
as he saw the creamy golden spread
'perhaps i have seen sarees like that...
In handloom expos...
In the weavers' fair...
Silk...
Soft...
Wavy...
With borders thin...
A light greenish one...
But they bear only a likeness...
By the sun they were never so blessed...'

he thought
Looking at the creamy golden spread
Like a silk...
With a round motif of the sun
Appearing right
In the middle of the lake
Afloat...

Like Diana Hay...like la dolce vita...

'Like Diana Hay...
Had i cooked...'
he thought
As he looked the outdoor
The sea opening her greenish blue door
And on the grill eggplants
And lamb pieces...
Smoke...

And to decorate
Two tablespoons
Of yoghurt...
With chopped coriander leaves...
And cucumber leaves too!

'like Diana Hay...
i wish i lived...'
he thought...
The sea...
The bluish green...
The breeze...
And
La dolce vita!

The poets of the fall and a carnival of God...

'to breathe the name of your saviour...
...
...
To taste the flavour of blame...'
The song altered and occured
In his mind
One breezy a bit cloudy
Cool evening...
Just setting in
Like a dream
On the road
So much painted red
By blossoms that bled
Only Agape...
The highest form...
Of living...

And he looked up
The sky so stupidly beautiful
The road so insanely dipped
Into songs of cuckoos...
And other unknown birds...

They are all singing...
They are all part of springy monsoon...
They are all connected by fastest wireless network
To Him...
The God...

And he sang
The Carnival...
'The poets
Of the fall...'

he and Pamela... one Madrid afternoon...

She came
In her dark blue jacket
And blue skirt...
Perfect...
A thin gold bangle on her left wrist
And white collar neatly placed...
At table twenty six
She came straight...

he seeing her
Signalled
The bellboy
And ordered
Goat cheese
And omellette...
And of course the afternoon tea...

She sat down
Calm...
Composure writ
On her face...

he by then wrote a scribble
On the white paper napkin...

She sipped tea...
The afternoon in Madrid...
Looked pleasing...
The cafe looked at peace
Though other few tables had people...
Laughing...guffawing...sneering...jeering...
Loud...unprovoked...
Too gaudy...too showy...

Pamela looked at ease
he too...
with his poesy...
Busy...

Pamela drank tea...
Her eyes noted the paper napkin...
She said nothing...

After twenty minutes past three
She
Got up...
Running late perhaps for some work...

'Madrid's lanes are very clumsy nowadays...'
she remarked...
And while she was getting up
he noticed she
Taking the paper napkin
With the scribble...

he said nothing
Barring standing up...
Showing courtesy...

And soon after she left...
he ordered the bellboy to bring in another cup of tea...
he thought he needed to write...
Just he got an idea...
It just clicked
In his white mind...

California to Port Alba...a letter...

'Dear...
Left at the cupboard
A Bible wrapped in red...
And a star...
And a ribbon blue...

And if you want to know
i am fine...
Only now the time -spatial logs
Keep me busy...
Not often
But not infrequent also...

The distance you measured?
Well...
Last night...
i did a bit...
And it turned out
To be...
Something like ten thousand three hundred eighty nine point eight six...
That in kilometres...
And you can call it
Six thousand four hundred and fifty five point nine five miles...
And if you think in nautical miles
It would be a bit less...
Around five thousand something, i guess...

And now the time...

Today is twentieth here...
Yours is twenty first...
And mine is night fair
And yours is a morn...
Six o clock? i guess so...

But...
As i told you...
Left a Bible wrapped in red
And a star...
(Gabriel's...remember?)
And the blue ribbon...

So...
That is it for now
That's all you needed to know...
That's all i needed to tell...

Here i this damn math end...'

-Francesco Ghirlandaio.

Game of Football and Nash...

When by the road
At a land so far unexplored
he saw kids playing
Football...
he had to stop...
A game of football
And how could he miss that?
football that had
Given him so much...
Rains...sunshine...broken ankle...
Dreams...flowery garlands...
Sweat.. Hard muscles...and friendship...

How can he not miss that?
So...
he stopped...
Parked himself under a tree
A medium sized one
Not sprawling
But leafy sure...
And incidentally with plastered seat
Underneath it
Neat...
he sat...
feeling the cool on his back
And the breeze
Taking light just faint
And under that creamy golden paint
A bunch of kids
And a game of football...

he them watched...

One particular kid
In blue jersey and white shorts
Number nine...
'he is fast...
he is a possibility...
But he dribbles too much
And keeps the ball in hold...
For himself he plays...'
he observed...

The game was on...
The blue jersey
Nine
Whom he chose
Was coolly moving on
To the opponent's goal post...
One-to-one...
A sideback also from his side
Had come up...

'minus the ball to your side back...'
he...sitting like a fan
Under a small banyan
Wished...

But the kid...
Inexperienced a bit
Dribbled for an opening
And the goalie pounced for the ball...
The number nine
Inspite of a possibility
The goal missed...

The sideback seemingly got disappointed...

He was too...

'these kids need to know
One thing...
What prevents an ideal situation from happening...
Prisoner's dilemma...

They need to know that...
Prisoner's dilemma causes always the ruin...'

Thinking this
he thought he should call the kids...
But to his surprise
The game ended there
And the kid...
Number nine
And others too...
They were retreating...
From the field
Going back home perhaps...
Their sweaty jerseys they had opened...
They were walking home bare...
Talking within themselves...
Their exploits and errors...

'hey number nine...'
he called out...
The kid looked up...
The jersey in his hand...
Number nine still visible...
Folded though...

'you need to do the minus
Sometimes
When you are not sure
Of your
Positional co ordinate
And you can't shoot home a point...'
he yelled...softly
Advisory...
The kid stopped for a while...
Looked at his eyes...
his smiling traveler's indulgent face...
And then he yelled back...
'next morn ...
We all will be here...
At six...
And we want you to be with us
We want to know certain tricks
To shoot goals
And to cooperate...
To know
More about dilemmas
And the theory of the game...'

he nodded immediate...
'Nash would be too much for them
We could just talk the application next day...
And a bit of fun...
A zing...
For them...'
he thought...
Smiling...

Mea culpa...

'mea culpa...'
the priest only shook his head
And kept jabbering the same...
'mea culpa...'
he shook his head
And repeated...

'where's our target? The girl we spotted?
The girl whom we want to be hanged?
Answer us...
Hey you!'
The men in uniforms sought an answer...

The priest would not tell...
He would just shake his head...
His cape had fallen...
His grey head got revealed...
His eyes looked sullen...

But he smiled...
Knowing the girl he perhaps saved
By saying 'mea culpa...'
'i am ready to be hanged...if you may...'
He repeated...
And in his mind's eyes
He knew he saw
The escapade
Of the girl
In his dress
Which he her gave...
Only to her save...

And those men in black nazi uniform
They thought it was time to put their grips strong
Upon him...
So they pounced on him...

But did not he pray a million times
To Him seeking forgiveness?
And to His feet he his blood sacrificed?

They pounced but found
The dress worn of a woman
By the priest only lied there...
And he had become permeable
Absolute.

A note important...and some works...

'left for you that worksheet...
On your desktop...
You need to that keep...'
She had left a note
On his computer deliberate...

He had works to do...
Workaholic... wasn't he?
Works...
A small life...
And a lot of works...

So
She thought it would be wise
To leave certain notes
On the desktop...
And she colored it...
Highlighted...
He must not it miss...

He had his works...
Columns of smoke to build
Over an ashtray...
And then to write some...
An architect...
And a God...
And groceries to be still maintained
And electricity bills were to be paid...
Medicinal plants for an old man...
A special biscuit can for the puppy...
A hurricane tour to keep some old friends happy...
A pending infrastructural issue...
Toilet running out of tissue...
A bank note with a dubious thread...

And most importantly...
A road that to a journey proper led...

He had surely works...
Catching pictures of storks...
And also of the sky blue as reflected on a small puddle clean...
To memorise multiplication table of nineteen...
(for the kid at home who always sleeps on his breast)
And songs to be downloaded straight...
Some mails marked as spam...
Some submissions marked as pretty dumb
Some movies not yet seen but stored...
To think out another urban folklore...
To connect with New Jersey via skype®...
words sixteen hundred or more to type...

But the note
On the desktop highlighted
He thought he properly it sighted...