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Showing posts from May, 2013

'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...h…

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 inca…

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 stat…

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…

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 eve…

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…

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 coll…

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 o…

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…

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
Dra…

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 …

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 eve…

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 tel…

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 …

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…

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...
'techno…

'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...
N…

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…

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 …

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...

How can one move if you are there?

Image
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 wa…

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 …

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 hon…

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 goosebum…

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 mee…

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...
T…

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..…

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 th…

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…

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…

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 term…

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 willingne…

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 onl…

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 c…

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 ente…

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 noth…

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 Ghirlanda…

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 …

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 li…

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 t…