Saturday, August 31, 2013

If you ask me...

If You ask me,
What this evening is for you?

i'll say nothing
For Your paintings
Hath taken over me,
For you like a drizzling
Has taken me over...

A religious revival, an evening on wait,

A religious revival,
Like a write
Waits there at the top of a tree,
Getting the feel of the mist
Of the evening,

Like waits the devout
For blessing,
Like waits the television
For a soap set in the state of wonder,
Like waits the train
To be whistled off,
Like waits a picture
In a painter's mind,
Like waits a song
For a throat to be sung...

A religious evening
Like a write
Waits there
On the top of a tree
Getting the feel of the mist
Of the evening.

Like a festivity, like a Salim Hill...

Like a festivity,
Like a Salim Hill,
This evening
Carries a scene
Of a shed,
Overlooking the mist
Just descending
Onto the fading day light,

And a picture
Arrives, divine,
Like the pictures
Of transcendence,
Like pictures
Of Futurity...
Like pictures
Of birth of a discovery,
Amidst the fun filled city...

A festivity...
Of life,
A billboard
Of Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Declaring non material a poem.

On an autumn painting, and an eternity...

It was an oil paint
Yet beautiful,
A road through which a figure was walking,
A figure walking as if
The walk was the only

Surrounding that figure
The canvas had a flavour of an aura,
A few lamp posts stood still

And the walk continued,
Eternalised by art,
The painting,
Like all art forms eternalise moments,
Like tunes,
Like sculpture,
Like written forms,
Like fictions,
Like each word
Like each stroke of a paintbrush,

Every part of this existence
Carries meaningful sense...

This walking paint
Of the autumn sky post noon faint,
Reminded me that
Once again...

With three paintbrushes, one red, one white, and one silvery gold...

With three paintbrushes
Taken me the road,
One red,
One white,
And one silvery gold,

These three
me believes can change me
And you too

Got three paintbrushes,
One red
As oxygenated

One white
As peaceful restive silent holy light,
As sublime writes,
As the cloudy dreams,
As philos like beam,

Holding night and day
Silvery gold,
For both the Moon and the Sun,


(Note : paintbrushes can act as awesome stones to wear on fingers!)

This mirth, this joyous birth, this dip into a happiness...

This birth
This joyous state,
This fate,
Written as a gate,
By Him,
The glory of the Sun,
On paddy field waving mine,
Like a mind
Like a birth of a songy dawn,

me prays
Comes gold
Like on every body on this tiny lonely planet,

me prays
This birth happens
To All,

Gone to the days of sun, and the stars hidden in light,

Gone to the days
Of light,
As the day breaks
With new journeys to the world
And to the home,

Gone to the days
Of holy torch,
As the day blooms
With newer pictures, paints, non stop
And those stars hidden in light,

Gone to the days
Of the guitar
Strummed at Ghalib
Street in my city,
musically near,

Gone to the days
Of Reynolds'
The shop with a glass door
Opening to beats of heart, a splendid drum,

Gone to the days
Of catching the bus,
From your abandoned terminus,
With painted brush working there wonders...

Like a movie clip, like through a paddy field,

Like a movie clip,
Like running through a paddy field,
me sees a boy running,
Through the hedges and bushes,
Through blooming kash,
me sees this time a boy on run,
his hands stretched,
he is running singing as liberated,
As joy of being merged with the smell of the country,
As a movie clip of high acclaim,
As a run to a dream,
A run eternal,
A run forever young,
A run to reach that whistle,
A run to reach the sky,
A run to reach the inner scape innocent,
A run to reach where he can forever fly,

Like a movie clip
Like a run through the paddy field,
me sees a boy in shorts and bare torso,
Running, like a speed,
Like a joy bursting
Which by the run only he can trim...
Which comes overpouring
Like his smiling tiny face,
Like his bare bodied dress...

A boy,
A movie clip,
A run,
A kash flowery autumnal song
They all
In me, within...

( Note: on a famous oft interpreted, cited, analysed, criticised, movie clip by Satyajit Ray, as timed by me and me mind, this autumnal morn)

Seen You in Your World...Aurora,

Seen You
In Your World
Of  Happy Happy Pale pinkish white,
Your room,
A casement opening to a dream,
A table white
Upon which Your flowery jewels shine bright,
A bunch of Your favourite roses,
White kept on a vase grecian,
Like a bevy of sublime beauty,

Your satiety,
In your standing gait,
Your white flowing gown,
Your curtain a light brown,
Like a Paradise,
A Heaven so real,

Seen you
In your blessed state,
So happy,
As if in dream
you have already taken
A walking,

And believe it
Or not,
me also walks
Beside The Tiber,
The Ganges...

For there
In moments
me in art catches your satiety...
The Goddess of Light,

This morn, You the river, stay as a paint, a pastel dream...

This morn
You The River,
Stay as a Pastel dream,
For your flow
Is undying,
Your sprite
me hath seen
Since my birth,
Nineteen seventies,
By your banks,

And birth of my forefathers too...
By You,
Your awesome,
Your flow eternal,

In every cities of the world,
In every first seedy birth of civilisation,
You were there...
The origin,
The River...

Such a sky, cool, such an infinite a song,

Such a sky,
Capturing songs of God,
When arrives like a song,
me finds wonder
And happiness
And eyes opened sees
The infinite seas
Of Kindness His,
Falling like autumnal idol
Of a power incarnate,
The idea of Devi
The idea of Durga,

Such a sky
Capturing the holiness of The God's eyes
When arrives like a song,
me feels wonder
And Happiness
Of the Infinite His,
Happening all along,
The Idea of Autumn,
The idea of Spring,

O they happen all along...
Like the Sky eternal happens,
Like the cool breeze carries mirthful sense,
Like the misty air tells us how life is always good,
Like the birth of kash flowers happens for years as understood...

Such a sky,
Always begins such a day,
Eternalised in a moment.

Friday, August 30, 2013

Now, it is time to go, for the water mark is rising,

It is time to go,
For the water mark has risen
To touch the sea nymph
As sleep of love
Sweet to me probably on the way,
It is time, is it not?
To sleep and die
On watery tide
Reaching a level
To touch the sea nymph?

It is time
To reach the sky
Of your ocean
By a swim,
Like a Seamus dream...

(Note: as a tribute to Sesmus Heaney, dob: 13th april,1939,
passed away: 30th august, 2013)

Wish to you send a bunch of Heaney...

Wish to you send a bunch
Of Heaney...
He passed
He turned
He ran,
He fled,

He ran and fled
For He could not withstand
"Mud grenades"
Thrown at Him
Perhaps ...


A death of a Naturalist
This evening as a news comes
So teary,
So unbearable,
So bearable,

Wish to send
A bunch of Heaney...
To you...

(Note: as a tribute to Seamus Heaney, )

Imagine, dear, that you are there...

That you are there
The park of children bereft of fear
Gets decked up by an evening fair,

That you are there
The trees dazzle under lampposts red
And on the field me stands as a banyan bred,

That you are there
The moon like silver a dream like comes
And a terrible goodness falls like golden dust some,

That you are there
This onset of autumn draws a song in lines
And the city gets sink in your holy holy shines,

Told you so, have not i, that this twilight would be an evening bright?

Told you so,
Have not i?
That this twilight,
Would be evening bright,

And by feathery light
Would you dancing come,
Like a peacock
In white dressy balm,
Tip toeing as a finger just placed on a string,

Told you so
Have not i?
That this twilight
Would euthanasia bring...

And by mind
Only would you come,
Like a peacock
In white dressy balm,
Tiptoeing as a finger just placed on a string,

me for you would paintings bring...
Paintings as colory as an evening can hold,
Paintings decorating your holy holy soul,
Paintings as good as seen by mind,
Paintings as bright as to make you blind,

Told you so
Have not i?
me have burned
in flame my flesh
And only mind me carries meself...

A twilight , a burning violin, and a cohen,

Wish to take you there
Where the river
With the awesome twilight of a day,
And there
me my burning violin
Would for you play,

And the twilight
Would descend
On us
Like a sense,
Of a soothe,
A calm,
A dying dyed Sun,

Wish to take you there,
Where the river
With the awesome twilight of a day,
And there
me my burning violin
Would for you play,

And the twilight
Would drop like a soothe
A calm,
A rivery flow as life becomes...

And you would see me then
Like a cohen,*
But by dying sun,

Of a twilight...

(Note: cohen : priest)

'It matters not how strait the gate'

Such wonderous transit of an afternoon
Such blessed be my scroll
Post noon gorging works like cabbage,

With a soul now me
Stands finally at your gate,

And me
Like Henley
'It matters not how strait the gate'
Me rules my fate
Only You remain
As Whitman...
The Captain.

A wood cut, an engraving, You,

In You
me finds
Clio, Thalia, Erato, Entrepe, Polyhymnia,
Even Calliope,
In you me finds songy

The Unheard, The Unseen,
In you me finds,this autumn ,
A Fall,
The Book of Emblems,
An Andrea Alciato,
Like a woodcut,
An engraving,
A devise,
A secular,
A religious,
A red red rise,

Shadows of leaves, trembling like life...

Seen those shadows trembling
Of leaves happy dancing
In the breeze,
This morn,
Have you seen 'em?
How they paint pictures moving evolving changing
By the light of  such a beauty of a day?

How they transpire a song,
Like sending wave of a deep lust of life, forever stretched?
Really a long road to run,
Like a happy birth every morn of a splendid Sun...

Seen those cars playing radios
Calling all people to come out of coops like rodeos?
Seen that love story Segal young,
How by driving the road one found born?

Seen this life every moment getting life,
Seen this life trembling happy youthful ripe?

A collage...a wish...

Sometimes wish to put
A collage of me
As it stood,
Before you,
Before this time,
And perhaps ever after,
Wish to write you a flowery chapter,
Like putting a bunch of flowers,
A few Orhan Pamuks,
Museum of innocence,
A scroll unfurled like a fluttering breeze
With only happy happy falling blue gold morn like sense,
And p three one double o's,
And a compact songy disc
On the sky flashing a rainbow,
As a collage true,
Dressed by this arrive of autumn
Like clouds of cotton...

A Holy Pyre...

By putting one
To Your Holy Pyre,
One can truely be
A Vanquished,
And conquerer too...

And this morn
By your sweet autumnal light
Penetrating me soul, me born,
Sees your holiness
Like a pyre being lit
Much like He, the wordsmith
Once saw-
A soft glow emanating,
Golden orangy, pinkish red,
A light,
Spreading from a cave
Sage like a mirthful morn...

On that table, mine...

On that table mine,
You left
Some artefacts,
A watery bowl,
And a vase
With shiuli dreams,
And a rainbow...

When this morn colors spray,

When this morn colors sprays,
Like green on leaves,
Like soft pinkish gold on the road,
Like mellowed melting  light,

Tell me, what else can one do
Other than taking a flight
To that colored way of holding Your bright?

When the morn so beautiful like colors spread
On the sky, the lighted mind, and the glowing wide,
What else can one do
Barring dipping one's mind into Your so Magnanimous hues...

When this morn colors thus sprays,
One knows one has nothing to do on such a day,
For The Void hath colors sent to be spread,
As colors found butterflies while flying to the rainbow,
As colors found that soapy bubble catching Your glow,
As colors bangles get glassy by hearth,
As colors springy autumn brings on earth,
As colors become the free of flying kites,
As colors reign in a smiling child's eyes,
As colors dews enhance by falling on petals right...
As colors on water floating drops of oil evoke,
As colors once me found in your one glance,
a sublime brush painting a wonderous colory dance...

(Note: the photograph attached here was taken by me, once)

Just that beauty of the sky...and just this life,

Just that beauty of the sky,
And just this life,
Who ever missed 'em
Must be missing everything...
Like missing the far,
Like missing the songs of rooster,
Like missing one's own destiny,
Like missing friends,
Like missing heaven,

Just this morn
Just this life again to be born,
Who ever missed 'em,
Must be missing everything...
Like missing the cool windy flow,
Like missing the easy water color glow,
Like missing those pastel colored trees,
Like missing this lovely breeze,
Like missing the wings of Hope,

Just this knowing,
Just this road left opened by The Unknowing,
Who ever missed 'em,
Must be missing one self,
Like missing travels only by Him,
Like finding Artemis in Green,
Like smelling the air with heart,
Like going flowing by songy mirth,
Like rowing on and on by freedom of mind,

Just this...
Who ever missed these,
Must be missing life,
And the sleepy cool moist of dripping time...

Thursday, August 29, 2013

This evening, is like searching Pegasus

This evening,
Gone out
To search him,
The white horse with a gleam
Soft in his eyes
As soft as once seen that Graves^,
After discovering the Nine Daughters* from the caves
Of Mount Helicon,

This evening,
Gone out
To search him,
The white horse with a gleam,
Soft in his eyes,
As soft as once wrote that Robert in a dream,
After finding Zeus and Mnemosyne's blessed beam
Of Hippocrene,

This evening
Gone out
To search him,


(Note: ^Robert Graves,the poet,
             *Nine daughters: the daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne,)

Like a runaway colt...

Like a runaway colt,
Like a breeze,
Of being free,
Took the road, dear,
Thinking only your festive face...
As this autumn on the sky,
Has started to paint
Your breathe,
Your colour,
Your Incomparable,

Like a colt
From a fable,
me took the road...

Don't cry, For Mary Ann, Charlie...

Don't cry
For Mary Ann,
For you had already woken up to the dawn,
And if she had left you,
She had left you with your poems
To be borne,
Don't cry
For Mary Ann,
Hey Charlie!
Cause you got to wake again
To see the dawn breaking there
On your street at Pensylvennia,

See there the Sun is smiling at you
And from there by solar waves
Your Mary Ann is showering Her happy dews
For you,
Wake up,
Cause you got roads long still to walk,
Don't cry,
Come'n we catch the Bus
To sing all the way
To Her gate...

(Note: on a poem, 'fading' by a friend, Charlie Giardino,which carried pathos too much, for his love, Mary Ann, dying at a hospital bed...thank you Charlie, for your wonderous poem, and all the good wishes for your book)

That road to Tahiti, oneday wish could for you me paint...

That road to Tahiti,
Wish for you
Oneday i could paint,
The way You by air me this morn send,
A road,
A few distant hills,
And country all around,
So earthly, so green...

That road,
As simple as this morn perhaps,
Going on
Going forever,

Like that road
To Tahiti,
Which by air to me mind drops,
As Your bless,
So so simple and soft,
Filled with grass to tread on,

That road
To Tahiti,
For you me would drop...

(Note: on a painting bearing the title 'the road in Tahiti')

Why this smoke? Why this mist?

Why this smoke ?
Why this mist?

Are you crying?
Happy tears?

God knows...
me knows not...

Only like Coleman
This lovely morn as lands,
Don't you realise,
When your heart is on fire
Smoke gets you, and the cool air?

(Note: on a song by Coleman Hawkins...)

A morn, like a Purnendu Patri,

This morn is like a Purnendu Patri,
you as if having a conversation with me,
Like me asking you
What you did last night
Returning home,
And you telling me,
you thought of crying,
And me by you being asked,
What me had done,
And me replying
me wrote how scribbles some,
And how me left them afloat
Into the breezy moist cool air
So that they could reach your perfumed hair...

And me talking more,
Like how my words and alphabets
Bearing deep deep red
Graded in terms faded
To pink first
Then further to be white and pure,
As if Your divine bless me endured
To be a saint myself,

Then you asking me...
So many other queries,
Like in which pocket matchsticks me carried,
And when they particularly evoked
A blue blue flame,
In which city lane
The waterlogging was most wavy,
Which movie this year used 3d animation most savvy,
And when the sky last
Dropped down on me
To catch rosy petals ...

So many conversations
Come this morn,
Like Purnendu Patri,
To me...

(Note: this one is inspired by a book of poems by Purnendu Patri, a scribbler and a poet and a painter of a kind, and timed by this still moist lovely morn;
The photo used is from his book of poems, 'Kothopokathan', pg 16, pub. Ananda Publishers Pvt. Ltd, second edition, june, 1983)

Of colors and a notebook...

Some mornings
Bring only pictures,
Like a mild drizzle ...
And a notebook mine
Getting filled...

Like Your unseen string
Of colors gradually getting hold
Of me,
Like discovering the child in me,
Like finding my mind in your perfume,
Like walking by mind,
Like walking several miles
Like walking for three hundred years,
Like reaching Your Grand mansion...

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Left half of me as a cigarette,

Left half of me
As a cigarette
At the town
For you as my Love,
The other half I have taken with me
As Your fire,
To help travel mine to the country,
To that small hut by a beauty
Of a tree,

Left half of me
As a cigarette
Under your red carpet,
And carried the other half as Your fire
To my travels to the country,
A Beauty...

Found them there, the mother and the baby...

Perhaps it was destined too
That me would get pictures of You,
Mother, O how you,
Keep coming back
To me like a beauty
Like my heart's sole joy,
Like my only way of getting bless...

Like there You me sees
Again and again,
In this joyous rain,

By Jove,

I see you there
Holding in Your softest palms
Your Holy Child,
O sleeping wrapped
Feet almost touching His mouth,

O what a Bless !
What a bliss!
To see You there
Like a mother
Holding a child,
And the breeze autumnal mild,
Carrying blossoms so fragrant there...

(Note : on a painting by Sam Carlos, thanks to Sue Lobo,)

An umbrella, a poem,

There once me stood
Looking at you
Getting wet
By the breezy monsoon late,
The umbrella yours,
Colored such,
Had got blown away
Like songs of March,
Only a poem mine
Sheltered us...

Will tread across salty sea, till me reaches...

Will tread across all salty seas,
Till me crosses the sorrows of sorrowful beach,
Till me reaches that mermaid's songs unleashed,
Till me reaches the flock of colored fish,
Till all desires end, and me becomes fully diminished,

Will tread across all salty seas
Till me crosses all pains of fleas, and mosquito bites,
Till me reaches the most wonderous lights,
Till me reaches where no fences erect lethal sense,
Till me reaches You forever like Eirene* dense,

Will tread across all salty tears
Till me crosses all meaningless fears,
Till me reaches no longer words like swear,
Till me reaches infant Ploutos ^ as held by only kindness,
Till me reaches perfect to deserve Your Grace.

(Note:  *Eirene: Greek Goddess of Peace,
               ^Ploutos: Eirene's son, )

Perhaps She hath made a Rachel in you,

SHE hath made
A Rachel in you,
For me sees how
Gold like curls
Dancing down flows on your silver,
It was your path
To flow thus
as Holy Water pass
From generation to generation,
As if that had been Your truest motion,

She hath thought of Rachel true,
For me sees water in your happy views,

In thankfulness soaring,
In inexpressible joy outpouring,

me bows,
me bows,

She hath made
A Rachel in  you...

(Note: Rachel is a mythical figure, )

well, I am your ramblin man, and a quiet boy!

Know what?
'I am your ramblin man, '

I Am,

Your ramblin man true,
And a quiet quiet boy too...
For in my quietude
me catches you,
'Down in Alabama...'
me turns a lama,
And in my city,
me finds your pity,
As kind dropping on me,
And me becomes a city
Of joy meself,

Guess what?
'I am your ramblin man,'

I Am,

Your ramblin man true,
And a quiet quiet boy too...
For in my quietude
me catches you...
'Down in Alabama...'
me turns a lama,
And in my city,
me finds your smiles,
As generous as rains on me,
And me becomes me,
Of your goodness,

me is Your rambling man...

(Note: based on a song by Weylon Jennings...and timed by me, and me mind, )

Let there be flowers on green, like blue, like pink, all over...

Let there be
Flowers all over the greens,
Blooming pink,
Blooming blue,
For there lies
me knows your propriety, Your perfect hue,

Let there be
Only Peaceful satiety,
All over the greens,
Blooming pink,
Blooming bluish deep,
For there You keep
your profound, your bless,
Your Best, your dreams, Your kiss...

Let there be...
Flowers of abundance,
Like a wave of happiness like a tremble soft,
Like a beautiful mirthful wonderous soul saving dance...

Let there be...
you in me,
And me in you,
And never defeated,
By any bullet shots,
Or wars of centuries at bloody cost,

For there lies Peace,
For there lies dreams of Owen,
Or Brooke, or Sassoon,
There we weave lovely silk
In our cocoons...

Once me traveled to a lotus pond...

Once me traveled
To a lotus pond,
It had been a day perhaps
Like this rainy autumnal,
With fragrance sweet
Of kash and shiuli waiting for a bloom,
And me then wrote
On leaves green
Thousand years is a little room,

Once me traveled like a photograph
To a place where me found a lotus pond,
At a Garden at the fringes of my city,
Carrying names of Your Holy Beauty,
And that day, was a blessed one,
For there me in photos captured poems mine some,
Lain across over the horizon of a rainy day,
O that had been such a joyous Holy Day...

(Note : the photograph attached here was taken by me few years back, when on a rainy day, late monsoon kind,me went to a garden, at the fringes of my city, Kolkata,with a colleague /friend of mine, Mr.N. Chakraborty, )

me poor selling love balloons to you, free,

poor, am i not?
Still me sells
Balloons red
Amidst the black and grey,
For me knows this grey and black
Just needs an edit,

So me sells
Like balloons
Of love,
In city streets,
For that is the meaning of Your Poverty...
For there you me reaches,
your red, your blessed veins of blood,
your haemoglobin,
your blue of bird like a Robin,
your blessed soul,
Your Best,
Your Silver,
Your Gold,
Your Strength,
Your Awesome,
Your Hopefulness,

So me sells...
Ballooons red
On city streets
Poor am i not?

(Note: the photo attached was taken by me, some years back, while going around my City of Joy,Kolkata;
I did an edit of the photo, using photoshop, to retain only the redness of those balloons, understandably.)

This morn, me sending you an invite...

This morn, me sends you an invite
To travel with me to the passage of  poetic light,
This morn, me sends you a letter,
To live with me life going from good to better,
This morn, me sends you illusion happy,
For me knows Thou guide me to be sappy,
This morn, me prays without fears,
To make you hold me hands to win happy tears,
This morn, me turns meself to wine,
Poured to help you live like silvery rained shine,
This morn, dear, is a morn to shrug off the dark,
For this morn, on streets, rained, seeds a divine spark,

This morn, me kneels You a prayer,
To get a bless to live in strings of Your lyre,
This morn, me bows to Your Courtesy,
For me knows You send cool breeze from the sea like poesy,

This morn, me sends all an invite,
To travel with Light, through the tunnel so silvery wet Bright.

Let me take you to The Forever,

Let me take you to The Forever,
my flowing music where glows like a Happy river,
Let me take you to that field green,
my softest writes where Your name paints unseen,
Let me take you to that town,
Where The Illusion Yours defeats all frowns,
Let me take you to that Unreal,
Where reality sings music blessed Ethereal,
Let me take you to that changed world by degree,
Where no one cries, weeps, or cursefully disagrees,
Let me hold your eyes in my eyes,
Where songs are borne by Your Love drenched dyes,
Let me help you to close all outside,
So that you with me gets a connect by only mirth inside,
Let me take you to the Eternity,
Where this morn brings a moist wet glorified spontaneity...

Let me take you to that whistle of the mail,
Where like a happy awakening Faith and Charity like Love weave a tale,
Of being a part of this big vast spread universe,
Of being a part of lines written in bold like a sacred verse.

When the morn, lighted soft, breaks,

Whence the Morn, lighted soft,
Breaks with mellowed face,
Of You calling for a birth,
How can i hold back mirth?

So, me looks up,
The sky Yours where paints colors
Yellowish pale like a tale
Of hope where unfurls a sail,

And this morn, such blessed
Cool breeze by music dressed,
Upon my wandering soul, drops
Light of your face, mellowed soft,

And by that Holy revelation,
Eyes mine reach for goodness,
Of Your sky so beautifully spread wide,
Of Your cape of Good Hope, your art, your finesse...

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Its time, for sleep, forYou, a prayer too...

'Its time...'
Like that chair umpire
Of Wimbledon sky
Blue white morn like
Time calls
For a sleep,
A rest to Your state,
For you,
me prays too,
For all,
For this nightfall
Is only for the morn,
And a night is lighted
For the morn sighted
In mirror,
A mirror as Yeats turned a lamp,
A mirror by mimetic art,
Long long ago,
Even before
you were here,
Or me was,
Even before times arrived,
Even before that,

Before heavens and you were there

For You and Heaven
Are entwined,

'Its time...'
The time chimes,
And me sees you going to sleep,
For sleep keeps all the goodness true,
For sleep keeps collected happiness as proper residue,
Only to be lighted more,
By morn, another,

A night such deified, calls to me to fade away,

When a night such deified comes
A fading music me churns,
As churns Your tune,
As me catches wet even sand dunes,
When a night such happy retires
A fading last fills my air,
And me finds how Your piety,
Turns music to Eternity,
When a night such splendour sings
Fills me with your unheard strings,
me hears only restful Peace
Singing tales which me in last birth missed,
And me turns a night lighted fine,
and me writes dreams for your blessed shine,


me knows
By this window glass
How hope all dark demurs
me knows
By this rest sublime,
Flowing water having a tryst with this smallest time.

(Note: nothing mythical or mystic about it. It is all about an end of a blessed day, and a drizzling night descending, with hope, and blessedness. )

Like diamonds on the windshield, like Tom, an evening,

Like diamonds on the windshield,
Driving long,
Glass catching drops of drizzle sparkling
And a song enveloping me,
This evening comes,
like a tune by herself,
O such a luxurious Home bound trail,
And me chugging like a country boat,
With a small motor
Fitted at the rear
Moves on this evening,
So beautiful a blessing,
Like Tom singing clear,
Diamonds on the windshield...
So moist, so sparkling...

(Note : on a song by Tom Waits, 'Diamonds on my windshield', and a drizzling evening Home bound)

Like a dropping of a boat by cloud into a picture...

Like dropping a boat by cloud
Just like a float,
Straight to a picture as painted in wavy blue green,
This evening brings an imagery unreal,
Yet so binding real that me looks
At the picture, so out of the book,
Was it Italian?
Was it Venetian?
Or Spanish?

The picture with colors
Like a float
Of a boat
Takes me away
To another time
Another dimension
Another art
Another life...

life smiling
Wavy motions for me keeping there
Right on the beautiful watery layer,
Perhaps sings once more,
The Beauty as The Truth,
As beauty as life,
As truth as evolution,
A perennial motion,
As Time as Truth,
And Beauty as a bless of a Ruth,

As Keats graphically once wrote...
As tunes of Gita evokes,
Like Eternal.

(Note : on a painting by Christian Schloe, Moonlight Serenade, and time as this , interfused , thanks to Sue Lobo, for her poem on the same painting . )

Wish this evening be ...

Wish this evening
me sings
A parting,
Like once Browning did,
Taking the straight long road,
Where He found the rays drenching the broad,
With hopes, with abundance, with fulfilment,
For hearts wandering aimless,
Wish for all, You, bring that glowing west,
Glowing beauteous with pinkish rays,
As the cool breezy watery day prepares for another evening,
Another passage to another time, eternalised, every moment,
By Time Himself, such a glorious chariot, holding all
Yet letting every moment pass by, like a showery blessed Fall,

And me finds poesy sleepy cool,
Coming back, written full,
Like Browning wrote
Taking the long straight road
Hearing the call of the sea,
And the cold of the Sun,
Calling Him bound Eternal.

O this seeded birth, this rained surge, this merge,

O this seeded birth
This rained surge
This merge
Is like going forward
By You,
For you
Seeded this lane,
This path,
This destiny,

And me sees You
Like a movie clip,
Once made
On a street,
Shot in low evening light
A man,
Calling shots,
To another,
Sitting confused on a stool, high,
His eyes
He fixed
On his fingers at work,

O that clip
Whirling tiny balls of fire
To cause a remake,

That seeded
Into me,
Like a clip,
For me knows
It is all part of your evolution,
Your sense deep
To cause a whirl
Merging me more
To your holy scape,
To unravel
Your profound,
Your awesome,
Your  silvery Hope,
Your Dream of making a journey true,
By you
All of you...

For all carry light
Of You,
For all palms
Your psalms,

A discovery,
Is sometimes
Remaining due,

O You,
Your Holy Dew,
Am i not putting a collateral
As me, onto me?
For you?
This rainy rained morn?

(Note: a movie, starring Linda Hamilton, Michael Caine, James Belushi, categorised as comedy/fantasy/romance, released in 1990)

Through this rain, this mist, this breeze,finding bless,

Through this mist,
This rainy screen,
This breeze,
Have you seen
How the calm of His bless arrives?
His balm of Love
Flooding the city lanes,
The library road,
The museum gate,
The footpath with octagonal tiles red,
The blocked 'on repair' road,
The cars parked under a bridge,
The white facade of a tobacco house Virginia,
The metro tunnel insignia,
The lemon shop,
The cart with maizes smoking a lot,
The vapoury haze of that old man standing absent,
The bus stop flooded upto rails halved,
The watery flow carrying away all slush,
The city getting cleaned, wiped, of all dust...

Seen all these
Pictures running uncanned,
How by Supreme Kiss
Of His bliss,
Getting flooded,
The City,
Is getting
As fated?

So dear,
Why not we all be flooded too,
When He hath brought in
His strength of Love,
His Agape,
His soft,
His benediction,
His ways of bestowing cool?
Cooling all,
Even The Sun,

Why not we be silent
And pray for His Holy,
To flood us,

Seeing Your face, wet shine, drizzled,

Seeing Your face,
Wet shine,
Is another part of You
Incomparably true,
Like this morn's drizzling fine,
Like this me writing
You Unwritten lines,
Like writing rhymes,
Like getting into Your State,
Falling cool onto me skin,
Like poesy finally breaking into a flow,
Like embracing Your slow,

Seeing You thus drizzled
Carrying clouds in your eyes of Rains,
Is like causing me eyes to commit,
To reach the hill top, a cliff, a climate summit,
Like this morn causing me a frenzy, a fall,
Like a Boeing landing on runway yours, de gaulle,
Like running through with rhythm soft,
Like feeling the leaves of mine, getting dropped,
And me getting into Your blessed design,
Your act of calling me to your wet shine...

And me sees how by electricity wires
Overhead connecting houses, builds, shops, malls,
Rain drops like diamonds sliding by...

you perhaps thought me too, for this drizzle,

you perhaps thought me
For this drizzle true,
The drops of water never lie,
This sky never be untrue,

Perhaps you,
Holding on to your dreams,
Looking up
Seeing the birth of mirth,
Thought me,

me on the road,
Facing drizzles,
thinks you,
You thought your dreams...

Now it is no longer a Dream, for me knows You are here, right onto me soul,

Now it is no longer a dream,
For this road,
This morn says so,
That You are there
Right onto me soul,
Helping me ride down
All potholes,
All ups
Sans exertion,
All downs,
Only by kneeling down,

Now it is no longer a dream,
For this journey
This smooth,
This thought of You,
Right into me mind,
Feeds me
To be free,
And seeds me,
To fly
To that sky
A curious calm,
As if cloudy moist there
Is held up for long,
Like a beautiful song.

O this road, this mist, is like living in Your arms,

This road
Filled with mist,
And blown by Your cool,
By You kissed,
Is like living in Your arms,
And yet leaving,moving,

Why are You so benign?
Why You drop every other thing
For us? To live Happy thus?

How You thus begin
A day with such a scene,
Your dew from up above dripping,
And me gliding singing,
Only you there, as if me living
All for Your joyous life, always leaving,
As if me taking off all the times,
Yet me moving on the road...


This road
This mist,
And blown by Your Cool,
By You so kissed,
Is like living in Your arms,
And owning a small life,
With open wide ,

This morn getting washed
By misty foggy dew,
This start with Your cycle of getting every day new,
Is like living forever in Your Love laden arms,

And me moving,
Owning this morn,
This road, this life,
This sky, this happy glide...

Monday, August 26, 2013

Like a musical, You ethereal,

Like a musical,
You ethereal,
Maketh me
A romantic comedy storyline,
A play,
A theatre,
Well, is it so?

If you that sow
Upon me,
Like that
Walter Donaldson
Writing a story,
Perfect 1930,
For The Smiles,
me thinks it would be great,
Surely another way
Of reaching the limit
Of our creative best,
The Unlimit,
The Karmatic,
Will it not be?

'You're driving me crazy'
Pasted on every wall,
For you how me changed the world,

Take that,
Take that as my humble offering,
Sans my self,
Of personality,
Which is self diminishing,
O,  by You,
How me
chose that death?
Writing small
All meself,

There is only my bowing,
For You the Unknowing,

For You me is here,
For You me hears,
The musical,
Like Forever,
And musical me

Like that hut, beside low tide, eighteen eighty one,

Like that hut
Beside low low tide
lets go settle,
By that yellowish golden orange,
Go lets settle,
Perhaps there,
Under the sky open and bare,
We could catch our pure,
Our existence closer,
Our infinite,
And perhaps our nights
Like this ,
Full of cool autumnal mind,
Which only beauty finds,
And finds God,

Like that hut,
Beside low low tide,
Lets go settle,
There under the sky bare,
By that nightly gleam,
Go lets dream,
Perhaps there,
We could fine tune our violined times,
Our rising so sublime,
Our blessed alone,
Like heavenly state,
And perhaps there
Claude  Monet
Would drown us
By his canvas so large,
Old one, antiquity,
There we could tie our piety,
Our seperate,
Our fates.

(Note: on a painting, by Claude Monet, 1881, interfused by mind and time, mine, )

What can me say? About You?

What can me say?
About You,
my night, my evening this,
my morn twelve hours back,
my songy tracks,
my pleasant day,
What can me say?
About you,
Your blessed new
On me writing stories,
On me painting maps,
On me sending runaway wide,
On me forcing a travel to you by mind,

And me sees,
your angelic smile,
Cushion pink,
Kitchen sink,
Songs of a movie,
Language spoken Unspoken,
Silver token,
your nightly pillows,
your Saul Bellow,
Singing quiet,

Peaceful sight
Of being Young,
Of being human,
Of being same,
As me...
As me soul,

Seen you in the evening, like a soul, like a dream, a destiny,

Seen you
This evening,
Like a song,
Like a dream,
Like a destiny,

As written in guitar,
In teaplantation scene,
As a world
Of happiness
Of Your supreme Bless,

O how you me give Your escape,
O how you hold me high,
And see,
Can you not?
How by Your winged charms
me flies,
Like dying a dye,
Like a happy happy sigh,
Like a tune,
Calling knocking me,
Asking me
To be
More of an Ode,
A dedication
A tribute,

A tributary,
Of Your bloody mary...

Wonderful, like the feeling the cool,

The rains
Blasted a cool,
How wonderous,
Forming Your Wonderful,
On the trees,
On glass opposite,
On the seize
Of this afternoon,
Of this time, of happy sappy tune,

And wonderful
Becomes you,
In me eyes,
More, than you possibly can,

For the rains,
Blasted a cool
Forming Your Wonderful,
On trees,
On glass opposite,
On the seize
Of this afternoon,
Of this time,
As timed by happy moist life on lease,
A cool of an autumnal breeze.

Do you ever Feel this Rain?

Do you ever Feel this Rain?
Whence on the road She me rains,
O have you ever Seen this drench?
Whence on road She shivers me sends,
Do ya?
Tell me...
Have you seen this cold?
Have you ever melt like hot?
Have ya?
Whence Rains blooms wet sought?
Do you ever Feel this calm?
Whence on road light breeze by joy all joys sum...
Have you ever Felt me?
Like this rains falling onto Your sea...
And getting there mixed,
With Watery You fixed.

O this rain,how carries Your name, Amen.

O this rain,
Carries Your name,

O this thunder
Carry Your light must;

O through this road
me moving
Flashing switch
To vehicles which horribly pass,
Ain't it with you a ride, too, joyous?

Are you not an imagine?
Like a song written,
On this road glittering,
By rays of hope

Are we not fated?
To live this life,
Like stated,

O this rain,
Carries your name,
By God,

Hands of God, feet of Goddess,

O You made me merry,
Like hands of God,
Like feet of Goddess,
O You made me a light trace,
Like a saffron orangey a dress,
Like a Purple Deep*, a haze,
O You made me ethereal string,
Like a jolly autumn, like a young spring,
O You made me strive
For more flight upward,
For more hopes blessed by You The Unsuffered,
O You how make me non linear,
Like eyes Yours sparkling like a river,
Like living without anything to drop a tear,
O You make me how a fixed firm,
Like a country boat, gliding arriving at a blessed haystack, a barn,
O how You her to me sends,
Like my road taking a joyous bend,
O Where have you been so far?
Where You remained so Unopened, a chapter?
Like writing all times there,
Like writing only dreams festive sung by a lyre...

(Note:* Deep Purple, the rock band)

Help me You be lost, in Your mist, in Your Beauty grande,

Help me be Lost
In Your mist,
In Your Beauty Grande`,
In Your Holy Sunny sabbath, a fun day,
Help me be merged,
In Your Best,
In Your deepest,
In Your fragrant shadowy Path,
Help me be born,
In Your Gold,
In Your revelation, An Awesome morn,
In Your smiles falling spreading like awake,
Help me to a take,
Of Your screen shots,
Of your million megapixel photometer blast,
Of Your Time, Life so so magnanimous,
Help me more to this Birth,
Help me you, more, to this Mirth...

Wish to take you far, the freedom of this bright sky,the festive light,

Wish to take you far,
The free of this sky vast unmarred,
Forever where dreams come like Love,
Always where like peace flies the dove,
Wish to take you that far,
The free of this sky so bright and fair,
Wish to sit You where wavy mirth tides,
The hopeful festive light where celebrates always life,
Wish to take you that wide,
The widest of supersix highways,
Where breeze forever in me hair plays,
Forever where notes of music sing joy,
Wish to take you there, your eyes so coy,
And bedeck you with this Light,
With philos remake you Bright,
Wish to collect colors of butterfly wings
And sit you there amidst a revelry youthful green,
And make you feel the balm of music,
How in lines written me soul forever sleeps,
Where no wails, cries, shouts, quarrels reach
Wish there Your Holy me beseech...

Which tune sings, in me, me knows not, but You know,

me knows not
Which tune sings in me heart,
But You,
The All knowing flute,
You know,
Where my birth exact forever stands,
Where for your mystic aromatic lands
my words escaping me, chant,

me knows not
Which picture in me evolves
But You,
The Omnipotent resolve,
You know,
Where my brush full of colors
Sketch effects like echo doppler,
As me by Your holy awake flows like rivers,

me knows not
Which cloud me beckons,
But You,
The Infinite Cloud,
You know sans doubt,
Which creamy scoop of infinite,
me feels all days and evenings and nights,
And which float white, me soul this birth ties.

This birth would have been so useless, had there been no morn...

O this birth,
This thought
Of Your kind
Falling filling my mind,
Of this world, mine, born,
O this blessed lovely morn,
Only to you brings me,
As me wonders to open
my little cramped space
To Your providence,
To have a reopening
Of my book of poesy, as singing
Revealed by your thoughts, bringing
my stanzaic patterns to Your bells,
To your copper which with morn comes ringing,

And me thinks just
This life, this birth,
Would have been
mere a waste,
a sheer useless,
If You morning song,
Had there not been,
Like this festive eternal sing.

How the road runs...

How this road runs
To life, her flow
As Auld lang Syne
Invocation to Piano mine,

How this morn showers
Festive gold on leaves, streets, flowers,
As an alien tune bathes
This morn with an ushering stage,

How the city readies
The dwellers steady
To more walks, rides, runs,
Chasing times as slipping turns,

And that Auld Lang Syne,
Fills me more of pines
To get all over me
The birth of an ecstasy,

Sunday, August 25, 2013

A golden moon, and knowing You,

A golden moon
There whence by Her
Diffused view
Presents her lands...
Like a knowing You
Upon a little knowing me
Unknowing depths implant,
me sees a rowing a boat
On you making a silky move,
As if You there wished a golden review
Of the watery glow,
As if You wished that flow
More more to be continued,
As a wine, faraway in a french vine yard
Discovered and by trance strong brewed,

A golden moon
There whence by Her
Diffused view
Presents Her lands,
Like a knowing You,
Upon little knowing me,
Unknowing depths implant,
me hears the murmur
Of stream, glowing on you...

(Note: on a quote by Gibran, and a golden moon as seen this time)

A calm sun day night, comes every day like,

A calm sun day night
By Your cool
me prays every day like
For that is like Duke Ellington
Expanded to make bright a night
And lighted golden soothe a day,
A calm sun day,
me wishes by your cool blessed
Be comes every day,
For there me knows lies
your glory...
For there me knows
You washed all hurts on me, gory,
For there me feels your tune,
As Duke Ellington
Singing forever,
Singing you, singing long...
For there lies your eternity,
And also mine, a satiety.

Just a song, for an autumnal nightfall,

In silence,
With a lot of care,
Written bare
You with my rhyme
At a time
Whence Your
Holy Dew
To you me drew...
At that time the light
me was born with...

That time sweet
Again lining like a street,
Seeking You me evokes
Knowing how much broke
You me hath turned, by the circle-
Of life and time,

And me finds
Your sweeping love
Draping me,
This autumnal nightfall
Sending me to Your care,
As citylights lamp post like
with me you share,

And in silence
Your Temple in me,
me again senses-
Like your holiness,
A drop of a sleep,
On me soul,
Just like a song,
Filling my daily bowl,
Again, like always,
Arriving in multiplied strengthened
Varied pied Beauteous ways.

Writing You is like a shamanic journey,

Writing you
Is a shamanic journey,
So cool
As cool as a hot air balloon,
Flying away,
A candle held aloft
By paper box kite...

Going up
To reach that sky
To get illusory
With You,
Shining Your studs
Silvery like stars
All over your dress,

Writing you
Is a shamanic journey
So cool
As cool as a hot balloon
Going up
To reach You,
your same the sky,
O there a shaman like
Only by writes me flies...

This quarter of an evening,
As happening,
As life...

Have you ever seen me? Like joy? Like this time?

Have you ever?
Seen me proper?
Have ever you seen me
Like this ?
Like this calming down
Like this CCR
This skyful of mouth
And mouthful of sky...
O so so filled by You
As you calming down
To me,
Have you ever?
Seen me fever?
Seen me like a kiss
Blown by rhyme only by your pink, amiss,
Like this calming down
Like this CCR
This skyful of you,
This You filled a fly...
Have you ever seen me?
Seen me proper?
Like a propeller
Whizzing you dizzy
Like crazy beans
Falling into your cup,
Like a fire unplugged
Like CCR,
This joyous shuttle space
To make you an awesome,
A ball room, a party dress...

Have you seen me,
Silent like a fever?
O you fever...

(Note: having a fever, slight, temperature hovering around by that Hicks digital, 100 degrees, and an afternoon, blessed no doubt)

Numberless, unnumbered, times by Roman turns into handmade warmth, for life, for You,

Finds Roman fonts
Happening outside
Like on platforms emptied
After arrival of trains,
And departure of the same,
Like tea cups kept on a window
Vaporising thoughts to the milky white sky,
Like an assigned number of a cab
Carrying someone like you
As seen from the hurried angle,

O on times Roman,
me finds you on books unread
And read several times,
On heels making smart yet slow calmed taps on wood,
A staircase going up,
On the waving genteel leaves
Of an afternoon like this...

O how they all bring
In theory,

In practice,
me turns all times roman fonts
Into handwritten warm,
A scripture old enough to be termed as fragile,
And a birth new enough to be called festive golden
An afternoon,
Moving on, to become another beauty,
A twilight true,
A twilight yellowish orangy golden pinkish,
Like a sublimation
Of mind,
Like pouring me liquid
Into your container,
A heart.

How, me wishes you were, here, Hear?

O this sunny bright
O this journey to future,
This wonderful day,
O how me wishes
you were here,

O this beauty of an afternoon,
Happy, leisurely,
telling me
Your love,
Your road like
your claps for someone like me ...

how by You gets humbled me?
As if your part, your best blessed drop,
me wishes to drop on your eyes...
Where awakened soul yours leisurely lies...
Just beside,

O this sunny bright,
This sky,
This light,

O how me wishes
you were here...


O how me getting more into a state,
Of happy happy liberated state,
As with mind,
Making flight...
can't you me see?

At your clothesline,
Periodicals idling,
Fan overhead buzzing,
Faint noise of cars going by,
And tunes

O this journey...
O this bright...
Wishes me
You were here.

{ Note: nothing to say, only that it is all about a state ,}

Music borne by the wind, is music born within...

Seen that sky
So so beautifully bright?
Seen the scene?
Life is calling
To walkin'

Lets do a walkin'
Dear, holding hands
As walk the travelers to distant lands,

Lets no do talkin'
For no talking is needed
Now that the music is borne
By the wind, and we are born within...

Lets do walkin'
Just without thinking
For music does the thoughts
Music by we are inseperably wrought...

Lets just do the walk
No talk, only deep soul a merge
We take life to the billboard large...
Flappin' and no talkin'

For seen you the scene
The blue and the green
The red and the white
Seen you me and me in you
A flight to the impossible light...

Keep me songy birth, as mirth, at Your feet,

Keep me songy birth
As a mirth
As my offering
To Your Grace,
To Your Shine
Of a morn such breaking,

Keep me birth such
Like flowers of June, August, March,
As my death
At Your golden dewy autumnal happy Bed,
As the strings there within
For You mine keep me singing,

Keep me as a traveler's account
Insurmountable Hopeful You, to you bound,
As my journeys to Aimless
Your Wandering Wonder,
Your Height of a blaze, a thunder,

Keep me as stream
By You, the Gold,  woven and trimmed
Flowing, hindered, again flowing
Like life grows forever young, growing,

Keep me as a walk to Church,
To Your Mansion,
To your awesome,
As my silent prayer,
Of Love the Holiest
By You such blessed,

Keep me just a grain of salt,
A pure undiluted malt,
As my times glowing
Blown by Your windy perfumed a birth,
A seeded sowing...

Is this an isle of idleness? Is this just that?

Is this an isle of idleness?
That me learning
Your ways to festivity...
Your pity...
Is this just like that?
A fantastic play?


Is this just an idleness?

Let it be,
For can't you see
How endless it has turned this time
This life
Like a generative soul,
Like getting filled a small glassy bowl,
Like flying to you like air,
Like a charm, a spell,
Of Agape,
Which is perennial...

Is it just idle dream
Of a scribbler?

Is it just like that?

Then this happiness be
There forever,
This truth,
This You,


You promise
Just you stay,

For is this not Hope?
Is this not a Rise?
Is this not karma?


Have we not just started a Holy holy day?

Perhaps this wait is eternal, this wait for You,

Perhaps this wait
For You
Was always
me would not have declared-
O You light
How blinding me
You me wake up...

This wait can never be more holy
For this wait is like a folly
Which keeps me there
Every day, every moment, like a dreamy layer...

Perhaps this wait is light...
Like smiling face mine, bright,
Like a free kite,
Like a revelry, eternalised,
Like an undying sprite...

Perhaps this wait
Is like getting full Your bless...
Your cool, your depth,
Your Glory,
Your ambrosaic tunes,
Your Hopes,
Your Joys.

With moist dewy dreams, a morn,festive,

This morn is You
For this morn carries coolness of dew
On shirt collar, eyes, glasses,
Even on mind...
This morn is all yours...

And so me finds
Your ways of calling autumn
To this city...
The little children looking out of car
Smiling at a big poster
Announcing themes...

And as it seems
The sky is beautifully soft
As You from heaven only can festive ideas drop...

And the breeze is extraordinary
For she carries moisture of shiuli dreams...
White and orange...

And here and there
Kash flowers are waiting...
They are,


Saturday, August 24, 2013

Perhaps you are going to sleep, like a moon...

you are going to sleep
Like this night
Sleeping off like a moon,
On Her cottony bed,
So back laid...

Perhaps there
You got your angels own,
Who are singing
A lullaby to you,
So you

To sleep

me decides
To stay

An evening , a slow rock and ...

O this evening
Is filling
me with slow
A snow as if falling
Like a rock ...

Like a dream falling
Pouring this small space
As You cometh
In your purest phase...

An evening
Coming to an end
Like a proper bend
Of a weary road,
Home bound,
With a slow
Getting finally
time to stand bare
Before You

Like standing at The Door
Which gotten by You
At the begin
Of a morn sublime

Only like a drum beat
Falling suiting
The late evening street,

(Note: on listening a slow rock while returning home,)

Like a willow...

Like a willow
Stands there the afternoon
Like a willow
The sweet afternoon cast
Shadowy passages amidst horrific dust...
Like a willow
Without interest
To the surround sound
Absorbing all noises going around
The afternoon a dreamy festive free
On soul...

There are none...
Autumnal monsoon carries fun...

Like a willow
As the afternoon becomes...

(Note: on an afternoon, riding home, listening Joan's song...)

me finds you in crowd... dignified...

me finds You
Struggling a footboard space...
Your saree's end
In wind taken care of,
In crowd...
At autostop,
Like a flower
Amidst grey footing
Of Goliath...
Moving relentless,
Speeding through
Newly installed flyovers,
Like peace filled space...

me finds you like sudden a shower,
In growth of vines
Across the steely columns and lines...
In overwhelming sky
With wings of birds catching a light...
O me you finds
As stands alone
Ann Todd
In Paradine...
With restrained grace...
You me finds
Like a new born race...
Evolved sweet
From sixty three a street,
further on...
as grows the scrapers...

me you finds
like a birth
of celluloid dreams
as golden autumn scene...
walking like a guide
coloring pastel wonderous
on all alleys,lanes,ways...
of The Big City...

evolved sweet
like a joyous street
from sixty three...

{note: the picture used is a clip from a newspaper,of a poster of Satyajit Ray's film, Mahanagar,(The Big City)}

Thousand miles is a traveler Be...

Thousand miles
Is a journey
To a traveler
To be...
A wind,
A flavour,
A savour,
A moist,
A Joyce,

Have you not that heard
Thousand miles
A key?
To travel to the whispers...of Araby...
To where light deepens Ullysses...
To where monumental hopes
Perform an enact...of baseball home,
To run the laser where only sweet wine pours like tracks...
From the blue white autumnal dome,

Thousand miles
Is a journey
To a traveler
To Be...

Now tell me, what you gonna do with me?

Like Stephanie,
Tell me,
What you gonna do with me?


Like Stephanie
Tell me
What you gonna do with me?

Tell me,
What You hath devised?
Where Your keys to symphony lies?
Which path had Frost trodden first?
Where they erected that philosopher's half bust?
Which road had that Renaissance art hidden in every door?
Where the ocean leaves poesy more and more?
Which plant grew in eight months to be a root?
Where the peepul from sky opened a verse of a book?

Like Stephanie
Tell me,
Tell me all,
Before the time
Tells me...
Tells upon

(Note: though the scribble starts with a Stephanie Mills song, it has completely reached another mindscape, me thinks)

You are like a swift shift, you are like a long sluggish note...

You are like a swift shift
Of fingers running on strings,
Plucking, strumming,
You are like a long drag,
A sluggish note,
O you Love divine,
You are like a scripted time, life remade,
As slow as an awakening of a blossom,
As fast as a mountain cascade,

O you are my wish,
my rise,
my demise,

You are like a plectrum flexible,
You are like a high bass,
A soft treble,
A leaf,
A page,
A feather flowing in the breeze,
A dream pasted on the top of a tree
Reaching up to feel the holy sky,
A glory dipped in perfumed state,
A road laid on stones as dark blue asphalt as fate,

O you are swift
A cascade,
And a slow drag, a note
Written in music, as a cloudy white float...

Now play Your Flute, as it is time, Morn mine...

Now play You
Flute upon me,
Now it is as the times
Now play You
On palms me,
your dews,
Now that it is the times
To only be blessed by your silvery chimes,
Now play You
As this morn like an open wide
Plays a songy breeze cool pre autumnal,
Onto soul borne uninhabited, like a perfect Fall,
Now play You,
Tunes yours like a bliss,
As plays on me eyelids
Your colored feeds...
Your Love,
Your Happy, a Seed.

Why can't me paint You, what You encoded, long ago?

Why can't me paint You
Age old and forever new,
Like a Classic,
Like a myth,
Like imagined Truth,
Like the songs of singing Ruth,
Like what once on a pool like a beauty
Upon conscious mind one Unconscious found, as piety,

What You centuries ago embedded
Into this flowing life,
In trees,
Why can't me code in words?

Your splendid,
why can't you take me forever towards
As forever,
As never in small life one,
As eternal, all timed...

As You forever there me soul
Like custodian keep,
In Your deep,
Why can't me finds?
That gem which carries in you my life?

me thought only me,
Perhaps me not properly bowed,
To You, perhaps, me failed to pay obeisance...

But still, You come,
As the benign soft happy light,
As comes love mine...
As comes in her Your Shine...

A morn with You, fresh, bathed,

And the dawn came whence bathed
You met me, at an opening of river like Lethe,
As night often comes to greet the morn,
As rivers come to meet the ocean,
You the ocean met me,
This bathed, fresh, blooming morn,
And the streets looking so cool and wet,
They seemed tuned to your strait
For they took me to You straight...

And the dawn came when bathed
You met me, at an opening of a river like Lethe,
As Tunes come often to meet the strings
As songs to me throat only You as joy bring,
O you, my festive sky of bird flying a morn,
When came bathed, fresh, by moist born,
The city looked so pleasant, so soulful, ascended,
For the city took me to your eyes with festivity painted.

Like a Chris de Burgh, like a song, like a flow,

Like a Chris de Burgh,
Like a song,
The party moved on,
And me thought
me saw her
my river
Rippling flowing
Amidst the crowd,

Like a Chris de Burgh,
Like a song,
The party moved on,
For long,
And me found,
How happy faces came and greeted each other like fate,
How happy hands with happy hands met,

A river
Rippling flowing
me saw
In dream
Moving unnoticed...

Much like that song,
Chris de Burgh sang...

Friday, August 23, 2013

Yes somewhere...destiny lies...

Yes somewhere
our destinies lie
And the journey is really long...
As if me feels having the ride down
This known felt heard smelt town,
The road despite odds is the best thing
We are born for...
There on the road
All gifts and treasures lie...
Only me feels there me rides betwixt a birth and a death
And somewhere on the road
my destiny sings
As sings this beauty of a day,
Cruising through outward
And inward the same...

my destiny lies...
As me flies...
Through drizzle
And a golden afternoon shine,
A holy mix...
And a superb way to move unleashed.

Making a making a time...

Making a journey
Is like making a time...
me feels
Hearing the slow soft rhythmic lines
Getting written somewhere onto papers...white...
As if me is going to the land of delight...

Making a journey
Is like making the travel fine golden days...
deep where lies the blessed...
Soul the Best...

Making a journey
Through the city
Specially at morn
While going to work
Is like catching storks
At the river
Flying around...
Searching life...
As white arrows shooting up...

Making a journey
By the field so sublime
Like youthful dream
Is like never arriving late
To catch the Happy lines...
As they by beauty shine
On painted trees...
On statues towards the Sun as they stand freezed...
On the stream flowing under the bridge...

Wish This Mirthful colors all...

Wish this mirthful
Colors all passages
Of all the journeys...
And colors of festival of life
Fill all spheres...
The newspapers...
The radios...
The terminus...
The bus stops...

The fiftieth floor top...
The second Hooghly bridge...
The roads opening to highways...

Wish all proses be turned into numbers...that stay
Wish all dreams get a color of a day...
As the day breaks
Into a colored morn...
As the day by Helios
Such with glory gets born...
As the Sun sends His page
To deify the day with amaze...
Like awesome...
Like jovial light...

If there had been a possibility...

If there had been
A possibility
me could have captured this beauty
Of the morn...
So cool...dreamy...calm...
Like a perfect Setting...
Of a rise,
And put it into an envelope
And sent to you...

O yes!
With such a beautiful gold
Blue white
Autumnal mist carrying
The morn has arrived...

Wish i could have given such a dawn
A proper welcome...
Wish could have held this beautiful
This blessed
In such deep within
That me
Would be
De sol...

A carnival...

Thursday, August 22, 2013

Always... Like dipping in, to an evening...

life moves flowing...
As flowing move songs
As fluid this evening has turned...

what could be
More blessed
Than retiring to
Festive spirit
On the sky
By the Selene...

And this evening

Like the day has so
Like the evening comes
With a soothe
Of Scorpions...






(note: while listening to a song by Scorpions, returning home, this beautiful evening, a moonlit one)

The gas light...the evening autumnal...monsoony...

Had i been
Mile Davis
me could have worn a Levis
jazzy true and made a concert
Of the evening descending
Like that cool
Gaslight anthem...
Had i been...
A part of the sublime scene
Of water playing a tune receding
me could have sung
A cool lyric that rhymed
To raise an applause
Without any pause...

O had i been bestowed
With that holy songy throat
me would have worked
Out a Mile Davis...
A gaslight anthem
This evening
So rhyme laden

(note: on listening the Gaslight anthem and the cool)

Like a painting...eighteen eighty eight...

Like a painting...
Eighteen eighty eight...
The sky and the earth got dressed
For the ascent
Of joy...
As it happened
Before eyes...

The autumn...
It must have been there...
In the painter's eyes,
That was why
He painted such
With His superb paintbrush...

Eighteen eighty eight vast
Oil on wood
Like a canvas
This afternoon...
As me rode
The road...
After brief spell
The glory shone...

(note: sometimes as beauty comes as painting, here Vincent van Gogh's oil on wood painting is referred. 1888)

'You are a season, seasoned by yourself...'

'You are a season
Seasoned by yourself...'
Someone me wrote,

'In you me finds summer
Winter running through mountain trail
Like a  Hummer,
And spring as a foggy smell dense
Like a parfum sprayed on glass mine, french,
And then your sky is blue and white
As if Christian, you, like a boy of a church,
And your monsoon is horrific,
In your water I just die, I my memories kick,
And your winter,
Like a wandering soul, aimless wait like Pinter,
Your autumn,
Like gas filled red balloons,
Me flies with you,
To get the happiness of your cool dews...'

You are season,
Seasoned by yourself,
Someone me wrote...

(Note: did someone write that to me? Well, I am not sure! )

She has her own story, like rains and the spring...

You know that, do you not?
That Autumn has her own story,
Like winter, spring, monsoon,
Memento mori*...

You know that,
Do you not?
Autumn once a story
On me wrote,
Like catching advertisement datelines...
Like catching young all older songs, eldest of times...
Like coining a catchy phrase
Standing infront of a tree draped golden like a mirthful haze...
Like taking in the aroma of a hookah bar,
Like riding pillion on a friend's bike, who came from far,
Like savouring chocolate tarts spread on creamy layer,
Like taking photo of a rickshaw puller sleeping  easy,
Like finding a flower growing blooming against a grey wall like a daisy,
Like finding art as month long fruit of blood and sweat,
Like catching the snappy, jazzy, pantalooned one suddenly as a poet,
Like blowing watery soapy bubbles filling the air,
Like getting a smell of a perfumed brown hair,

Autumn has her own story,
Like winter, spring, monsoon,
Memento mori...

(Note: this one is a collage of photographs taken by me...really!
*Memento mori=remember that you will die,)

Like seeing Her face...

Like seeing Her face
Lined by brush of paint,
Saw her
This morn,
Smiling, fine,
Biting corner of her lips,
As an artisan her forever keeps...
As a dream,

(Note: on an idol being seen, at an artisan's workshop)

A morn, like autumn, like a festival,

This morn
After rains
Is like an autumn
Ushering in,

The eastern side
Has put up a holy frame
A lighted golden,
By dreams so emboldened,

Like a day out with kids
To the place where last year
We one morn pigeons with corns did feed,
And perhaps caught a car straight
To go to a shop to buy for us some new dresses,
A capri for a little niece
A salwar piece...for another,
And a stray peacock green feather
To be worn by her,
my life's river...

'Will you not buy me a pair of jeans?'
'What about catching a movie at that hall?'
'No! We are going to eat a lot!'
'I would prefer a corner where we would just sit and relax...'
'Hey! Have you paid this year's professional tax?'

Conversations abrupt broke out
Then, as we walked, on the city streets...
The lanes and the alleys,
Passing by retail therapy mood,
An attitude, a mode,
A rowing of a country boat,
On a glitzy road,
So celebratory,
Like an y/a story,

Autumn festive like that
This morn brings perhaps...
On the eastern side
As the morn breaks with joy...

And memories momentous
me just happily pass...
This morn
With autumn,
Ushering in.

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

running the road through drizzle...

running the road drizzling
is like a warm brew...
warm and invigorating...
as veins feel mine
the rains evoking the blessed times...
and me humming
life as it falls calming
on straight soul
to be filled like a couldron...

As once a poet felt
Going by music unknown
Charmed so
That He found meaning
In it...
Perhaps on a similar street...
On a similar day...
Similar gay...
In every sense...
Finding Love unchained
Yet so much chained...
Like tamed...
To suit a birth of a poetic form
Written in eyes...
In alien form
Yet so so known...

That drizzle happens
To me...
As me finds myself running
Through a drizzle...

celebriamo la vita!

every day,dear,
is a celebration
of life's flowing motion...
see how by His awesome kind
life blooms at morn
and also at night...
see how stars shine...
how rains is followed by glorious soft cozy warmth of lighted lines...
see how our hearts throb...every moment, alive...
see how matches of football go on air,Live,
and how cinema tickets sell always on fridays,real time,
as if there is always a show happening prime,
see how the city moves on relentless...
see how mannequins every saturday get new dress...
see how trams still poetically move ringing bell...
see how kissing the sky highrises photographic images sell...
see how the children play every afternoon with impossible joy...
see how the little girl carries her barbie toy...

every moment is a celebration,
of life...
and her flowing flowery happy generation...

i am not a knowledgeable man...

i am not at all
a knowledgeable man...
so me knows not
many things-
like why sensex dipped last quarter,
who counted successfully all the stars,
why ATMs respond sometimes like dumb,
why a street in the city was once called Waterloo...
on which day there fell the most heavy dew,
which bridge was commissioned twice,
who first discovered the smell of hungry rice...
which ware only runs on Kies®

many things like that...
i know not...

i am, afterall,
not a knowledgeable man,
but me knows
why me gives thanks...
me knows...
why me tries to give thanks to all,
at any given instance...

Hope you find the rhyme, in me, as signed by You,

Hope you find the rhyme,
As potential
As divine,
Properly signed
By You...
Hope you find name mine
As inscribed
As carved,
On Your feet as me shines,
Hope you find the string
As light thin
As a lasery beam
Tied eternal as unseen,
By rhythmic You.

As clouds play indolent, me rises, to awake,

Clouds as they play
Indolent cool as an interlude,
Of a song happening days for really long,
me rises, to a state of awakening,
to a deep deep algaic pool,
Where life blooms like the first flower of the morn,
Wet dreamy, half sleepy, like a beauty forlorn...

Clouds as they play
Incessent, like a spring gushing
As He plays His finetuned violin,
me rises, to see Your eyes woken,
To a mirth felt within, forever taken,
Where life blooms to become a song of a sea,
A birth to a new globe, as another part of me...

i am here only to sing for You,

i am here, me thinks, only to sing for You,
The way your anklet plays on water a ring true,
I am here to hear your songs of sharod,
As You sing spread far and wide,
all over this life's road,

i am here, me thinks, only to write for You,
The way You paint a morn with watercolor view,
i am hear, dear, only to sing for You...
The way you come singing like an indundated soul...
All over this city, as a poetic cue,

i am here only to sing for You,
The way You sing this morn to a life new...

If the sky fills me, me music be,

If the sky
By her downpour,
Fills me thus,
me can a music be...
A music heard daylong,
A tune of a nightly song,
As drops rain still
On pools, ponds, lakes,
Filling the city for a remake,

If the sky turns so benign
me gets if all my lines,
From her, so much brimming,
Then there is no end to this screening
Of a movie, like a rainman,
Forty eight hours a nonstop plan...

If the sky
Turns wavy to the beauty
And if she thus fills me to satiety,
me can be a music daylong,
And a tune of a nightly song...

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

How can i love You, Love infinite, the way You love me?

How can i
In my mortal eyes
Hold You
So infinite?
How can one
Do that?


Can i ever
A river?
Or a sky?
Or a bird ?
Can i forever fly?
Can i?

But me can feel
How You me Love,
As if You are Eternal,
Like a strong fable,
Like that which times can never malign,
Like that which in all books ever written bears signs,

Like that...
With which by God's favour
You created all...
The Universe...

How can i be ever
To that strong,
That wide,
That prescient state,
That vast,
That height...

How can i?

(Note: the picture of a page of an old book attached here under this scribble is actually of a poem which inspired me to begin only this scribble mine...the poem as a picture below, was written by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt, in eighteenth century)

Rains, a mythical search...

You got every reason
To know why rains bring such a season
In me,
Why me sings more
In rains,
Why rains leave flooded lanes
In my heart...

You got to know,
me thinks...
All the rhymes...
And reasons...

You got every reason to know
How rains
By her shivery slice
Rolls me like a dream
Of joys of a child,

You got every reason
To know...
How rains sow
Seeds of Tagorean birth
Of visioning country
In a city,
In me...

O you got every reason
To plant the rainy season
In me,
another poet
City bred, me in rains sees,
who, caught drops of rains
In his leaves, curious...
He thought his muse
To be in rains, drenched,
Before his eyes like a long leaf...

And rains...
Brings back many things...
Memories stuck under plastic,
Like savouring tea and biscuit
Standing under a canopy of poetic an evening once,
And finding a picture of Beyonce,
At a shop in a street selling groceries...
And songs sung by a route
Where music got drowned into a loving stare-
Just a simple candid look,

You got every reason
To know
How rains brings season
Of writing a book-
On walking wading kneedeep,
Riding handpulled rickshaws with songs on my youthful lips...
Of finding city mine queueing up for hot pakoras and chops,
Of sitting through a movie holding hands together, till the credit line stops...

O you got every reason to know
Rains how a whole new season sow...

Sunk city...and an evening

The city
In rains
Seemingly sings,
Looking at her,
Wet wet picture,
me sinks,



This afternoon is a cover of you, a journey to a watery origin...

This afternoon
With rains humming a swoon
On me soul and eyes,
And rippling faith like
Water generating a birth of mirth,
me sleepy cool
By Your deep deep pool
Sees in mind
How in watery heaven
Our progeny lie...
Our history,
Our ancestry,
Our relics,
Our obelisk,
Our primacy
Of being...

me sees
Your eyes
In water...

'You got strings of love tied in your hands, so I get sunk'

'You got strings of love
Tied such in your hands
By sisters, of yours...
More I get sunk
Into you...'
She uttered pondering
Looking at him,

And he...
He smiled,
Only that
he did,
Can never be
Anything more holy
Than a smile...
From heart.

me knows this world will not be always gay, but that not the reason not to spread wings...

me knows the world will not
Be always happy,
But that is not the reason not to be sappy,
I know
There will be deaths on the road,
But that is not the reason why me should not be broad,
I know
There will be fightings and battles and bloodbaths,
But that is not the reason for which me will not take a sabbat,
I know
There will be loneliness looming large on someone's eyes,
But that is not the reason why me would not evoke a bird like fly...

I know
I know...

I know
Where all sorrows
Take a chirp of sparrows...
And how rains brings only Happy Souls...

(Note: a dedication from me for anyone anywhere suffering, pained, morbid, dying, decadent...)

A thanksgiving a rain drop...

Wish to plant a drop
Of rain on your palm,
As my psalm,
A drop holding my core,
A drop of me going out of me more,

Wish to pray a thanksgiving
There on your palm
As a psalm,
A drop of diamond pure inner reflect
A drop of me as a verse sacred...

Wish to pray for a bless
There on my soul
As your eyes on me rest,
A drop of Your ambrosia pure
A drop of rain on my deep sure...

Loving you is like loving my City...

Loving you
Is like loving my City,
The best,
Sometimes me feels that
For this city
Has seen my poems,
my deeds,
how on fields me planted love laden seeds,

The city my love,
Has seen my walks,
My dreams some, summed,
My flowers flooding a garden wholesome,
My temple run,
My glorious deified Sun,

Loving you,
Is like loving my city dear,
Where me walked since childhood
Treading the plains, and hills,
And here, me stood on top of a cliff,
Here me found a forgotten clip
Of a movie running unforgotten,
Here me found flakes of cloudy cotton...

Loving you,
Is like going to the Church here,
To that corner often,
Where me found a shiuli on fullest autumn...

Loving you
Is like going to that park
Where after school my childhood played all through
Sweaty, perspired, even after dark...

(Note: on my city, where I have spent so far, almost, thirty years...)

All knowing You, take me to your all knowing,

All knowing You,
The blissful, the Unseen, the Holy,
Take me to Your knowing
Your perennial,
Your forever flowing,
Your silvery daughter of Neptune,
Your Eudora,
Your Saturnalia,
Your beauteous songs
where you keep for long,

All knowing You,
Take me to a plunge,
To a skydive,
To a gyrating, dancing, glowing, raining,
Foot tapping, flowing trance...
Take me to
Your poesy as unraveled by that Man,
As happy glitter a dew,
Take me , you, to,
That bard, a spirit,
A skylark of a bird,
Who sang for flight,
For only light...

O this stream, this murmur, this string,

O this stream,
This murmur,
This string,
Flow me You
Flow me like flow the boats paper made few
Through the rivery streets of the city,
Unfurled by children caged in coops...
O this rainy rained morn, mirthful aloof...

Sing me to heavens,
Sing me to the cloudy even,
Sing me to silence the peace,
Sing me to Your most moist, a kiss...
Sing me to Venice,
Sing me to that moustached singer so spanish,
Sing me to Santana plucking a start,
Sing me where eternity begins, unmarred,
Sing , life as rained glass smoothened only sings,
Putting all fevers, frets, unhappy, absolute blurred...

me hears you singing there, on my sky, ringing ...happy...

me hears You
Singing for me, ringing
Quiet as rings Your chime,
By 'the rained' of our most blessed time,

me hears the throb of my heart
Singing as you sing there far apart,
Blissful as rings your soul,
By this monsoon silvery, sublime awful...

And Happiness only by Her Best
Like rains us perhaps with tunes more bless...

And only that mirth outpours
As pours this morn, opening windows...
Raining bang into our rooms, our floors,
Turning all wet, you, me, our morning tea cups, our household chores...

Hey, am i not waved, trembled?

When the rains fall like this
Like rains do fall everywhere,
How can me just sit quiet
Without singing for you, holding on to me , me lyre?

How can one just watch and see
The rains reaching the mind
And the depth of the soul,
And reaching one to the eternity,
Without holding on to that flow?
Without feeling within that intoxication
Of a rainy rained musical soulful a morn?

O Dear me,
So me sings,
So me flies by wireless,
So me wears a wet moist songy unrest...

Woken up to breezy rains...

Woken up to the breezy rains
Is like having a travel
By mind
To that path
Where all roads end
And me sees the rains
Falling like a windfall...

O this morn is like a great Fall
As if the evening has come
With her light to greet the morn
Like that bard
Prayed of
Aquiring that sprite
To travel to the vast,to the widest of the wide,
Where all roads meet to meet their last...

O this morn,
This flying by mind,
Wishes me this stays
For all days

(Note: on a song by R. Tagore.)

Monday, August 19, 2013

By music me spreads, as the evening late sings...

By music me spreads
As music the evening late
Turns me winged...

And me flies
Horizontally bright,
As flies light
Placed on the surface
Of watery a dress...

As sizzling,
life... She arrives bright watery to the city...

And so me feels
Eudora shows Her skills
Of turning rivulets into rivers,
Seas to oceans,
And oceans to biggest seven seas converged...
Seeing how rains turns the city egalitarian...

Eudora bringing gifts of Her sublime
Unwrites all dividing lines,
Between spaces left dried,
She, by Her Holiness mixes all divides...

Lanes and streets and roads
All shine bright,
Waterlogged hearts reflect
filled logged watery minds...

Under a small shed
By the side of a corporation park's rain drops holding fence,
As if like a Paradise set by Providence,
me finds poems borne by Love
thick and poetically dense...
As caught perhaps by eyes immortal unseen
As painted on scriptures by street photographer's dream...

(Note: Eudora= Goddess of rains, gk,)

O my pianist, play the rain, for me...

O pianist mine,
Play it beautiful sweet timed
On reeds play your fingers smooth
By Your pedals help me sail like a soothe...

O rhythm mine
Play it like a glorified shine
On faces of children pour Your smiles divine
On mouths unfed fill Your food like a luxurious dine,

O Rains mine
Bring more of happiness to the morbid heart
Bring more Your pure to begin a start
Of living submerged in flooded poesy fluid
Of living happy not by words but by poetic deeds...

Thereon the street, where running his fingers the guitarist Slashed cool ...

There on the flooded street
Where the guitarist slashed his waves
Like cutting through strings,

Every body needing some time alone
He there sings,

Flooded a street
There he his fingers burned once,
As if strings copper he unwound and unlearnt...

He he fingers so uncoils
As if waves there on flooded avenue
He boils...

Too Apparent
Like written in boldest fonts,
he sketches Only cool sleepy restive yawns...
he opens his eyes and ears to the best form
To get the idea of the rainy motion
How leaves only slumbery lotion...

and at that blessed cooled state
An old story of a fairy someone to him tells,
Calling children out to be in mirth
For monsoon has arrived on earth...
For light in rains shines always brighter as a towering piety...

(Note: on a song by Guns and Roses and a flooded city street)

xylophone...on soul...

o how He plays
to cause a dismay
onto me soul
His superb xylophone...
as drops fall
on calmed a stilled heart...
makng wavy transmission
as simple harmonic motion-
yet moving flowing
as life...

Opened to You, is like falling to you, thy Peace

Opened to You
Is like falling to you,
To thy Peace,
Thy kind,
Thy bless,
Thy forgivenness,
Thy behest
Which causes Birth every second
Thy desire
Which moves and sets me in motion,
Opening to you
Is like holding on to Your dews
Like a percept
Holding on till one
Holds you to the Core,
Where drizzling Hope
Forever joyous songs like fills me doped
And me opens up
Opens up more
To Your shower,
At your behest...

Waking up amidst country green...

This waking up
Is like having a birth
Amidst country green
Where the sky unhindered
Draws a marvellous scene,
As if the vast wide filled paddy field
Looking up to the sky,
And this waking up is also like
Seeing birds how with twines in mouth fly...

This waking up
Is like seeing with blessed tranquil heart
How the woods nearby
Is getting filled with activity
Of life blooming with godly piety,
Like a flower yawning happy seeing the songy cool wonder
Of the Goddess like Artemis weaving Her song
for me gone astray, a soul-wanderer...

This waking up is like hearing rooster's call
And finding pigeons hopping by the wet haystack...
And how on an algaic pond nearby
The sky wave like her love sighs...

This waking up is like a pathway through the grove thick and moist
Leafy dreams where lay like chapters of a book perfectly choiced...

In the name of Love *

In the name of Love, the passion which governs All things human and natural too I rise everyday to find how the glorious sun Brings beaut...