Like A Rise... A soar...

The blue sky
Had post rain cool
Of a soar
As if happy flight
There awaited
Perennial...
For eyes to behold...
For eyes not mortal though
For eyes by mind...
By soul...
A soar...
A sea blue...
A shore...
As if She
The rhythm divine
There always wrote tunes...
Swerving sapping flying flowing...
Windy complete...
A happy happy street...

A Godfather theme...and a rain...

Being seeped in two
The Godfather theme
And a rain as seen
Sudden...
Happening...
he thought
He had come down
Unsought
As if He watched
his traveling morn
On return
Home
Blessed pure
Weary a bit...

So
Once the tune
Of violin seeped
Into him
Like a perfect dream...
Flowing with the wind
He him sent
A rain...

And he thought
How come He be so good?
So calming?
How come He be so so all knowing?
And the streets
Golden still
Got wet...
Rained
And
On them images happened
Like images of monsoon...
Leafy...
Greenish...
Holy...
Gay...

The two hands...at Sistine...

Seeing two hands
Reaching yet seperated
By space
As if grecian urn like
him spiked...
And the dyke
Did it not break?
Open?
Again?

The scenes nine
How they Genesis like
Generated myths,
Stories sublime
On the white ceiling
Of the chapel...

And two hands...
The God
And
That of Adam-
They live seperated...
Grecian urn like
Eternal
Frozen
And yet
So so real
As if seeping blood...
Veins erupting with joys
Unheard,
Unfathomed...
Like love...

Pieta`

O how He slept
Eternal as if engraved
Saved
On His Mother's lap
So benign soft
By His piteous Self
Dressed
White...

The cool breeze
Perhaps still there
Caressed
Him
And His Mother
Catching both young
At heart
Though
He had made a depart,
His body he had left
Onto Her lap,
O how He there slept
Eternally
Engraved...

{On Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni's (6th March, 1475-18th Feb, 1564) most acclaimed work...installed at St. Peter's Basilica,}

Traveling with golden chips...

For a vacation
Choosing a motion
When he took the road
Year long wide as if a pool
In which he dipped full,
By golden chips from the eastern sky
he got drenched,

And
The city came
Blessed cool
Like a little girl
With a big satchel
Disproportionate
Going to school,
her eyes were puffy
She was still sleepy...
As if lullaby in her eyes
And ears still played fresh,

And
Few old men
Reaching a shed
Sitting quiet
Facing the sky
Eastern wide
Gold from where dropped
Ascetic white...

And
A waste meadowy land
Yet to be encroached
By speedying buses
Horns and concrete broad
Looked awakened
Glistening
By the gold the same...

he looked at the horizontal dream
Going forever going
Comforting
As if life there she wrote
In her white
And green sure...

And the golden chips
Falling ethereal real
Right on lips
Nape
And cheeks
Traveling
In gold he got one morn dipped...

A night like a song... a soothe...

A day
Being sunny gay
When ends
He blessed
Always be
Like a song...
A prayer again
Peace
Coming like an angel
Splendid...
Starry...
Happiness as if
She herself means only that...

A night
That
Turning a song...
As if a radio on play
In a shack
Simple-
A cot...
A table...
A writing pad...
And
Lot of trees around
Waving leaves...
Their mirth sleepy...
A city
Going
To switch off
Halogenic
Displays...
To be properly lighted
By the starry song...

Angelic night
Comes thus...
As a day by Him blessed
Sleeps off
For
Another time...
Like a song...
A soothe...

You a haven...

Sometimes
You arrive
Touch wood
Haven of Peace like...
As if
A haven felt
Only
Not to be expressed...
As if
Holding on to divine bless
And
Inexpressible
A mellowed treble
But bass
Strong
Like a gong...
Awakening
Sombre
Solitude
Which
Once
That man at Tintern Abbey
Wrote
Pure
Molten
A journey
From
Childhood to adolescence
Back to childhood...

Sometimes
Afternoons
Be
Such
A sage
Sitting
At a cave
Upfront
A smouldering shape...
Saffron
Ascetic
A chosen fate...

That man
At a prelude
Saw that shape
Forming
Before
Evaporating...

Some
After
Of noons
Are like that...
A journey
Kind-
Reaching straight
To Your golden
Reddened orangy gate...

Dear, such a beautiful afternoon when shines drop...

Dear
Writing a letter...
After a long time...
Felt
Writing is my only scope
My only scape...
An escape too...
You know...

Such a beauty of an afternoon
Have you noted in your veins?
It can never turn in vain...
Can she the sky be
So blue
Without thinking you?

Can those clouds be such
White
    White
By Autumn so touch`ed?
Without being in you?

So?
Why this
Ponderous
Burdened
Decreptitude?

Can't you see
How the sky turned a bluish sea?
And so perfumed?
And
At the park
Children are playing in mirth...and ...
Hope is recasting more of hope...
Faith is turning into more of faith...

Why you are so delayed?
time is passing by...
Life there though waits for Eternity,
life is paddling by...
And this afternoon
Has become harmonic tune...
Surely harmonic
A blessed tune...

The Father and the son...Remembering Rembrandt...

And seeing him
From far off
The Father
Being such moved
He walked fast
To His seed
The last...
The seed
Had said
Had he not?
Failing
A failure
he the boy
Bereft
Of garments
Weeping child like there
O dear how he stood...
And
The long old man with Longish beard
He stooped
Red cloaked
Intense
With
Compassion written in His moist eyes
His soft soft Heart
As if He bled too...

O dear
How
On the street
Amidst dark
The Father illumed
His lost
His last
The youngest
Whence
he
The foolish
The Foolest
Returned thus...

When Your whispers careless , me chant...

And she sitting quiet
Talked
To the wind
Blowing
Symphony
As the coolness
Upon her lips
Planted kiss
Of the sky, so blue
True
Like a springy autumn
Coming ...
Calming...
Her whispery tune
Played in her tongue
She unto her
As if by Her
Breezy layer
Laid cool psalms...

And
Seeing the two
She blessing her-
She in her
Becoming
True
The Most,
The Awakened,
The Born Again,
me sings,
me cries,
me weeps...
'Vos careless whispers
Je chante...'

Joy like you... bicycle kick...

Volte face
one kid ,
Jumps
Into the cool air
And gee
See
How he circles
And kicks
The ball...

Joy
me sees
Then in his face
he becomes joy
Emancipated...

Pure
Lustrous
Sweated
Youthful
Like a boy
O boy!
He kicks
The half circled
Bicycled...

Like joie
Perspiring...
Glowing...

Crystal... clear...a birth...

Some morns
Are like crystal
With sparkle shine and glory
Spread wide
Encompassing as if
The whole sky
With light awesome bright
Gets bathed...
And then,
Dear love mine
me breathes
Bathed
In light
Of you,

A crystal
You
In my mortal eyes glue
An enchantment
As if by providence
You have for me sent
Claire
Voyance...

And me sees
The birds,
The trees,
The river,
The roads,
The sleepy buds,
The unslept poems,
The surfboards,
The sandy beach,
The woody trail,
The undelivered mails,
And...
Him
Standing
Smiling
With a long pole
Woody,

He
The pianist
Beautifully
Playing
Right on me soul-
me feels that too...
Clear,
Having goosebumps
By the ecstatic morn,
A new born,
Naked
Feeling
The birth,

Sometimes
Morns become crystal
And me gets bathed
A prayer
me breathes
For
You
A music...
By you me gets birth
True...
Clear...
Crystal like...
Sparkling...
On shine...
Glorified...
Lighted...
Soothed...

Shaman, when You be... as the morn

This morn breeds Light
On the leaves,
On petals of blossoms
Like
A shaman,
As if nothing expressed You
Descend this morn...
With the cool breeze...

me be
A Shaman
Too
True
Dear
True...

Like a morn this
On leaves
On petals of blossoms...
You come
Like a grace,
In your white flowery dress,
Like
A shaman,
As if nothing happened You
Descend this morn
With all happenings...

me be
A Shaman
Too
True
Dear
True...

La joconde... like framed...

Thy piano
Whence
played
On me
One evening
Dense
Music filled
methought
Half awake
Like a painting
As if you came...

Like a deity?
Perhaps...
Perhaps not...
Very much clear...
Real...
A bit distant
Like a flow
Felt,
Dwelt
Upon
Still...
Not knowing where it flew
me...

Thy piano
Whence played
On me
Thou arrived
Like a painting famed
Framed
La Joconde...

Like a red egg yolk... the twilight peeped...

Like red egg yolk
Soft
The twilight
Peeped
Through
The greenish dark
Distant,
Like a bindi on her forehead
Red
On glow...
As if
She had gone
To a temple,
With a candle held
In her hand
Glowing soft
The twilight
Peeped
Distant
Through
The greenish dark...

For in every color there is light...

Dear,
Look up,
Will you? Please?

See you the sky,
This light
Of a day fading smooth
As if fully realised
And understood,
The passage of a day
With His sayings,
And our prayers...

See...
How She
Has brought
Beauty incomparable,
Like a parable,
Goodness written in blue
On white,

See...
How me turn you
And you me?
This afternoon so sublimity wrought
Emmanuel
He has already brought...
In a language not taught
In any class
Or tutorial...
In a vision,
A thought,

See...
How the day of a beauty
And a beauty of a day,
Get written all over the space...
In blue, green, pink, red,
On leaves,
On streets,
On buildings embracing
Twilight sky...

See...
The gilded golden steel
Of the distant bridge...
How it glitters...

Dear,
Look up...

See...
A colory sea
How encapsulates,
enbalms...
All...

A ride through the woods on a sunny day...

Her horse
Casablanca she took
On sunny morn
Through the woods
Green green as if
Heaven there shone
And rode she lone
Happy...
Mirthful...
The Sun came like interplay
Of light
Of shades...
Playing through
The leaves green
And the road
So mirthful...good...
As if her birth
Deserved that kind
Of a ride
Through the woods
Bearing smell
Of flowers by Him blessed
Blooming...
And she took a ride
An aimless roaming...
Aim less
Thoroughly blessed
Like being uninhabited...
Void coming and filling the void...
Filled
And joy-ed...

Mais sans me...

Like Kate
A distinct morn
Of a day
Sunny
Leaves me
Bereft
Of all...
As if
A song
Going straight into one
One's soul...
A couldron small
A bowl cutglass...
Overflowing...

And
me sits quiet
Quietitude
Becoming
A part
Of an existence...

Quiet...
Like
A distinct bloom
Of a mind...
A beauty discovered
After a long
Tiring stormy voyage...

Sailing to
Jerusalem,
To Mecca,
To Gaya...

And me sings
'Elle me comprend, mais sans me...'
As if plunged into a sea
One is left to float...
Just...

Afloat
A mind,
A soul...

And

A cutglass bowl...
Overflowing...

Like gospel... a sermon...a scripture...

Like gospel
She sings
A music
Breaking a heart
And making it too...
She thus one morn
A Godly dew
Comes
To me woo...

Topping charts
Billboard 100 list
As if she sings
To help me catch the morning dew...
And the cool mist,

And me
In her sees
How the awesome Divinity
With wonder,
A splendour cool
Having Godly possibility
Can create a change...
Like gospel
How she
With a feel Holy
Me leaves drenched...

Like a scripture
Like a sermon
Like a bell
She
Writes
On me
A satiety...

Like Gospel
O how she me fells...

A morn religious...

Met Her
This morn
Misty foggy a turn
As if winter by some mistake
To July morn took her steps...

And
Those roads streets tree lined
Avenues broad by chalk pelican
Auspicious dream dropped...
Misty foggy super soft...

And me glides
through the half seen
A cool winter feel
Of a devotional screen...

On skin dewy shapes
Cool hilly serene me draped
Like being religious with Her
Like running thousand miles far...

Dans l'ocean de la nuit...like Icarus...

In the ocean
Of the night
Having a flight
You when came thus...
Like Icarus
A dream happened...

As dreams usually do
Wearing fanciful shoes
Once which left
H.J.Draper
Captivated ...

And
Perhaps You were there too...

You were there
Like
This ocean as if
The night then
Certainly became
Such...
A flight...
Like Icarus...

An
Escape
From
Crete...

Sans
'The lament...'

Enshrined ...

Looking at her
Water colored
Was in a way to learn
How water with colors burn
Magnanimous bright
As if a fire fiery saffron
Red with orange
Watered heavily down
By clouds, enshrined the  Lord...
The potent painter with the Widest canvas
And never ending inexhaustible paints and longest range
How could fill up Her and all open space small...

And witnessing the spectacle...
Entombed
he stayed
Laid
Emptied
Buried

Looking just
At her
Bright
Watered down fire...

An afternoon, by light rain ,

'O this day
What a day it is...'
he thought being blown by kiss
Of the air...having charms of monsoon
O dear...
A sky not fully sunny
But soft illumed
As if she had possessed recent a tune
Made him sleepy
While running the road of the city...
Moist, generative,
Yet so so evocative
Like God
The Precursor
The Hope
The Faith...
Silent
Like a small comforting death
Amidst the cool...

he thought he saw white
And the generation of light
Like a rain
Weather report writing not in vain...
Twenty nine degrees,
Haze
And
Light rain...

and he rode
The road
Thinking her
The sky possessing Her
The soft illumed state...
light rain he on road surely met...

a reiki flow, la relazione con dio..

Silence...
As She came like a minstrel
On Her feet white pink
Like sacred painted
me got this morn fainted...

And like the only way
She held full sway
On my heart...
A soul with reiki flow spurt...
As if me got the best blessed idea
Of Her, the Diana...

And
Silence
La Relazione con dio
Reiki music like me flows...
O me glows
O me shines
O me carries Her Silent chimes...

On a cliff, amidst peace and gongs of bells...

Standing on a cliff
Amidst unprecedented cool
Of greenness,
By gongs of church bells
From a white white traced
he felt living life fully bent
Towards Him...

He,
O how he
Once there at the cliff
Amidst greenpeace did see...
And those gongs
Sombre echoing like a blessed song
Taking him moved -
Moved to the most
And there he just stood like a sky overcast
On network ethereal unpost,
As if by standing there mere
he felt the cool breath of his divine lover...

She must be feeling the moist green
She must be connecting,
surely connecting...
And she there
Somewhere must be listening
'If I saw You in Heaven...'

At ten minutes to a morn of seven,
She must be singing,
she must be listening...
'If i saw you in heaven...'

En plein aire... seeking You fair...

En plein aire
seeing You
The Goddess fair
Is no less
Than a bless...

Painting on the ground
Going unbound
me
No impressionist
Impressions once found...
In the open air
As if a painting
Evolving all the time,
Right there in front of mortal eyes...

O this going outdoor
Opening the doors
Has not once He us direct?
He the maker who unmaketh
All,
Has He not caused the rains, summer and leaves of the Fall?

En plein aire
Seeing You fair
Is the only way to seek the Light...
Like a painter submerged
In perennial awesome
aurora kind of heavenly delight...

When night rain stays...

With the drops of the last night's rain
Staying, as they remain
On me, my leafy garment,
Like  drops of memories nascent
me takes the road
Sonorous,
Made porous by calls of birds,
Twittering in delight
As if with the morn they have seen the light
Of another day...
Another stay
Allowed
On this paradise here...

the road not woken
Has the sunken wet
By last night's shower perfectly set
For breeding of poems...
And poems me finds
Written in beauteous lines
On my eyes,
Dreams transient...

With drops of last night's rain
me traveler remains
Accumulating as much
Wet on my leafy green
And goes me out
To take that road
Where She might be standing
White a flowery tree
With her cool, a felt not seen of a beauty...

For am i not allowed
His providence,
One time more
Like a deep aesthetic sense?

With drops of last night's rain
me takes the road as it remains
Cool, sleepy, woken, moist-
A beauty the same...

Awake in sleep...sleepy when woken up...

Love
You can feel it
O How you did it...
Awake me
Asleep,
And sleepy full
On drool 
Child
Woken up ,

Me filed
Documented
Preserved
In Your limitless Heart...

What a state...
What a flowery cool fate...
Unlocking your iron gate
Me gets
Locked,
a country boat anchored, kind of docked-
At a ramp stretched
Wooden
Into the little river,
On shine,
Flooded...

Awake
Me
Gets
Sleepy...
In sleep
me wakes...
For Your sake...

Evening as Her...a stream...

This evening
As she transforms
To Her nightly form
Evocative...
me her thinks
Sleepy but
Evocative
Too...

See her
There
By the window
Where her beauty She
Slide like shows,
A beauty
Ought to Be,
A beauty
angelic
As if
She says it all
This friday night
A resurrection -
An insight
Infinite,

This evening
The window
As opened
To the nightly air
Brings cool
Of Her,
An Angel fair,
Draped in dream
And unseen
Seen...

Real ,
Very real on wet skin
Yet burnt
By the rest,
As if rest
Was not an option,
As if rivery flow
In her kept a rainy motion...
A stream
Running
Within...

Like an oleander...a sky...

Twilight
Has a name...
i guess
Oleander...

For the sky
Has sometimes the smell
Of oleander
Spreading in the air...
And
The city as it appears
Suits that color so...
An oleander on bloom
And spreading light
Pinkish white...

An oleander sky...
Catching all-
The roads...
The vehicles...
People coming home
Drenched...

The sky falls
Oleander also on the wet-
The moist green carpet
From where sleepy calm vapour
Like rise
Causing a restive demise
Of all
Conflicts...wars...tussles...

Oleander...
Twilight has that name...
i guess...

Happiness if too much, it is a sabbath...

When Happiness
Holy
Holi like colors on one spray
One takes a dip into a river
On a holi Holy day...

As if that dip
Is the rightest form of being
As if that dip is aspired dreamt never gotten but felt like a faraway song
(Which once She
An infinte
Did sing...)

And
After that dip
One just takes a rest
Bodily
Mindful
A spirit
As if
One becomes,

And the dip
Holy kind
Stays forever,
time stops
At the grandfather clock too,

A slow movement
Super slowed
Tick tock
Just one reminds
One is Alive
One is very very much alive...

And
One flashes
A divine smile-
A smile
Happens
Subtle
Slow
Silent...

(Godly
That smile
People often called...)

He had witnessed that
For many ages...
In faces
Of people
Who by their life
Wrote epics...

Quand le vie devient priere...

Some times
life
Becomes
She
A prayer...
And a prayer she becomes so
That
Songs like Michael slow
Transmute one
To pure
Ashine...
A sparkle
Of a diamond carat not measured though...
A refraction so absolute
Complete
Internal
Internalised,

Sometimes
Life comes to kiss life thus
And she also turns
She
Bright
Ashine,

When life becomes such
A prayer conjoined threaded
Unthreaded sure
Happens...

Fragility...me...

You
Teresa mine
A Carreno...
A music blue and white peace
A kindred soul
Wonderous fragile
Without guile
Shameless me
You turn...
And
me stops
At a small hill top
Swept by your vulnerable soft
Fragile
Passage to my molten heart...

You
Teresa mine
A white peace bluish me turn
A calm unknown known
A drunken stupor
With your flowery shape...

O You Teresa mine
A Carreno,
Deep deep into me
How you just fragility sow...
A piece of music so sublime
That me forgets
Where am i...
me transcends to Your Paradise...

O how i
Die
Rested
Forever
In
Peace...

O Teresa mine
A Carreno...
You bring me
To Paradiso...
Just by music
Fragile...

If She is a pianist, i be, a music...

Like an Eileen
Silver screened
Pencil browed
Auburn haired
A pianist she came...
Sending music to me
See...
How i the non music cold
Frigid
Stone
Just got melt
By Her?
see...
Fallen into a greenish blue sea
How i swim endless
As if end less is more
Of an end
An eternal downpour...

O how she came
Being a blue for Beethoven
And green green
Chopin...

     C  minor~
A

For
   Rachmaninov
See?

How i be
A music too?
A music ~
Like Her
An Eileen

Like
David Lean-
Once made a film...

A musical...
See...
Fallen
In to sea
Of Chopin
And Beethoven
Green
And
Blue
me
Be
A tune?
By her
An Eileen...

The sultans and Queens of swings...like Love...

Joie has His own friends
And Sultans are they all...
Aren't they?
They come together
Swinging
Swung
As if Joy of brothers
In arms...

Joie has Her own friends too
Queens are they all...
Aren't they?
They come together
Flowery fragrant sweet
Spreading
Spread
As if Joy of sisters
In arms...

And
Together they swing
This life small
Taking it to the Big,
The Real Maccoy,

Goddess there up from
And here being
A Be,
Prophesy...
Like Love...
A Gape...
A splendour bright
Illuminating,
Illuminati ,

(Like...
Her face...
Her eyes...
Her cheeks...
Her hair...
Her poesy...
Her cool...
Her motherly
Attitude,
A combing sweeping sense of Peace...
A Revelation...
A Genesis...
A Divine song...
Original...
Sans the Fall,
Only The Rise...
A- rise
Kind...)

Silent eloquent...

Some morns say nothing
Some morns are so eloquent
That they waste no words...
Like stone apparent
They come with God
Silent stone small
Shiny
And
Bright...

Some morns are love filled such
That they carry light
Light awesome cool
Light hidden in a crystal...

And
One finds color
Moist
Dense
Wonderous
Colors
Unspoken
Dreamy
Triumphant...
Intoxicated...

Some morns
They say nothing
And say so much
Eloquent
Like a prayer
From a Heart...

The cool breeze when came late in the evening...

It was late
In the evening
And he heard her perhaps singing
Still
Like a Chris de song
But which made forays into country long,
And so
The redness of heart
Had perhaps become sleepy
Restive,
Like the world in the country
Heeding nature...
A time for regeneration
Of energy
For another wakening...

It was late
In the evening
And she perhaps heard him singing
Still
Tired his body but soul working sublime
Tired his muscles running from dawn till late time
Like a bird flying in a flow all day
And coming to sleep on his
Mother's lap...
Nature perfect,
Sleepy cool
By the breeze...

So restive a body,
And an awakened soul-
Perhaps by the continuous songs
Of frogs somewhere singing
Rain,
Drenched ...

Sang-froid, by You...

By You
One happy twilight
you
me finds,
In the blue-
Sang-froid-
A state of cool,
Like a pool
Of a city
Filled to the brim-
By Your giggles unheard,
Still
Within
Happening...

Sang-froid
Becomes me,
And it
Becomes you
Too!
Likening
Unseen true,
Like a blue
Behind the clouds
Of the sky-
Monsoony...

Sang-froid me
You
Only you in doubtless sea,
Sees,

And me dies
dies
Sanguine,
French -
Blood glowing like
In whitest
Of the white...

Sang-froid
me
In your walks,
Tears of joy,
Opened arms wide,
Embracing
la bonte,
Agape,
Long road stretched-
Finds...

me
Only
Meself
Burning
Falling
Cooling
Finds...

O boy!
Ain't it a staccato case of pure joy?
His
Decoy
On You?
And
Her
mirror
you
Holding coy?

A miracle ... like a walk...and a song...

And she sang
A song promised like
Return
Kind
Of a walk down the path...
Amidst flowery children
So good
So nice...
She a song became at ease
Swung by the afternoon monsoony breeze...

He perchance passed by
Filling in
Feeling
How a song like She could make one really fly...
A Miracle
Perhaps
Santiago path
A Miracle
So joyous
Like
Another birth...

Hestia on road...

Anticipatory
Like a story
Found a road
Getting wet
Drizzled was he...
As if anticipatory
A birth of a story
A myth
A mirth...
A birth...

And She
Hestia,
With a hearth
In the middle of the road
Broad and long
Unwound
Like a legend,
Arrived
For
A birth of a child
Could She miss never,
A child of her,
Getting birth...

Hestia...
She was anticipatory
Like a myth Herself...
A story
Of Her own
And
She got a child's dolphin dream...
White
Amidst blue...

Going out...

This beauty
Of a songy cool day...
What are you doing ?
Dear...
Let's go
Out
Dear
Where in grass white wild bloom...

This day ,
When He hath cometh so
Why
We are stuck in little space of furnitured room?
So stacked
Unnecessary with
Objects ...
Objectified, are we?

We are not...
Are we?

For we sought
What really?
Love?
For Him...
Yes,
And
For Her...

For God,
Let's go
Out,
Where the run never stops
Hindered by doubts...
For...
She
Had not She made a descent
So perfect?
Like a song
Of a wish
A dream
A scape
So hopeful
As if happily laid
A curtain
White
Catching the wind...
Flapping...
Fluttering...

Are we not?flapping?
Singing?
Dancing?

So...
Dear...
Let's go
Out...
Where in the green
White wildness bloom...
What's the point
In getting stuck
Into a furnitured room-
Unnecessary?
When the breeze perfumed love
So much does carry?
Say?

Such a cloudy songy breezy morn...

The cool breeze kissing his lips
Just went away like a butterfly colored
As if she had more lips to kiss
As if she had that onus
On her to spread color
And love...

And he stood feeling in
The coolness of the wind
Songy as if she became a song...
And standing there
Amidst apparent nowhere
For twenty three minutes forty seconds long
he had that nothingness entering...
A nothingness filled by birds' morning songs
And roosters'  call,
And the sleepy beautiful,
The Peace of the morn,
The Alanis country green
A scene often seen
And yet something
that never left one unburied...

Unraveled
Esctatic
Unearthed
Discovered
Bloomed

And the cool breeze
Came back
Again
On his skin
Like a butterfly colored...
Beautiful...

And one heard him
Stating
Not saying
As if unsaid...
Still felt in tongue...
'Elle devient une chanson...'

A song ...
Rippled
Somewhere then...

Une soiree d'amour...

A flute...
Definite
Like a treat
Caused him to pause
his journey man's log...
Where he was noting co ordinates...

A flute
Someone was playing
Across the green
-getting dark
Of a splendid moist evening,
he thought that song...
Pulling him...
Pulling him magnet like...
the trees like drenched to their innermost
Stood like witness to his paused slowed silent curious state...

And the flute...
The song of the wood with holes
Piped by one from far
Unknown location
Unmoved him
and he stood still
Hearing
The song's longing...
A motion
Getting mixed with those wet trees
Trunks their sapping up the song
Just like him
And yet emanating
A music same...
A pining
Clear
Like
Unuttered...

A strange way
To get connected with Her
The Nature...

A true refuge like
Silent
Holy
Moist
Peaceful
Sleepy
And
So so full of
A lift
From the two dimensions
That
he remained
Unmoved
And
Fully moved
By the flute
And the evening-
Creating conjoined
A sense of Love...

Loving a road...

Loving a road
Through the green
A country song on me like a tide...
Makes me sometimes wonder
'How could He be so good?
How could She be so nice?'

Loving a road
New...
With trees hanging down
Shine and shade overlapping
Is like falling in love with life
Is like discovering the Infinite...

Loving a road bright
And soothing like a flight
Is like reinventing ways and means-
A constant change, an evolving thing...

Loving a road
Is like feeling love more and more,
love so silent and pure
The Love coming to one like a dock...a harbour...a shore...

Every moment You send me prize...

Every moment
Of this small life
You the kind
The mother i find
Delivering me prizes...
Like ethereal messege...
A moment of a passage
To Your blessed soul...
Your the Best feel of the Deep
Where Your wealths You keep
Like diamonds on sparkle
Rare ...
Every moment thus You deliver
Surprises fair
At my door...
Not knocking...never
But by Your deepest silence
A proper Providence...
As if You for some reason unknown me chose
To supply Your daily dose
Of Your awesome...
Your Diamonds...

O
Like Tykhe
Fortuna You come
Rivery flow like
Unbarred
Not kept blocked by a dike,
O You Eutykhia bright
Rivery flow like
You deliver...
Gold petals on shine
On small time so silver...

Every moment of a minute
Every second of a generation automatic
You deliver
Prizes...
Surprises...
Signs and Symbols...
In a language so simple
That complex
Of a spiral
They supersede...

Every moment You pass on
Your words
Unwritten
And
Your deeds
Unseen...

Finding Eirene...

On a country green
Found Eirene...
Her eyes greek
Had so much of serene
That me thought me died
By Her cool that me to Her calm flied...

On the road greenish
She me emptied
And like one of the Horai
The keeper of Heavenly gate
She plodded me to take that asphalt blue dark straight...

Found Her Eirene
The keeper of peace
As if another form of Artemis...
With an infant white held in her arms
Like a mother clutching soft Her babe...
An infant innocent
Just like Ploutos,

O so much wealth Eirene
Onto me brought...
And me thought
Me died
A death of a birth...
A birth like rebirth,
On road green,
Had not i Her seen?
Eirene...
The mother of peace,
Like another Artemis...

Taking Your blue and white in ...

One morn
Like a song
You took me out...

And
Keeping
Your face on eyes mine...
Your soul onto my heart...
Your monsoon on water inside flowing silent...
The road me took...
And saw how country green met You
There at the horizon...
Watched birds flying out sequential
As if they figured it out long
Your Love with which come all morns...

And
Saw a little river
How You held
Murmuring ,
Soft,
And
Cool
As if she had got You full...
Your white...
Blue
And
Part of me too...

This night...a perfume happens...aroma...

This night
A perfume me envelopes
A perfume ...
Exotic...

A perfume splendid,
As if i be taken to Her
A damsel
-with dulcimer?
    Still?
         This night long?
              Will She be playing?
Me not knowing...
Me knows not...
She knows though my thoughts,

But this night  is aromatic
And me is electrostatic...

This night is turned a perfume
For the advent of a beautiful mind
Me notices how She does find
All beauties of the world...
Beauties marvel like...
Novelty wrought...
Like untasted thought...
And unsavoured perhaps
Yet savoury...
A memory of a red rose
And a white curtain singing a song
To the breeze...
(O how they together dance...)

And i find me whispering
A perfume in voice strange me carrying
'Vous etes un parfum...'

Conduis-moi...

Seeing the sky
Homeward bound when did he fly
Seeing the birds
Flying back to nest...
A rest came ,
As if a beauty  of a dame...
And
Stopping momentary
Sleep slow on his satiety,
he watched how a city
Transmuted herself into goodness...

As someone
La bonte sang...
And
he dreamt her
From far...
For whom he
Once put a prayer
Into the air...
For whom
The Oneness he sought...
Closing eyes
A prayer
Again made a music
Within
As if singing
'Conduis moi a` votre vide...'

he prayed...
So
he could be led
To Her emptiness...
To Her wonderous grace...

Comforting afternoon...

An afternoon comforting when drops
As if Her blessed smile
Onto one's ruby
Yet an emerald...
One finds temple and church everywhere...
Mosque too...
And
More certain
A music
Faithful...
And upon one
They draw pictures soul ful
And
One is so so fooled
By that
One just cries
Happy happy tears...
Falling
Incessent...
As if those drops
Turned emerald and rubies...
Themselves...
And
Her
Smiles ...
They shower one...
They just shower one full...

Take us we a walk...

Take us we
A walk
On the soft green grass
Bared
Where He His benediction layered...
Can't we? Dear?
This beauty of a morn?
As if we are just born
To a light of a new new day,
Pray?

O Love mine
Take me You
To a Church...
Take us we a walk
To a Church...

Me tranquilice`

Like a cross
Made of silver
Placed cool
On my bosom of deep
Tranquil sense you me keep...

And Mary like
You on me place
A kind generous trace
As if with your halo
Fill you me the shallow...

And right there
Within me
A white rose blooms
A white rose...in my tiny room!

The birth of the Rose
A white rose
Helps me rise
Awake...
For you me take
To Him-
His robe of silken smooth
Thus you me soothe...
Smoothened...
Soothed...

Cada dia es harmoso...

When the morn with
Glory of you so sun like shine...
When the wind from golden east
Carries only your fragrant cool mist...

Mi amor...

Me gets a feel
On my molten heart
And sunken soul
You only hope pour...

And
A morn drops like a bubble of joy
Finding you there a bit coy
With a song catching a country boat
Coming out once of Mario's throat...

Cada dia es harmoso...

O i just get drunken so...

me gets into the air
me gets into your perfumed hair...

For all i get to know
In me you have sown
A sense of a realise...

Cada dia es harmoso...

For you are a beauty so...

Lord whence a pianist comes...

Lord
As a pianist whence
Fully one fills a sense...
An evening thinks perhaps it proper
To become a starry night's divine lover...

Lord
As a pianist whence
Pours His supranormal dense
One becomes a reed white at once
Fingers of love where upon softly dance...

Lord
As a pianist ethereal
When one with music seals
Notes arrive like togetherness
Notations then love only sketch...

An evening when with me Fabrice sings...

What an evening dear
You come thus
An evening such
How you bestow upon me thus?
An evening so softy,
Mild
And so much
Goodness
In your eyes such...

How can you yield such tears?
O how me sing for
Your lovely eyes
A dream...
How you such kindness bring?

But then
Me thinks
it must have been by a Fabrice designed...
Je vois la bonte...
A Fabrice
Of a Jean...

O how i
A slow death
Just court...
Just die...
Happy
Too happy
By la bonte
In your eyes...

When calmy balm descends , one just works or sleeps...

This after of a noon time
As if with balm derives
Only God and sleep...
A sleep so restful
So happy within
That one can only die
Or
One can fly free like a bird high
To catch the moist happy feel of those clouds...
Clouds autumnal, splendid bright like cotton pillows fluffy
To sleep on happy, too much happy...

And
One then finds Mother kind
A true Mother with Her kind eyes
Lulling her son to sleep
Tired was he...
Running, jumping, working overnight
With his dreams...

A mother so benign
That she sings a lullaby...
Helping her son to take a sleep
So that he could see light
And innocence more,
So that he could weave more dreams...

A wimbledon sky and...

If the sky comes thus
A love all scored
Blue and white on the widest canvas...
And a tennis lawn so green lush bright
As if a dreamy carpet laid
A grassy bed
To lie and take eternal rest...
Blessed as if a song
With no cares...
No worries...
All put into an envelope
And sent flying by the breeze so kind...

A free freed creative poesy bred generous mind...

Why should one not be Happy
And be deified?
Deified...
Under a wimbledon sky...
Blue
And
White...

When she became... a french song...

When She came
A song french
Was i not by Her omniscience drenched?
For She a song became
A french flavoury savoury one,
A song
A la claire fontaine...
And
me thought
me sang...
Without being made seen
But heard still...
'C'est pour toi,
mon amour, j'existe...
C'est vous qui me chante...'

Holding hands Yours...

One morn
At Antonio dorn
Holding hands
Yours
Prayed
For Light
And
In your eyes
Saw light
Soft
As if a blessing universal
A mother blessing eternal
Her child...

One morn
Holding hands Yours
Prayed
For Happiness
And
Joie
In your eyes
Thought
Arrived
As if a mother seeing overlooking
Guiding Child hers
To the shore...

One morn
Holding your hands
Sought
A city of psalms
At Antonio dorn...
And
Under the shade of palms
Jerusalem morn
Love arrived so
Like an inundation...
A happy ~flowing ~breezy~ leafy~ smiling ~peaceful ~serene ~sublime motion ~
                  ~
                      ~

And heard
A music
You whispering~
                                 ~
                                     ~
'Je crois en toi...'
A sense of joie...
A sense of eternal joie...

Love post prayer...

When love comes
Post a prayer
O how she sweeps all
The worn
The curse
The fall...
When love comes like a grace
Post a prayer
As a complete rest
O how she robs away all...
O how she widens the coop...
With her light of a beauteous morn...

And
Kind her eyes on pigeons
Stay
Hopping on empty where lay...
And her eyes catch the children smiling to park so young...

When love comes
Like that
Love becomes a helping hand
Stretched to the extreme...
Drenched only by His golden beam...

Like a song, a morn...

Like a song
Andrea
The morn came like a prayer,
And in the first light
The cool breeze touched
A heart,
Like a prayer
At a churchyard,

Like a song
Flowing by wind
A prayer by her unwound
Came a morn
Like a calm
Stretched full opened arms,

And
The faith woke up to newer hope
And charity
A songy prayer
With Agape cast a balmy layer...

Like a prayer ...
Andrea ...

To George, by Jove...

Like Jesus
To a child
George...
You write right
On me tonight
As i
Lie
Blessed
Seeking You George...

Like Jesus
To a child
This night
Fills me
With Your face
So godly...
An album cover
Bought
Saving pennies
In ones and twos...
From Piggy bank kept atop
On childhood's sweetness held on bosom white soft...
From an old man's small music shop
At Little Russel Street...
Once;

Like Jesus
You George
Come to me
O so heartful
Like a healing
Permanent...
Peaceful...

Like
This night
So comforting...
Provided...

An endless sea...an evening...

She not said
Sad eyed
She said not sad
Nice
A bay like
When He spread His sandy presence
Holding on to an enbankment,

As if before the sea...
In endless evening like
She
Did try to see...
Une mer sans fin
A dream...

Spread like the Him
A foamy sulphery turn
One endless of an evening
Came drizzling...

And
She
Wrote
Unwritten
The white light
'Vivere felici...'
A perfect Isabel
Not happening
Nonetheless,
Happening imperfectly nice
Endlessly bright
One evening...

And
The begin
Of night
One evening
Precursored
Bright...

A lyre
As if
Stringed
One evening
Like an endless Him
Une mer sans fin...
A dream...
Foaming
Happening
Not yet
Precursored
Still.

You against a drop of a twilight...

Sometimes find You
Like a satin
Hung on a clothesline
Half wet
Half dry
In the wind on a flight
But hung alright
On the clothesline...
Sometimes find You
Like a light flourescent
Against the orangy saffron
Of a twilight...

O what an interfused way
His colored motif me then binds...
O what He then me unthreaded binds...
A Billie like
O how Your blue me binds...

A tree and the sky...

Find them
Often
Conversing
A coconut tree
Green
And a sky white and blue mild...
A happy consolidation of a rise...
An afternoon academic
Holy wise...
Find them on rise...

Conversing french
An inglorious past
A decadence
And also a rise
Bright...
Filled by autumnal light of spring
Sans photoediting...
No cropping...
No artifact...
A rise
Of a dream
A rise of hope as found
Once by Frost of a kind
Soon after
Elinor...
Passed by ,

Find them
Green
Blue
Peaced
Not minced
By any words unprovoked
Silent
Full of hope
And
Touched...
Though distant,
One rooted firm
And another always coloring changing like a painter's scape
Fulfilled
Sublimated
Evolved
A state
Still
Exchanging...

For the blue
Needs the green
And that green
Needs the blue,

Two distinct different hues
Conversing...
Evolving...

Finding frost... in july afternoon ...

God...
It took me real long
To decipher you
Frosty...
The blue in your soul...
Like a state of being cold, icy,
Turning back to everything,
Only shaking shivering cold
A desperado hidden in sublimity...

White
Why she left you?
Why she turned so blue?
And
Still
In blue you found you...
Like a struggle against...
Like a struggle within
To hold back
And also to run on Love's soft mellowed skin
Fingers...
As if a piano...
To send and create
A shiver too...
A blue...

God!
Why so frosty You become?
On a july afternoon so holy and so wholesome?

Such a beauty of a day when She delivers...

Such a beauty of a day
When She a beauty herself delivers bright
So autumnal, so full of Light...
Tell me
What not he can do?
What really not can he do?
he can fly the ocean
And swim the whole blue
Of the sky...
he can redden a white rose
And whiten a red pure...
he can...
For She has come to him so bright
Luminous...
Glittering watery happy tears...
Flamboyant
Elegant
The Most Benign...
She has left Her invisibly visible signs
All over him...
O
How has She covered him
With Her all encompassing
Love...
So wide...
So full of the bright...

and one just finds him
Crying
Like a child
Finding uncontrollable kindness of love
Covering curtaining brightening him
Autumnal
Like a monsoony spring...
A holy bid
Working at His best...
Blessed...

So...
Kneeling at rest
Peace
he just prays
Gratified
'Vous m'avez donne` une beaute` ...'
O how he just cries
In joy...

As if joie is the only truth...

Your red primer and a white layer ...

Am i not amazed
By your red primer-
Hung like berries all over me?

And
That white grazing dream
Of a mare
Coming every moment near...
Closer...
As if that pasture even
Had all of my sense...
Your captured heart
And me captive soul
Joined by music
Of a Holy day...

And me graze
And gaze...

Perhaps you too
Same you do...

A Connect
Without any mortal visible thing
But still we sing...
Joined invisibly by Him...

Holy...
Pristine...
Primordial...
A sense of a Being...

Est-ce pour moi? This morn ?

Watching the beauty of Her
As if his prayer
She heard from far...
Watching the blue of Her eyes
Her hair gold draped
Where He had many times small chose to die...

he asked, wondering,
'est-ce pour moi?'

And She
Smiled
As if Her ethereal glee
Turned music holy
Into a morn...
And She
Like a song
rustled
And
Murmured,
'C'est moi...'

Saying this
She showed him
Her benign supreme...
Her love unsurpassable...
Silent
Yet so so much music,

he thought
Then
he had become
A music calm...
A song himself,
A prayer...
A dreamy sabbath...
A  sun kissed Ariel
A divine  lyre...

The sky...the road country and a dawn...

Once he took
The dawn to his heart
Once he took to the road
Where towards country it did part...

And
The sky,
He thought,
She heard his song...
He thought he heard her
Too
for really long...
As if he heard a dove milky white
Flagging peace on soul...
As if he heard a bell
ringing religious to tell
The dawn had come...
The dawn had come...

The stars of the night, and the night of stars,

Have you seen
The scene
Out there?
The scene of a night?
There up being becoming
A starry clean spark?
The night so sublime dark
And so sweet like a show
Of the Star, the One, the Only One?

Have you seen dear
The Tiny yet the Vast
The temp yet the Centurion blast?
As if She,
An Asteria blue
Is spreading Her glow all over me,
And all over You?

As if She, the norse Nutt
Has come to dance with her silvery shoes?

Have you been
Ever to that Hall
Where  they let their feet
with tune nocturnal fall?

If You care...

If you care
To drape me with your beauty such dear
Why not me make a part of You
O my love of heart
A moist wet yet shiny bright love mine?

If you care
To stand before me
Such wide spread like a canvas rare,
Why not You make me part of your innocence bared?

If you care
To plant such amount of Love
In my soul so blue and white
Why not You give me a bit of your Light
O You Aphrodite  like , a muse bright?

Kneeling down...

Kneeling down me
Before You
Kneeling down me
Before You
To get alms of Your golden Light...

Kneeling down
Me to catch your feet
Kneeling down me
With tears
Happy
For after trials You
With joie me help to meet...

Kneeling down me
To get more of Your bless
Kneeling down me
To catch another glimpse of Your whitest dress...

Kneeling down me
To realise a denouement of Height...

Kneeling down me
To get more
Of  Your
Afternoon awesome sight...

Adagio...

The red carpet show
Was on
Before him
As envisioned...
Lara on song
As if she
Asking him
To go slow
Adagio...

As if the world
Moved slow
Calmed
By the  whiteness of Love...

As if
Rest
Was the only state...

A
Slow
Godly
    Existence...
Irrevocable...
Invisible...
But there
Persistent,
Non insistent...

Slow.
Adage.

On a wooden trail, with Chico...

With Chico
Her favorite horse
She caught the wooded trail once...

Chico ,
Her trusted horse,
Young,
Blue eyed
And
White patches on his brown
Glossy
Athletic kind...
Heeling
And steering
Across
Like a seasoned thing,

And his hoofs
Made sweet trampling noise
On yellow orange fallen leaves
On the floor moist of the wood
And
She felt the murmur of the breeze
Getting fused with that of the chirpings of the birds,
And she thought the murmur too
Of a stream flowing nearby...

Once
Thus
She caught the wooded trail...
Once thus
She passed
The day
Feeling God,
Within,
Pantheistic...

Once thus
She got evolved
Into poetry...

Finding the child... in her...

She came like a child
Curious...
Talking animated...a bit
Not willing to sit...
As if she was curious...utterly
And looking at the book cover
Had perhaps the sense
Of having a flight
Through
        Through
                The monsoony cloud dense...

Once he tried to raise 
The issue
Of failings and falls...
But she...
Ain't a child?

'Let's not talk like that...
Negative...
For life is all about flying...
High...
Too high
As if reaching
Him...'

Then
She
Got into reading,
Afterall ,
She
A child not...
A woman
Of the God...
A reader sure...
A seer
Pure...

So
She started reading a blue sky
And a white bird as she flied...

And
Time
Got into
time...

A heaven closer, up, here!

Seeing the brush strokes
Up there against the blue mild
Like a struck by wonder,
A birth of a child,
and feeling the smell of green
So heavenly...
Before the gold arrived with bright,
he felt the cool entering in,
Seeping through skin
As if bliss...
As if the best thing happening...

And
Those skyscrapers
Designed by the supreme mind
Of a man who had seen
It all...
One morn,
They surely bore witness to this birth
This serene calm...

Like a skyscraper song,
Up...
But here too!

Demi Lovato kind
Of a morn
Got perfected in front of eyes...

Comme un gratte ciel...

he certainly got that feel...
A heaven...
Up
And
Here...

Painted,
Flavoured,
Colored,
Sung,
Smelt,
Tasted,
Heard,

And

Felt
The Most...

Up
And
Here...

Miraculous...

Once saw you out on the street
Like a circle of beady Hope
Left in strings of lights...

Once saw you like the winged bird
Over a tower spreading your arms...

Once saw you like a blossom soft
Blooming careless on my lawn...

And
The other day you did descend
In terms of prose and a latin poem...

And
Yesterday purely french
You left me unbound with Joycean sense...

Found you
Have not i
In my eyes?
And beyond eyes even
As a death did i die?

Found you in the eyes of a white mare
Looking at me, fixed, a holy stare...

Found you very early one beautiful morn
Like an aroma of Agape building strong...

Found you walking on a blue green sea
As if in you Him did i see...

Found you
Discovered,
In a park
Standing white like a statue stark...

Found you
Kind
Giving away
Jars of water
To the children
On a scorching sultry day...

Found you
O You!
The Miraculous One...
Found You
O You!
The Whitest Swan...

A wish...a dream, a real flight...

He sat still
Silent
For words of speech are more or less banal...
For words inside are always the real...
So,
One afternoon,
Catching the supreme benedictory glow
Of helios...
The undying,
Unchallenged,
Unchanged,
And dying still
Changing every minute
In minute detailed on sky,
He prayed...

And
Then
He thought he heard Phaedrus...
In conversation with Socrates...
A three hundred seventy
Before the birth
Of the babe ...

He thought he heard it right...
The winged soul
Of a soul
Narrating
The tests and redemption thing...
Trials and salvations...

Mise en abyme...
Followed by height...

He thought
He heard it all right...

And
The flight occured there
Right there in his eyes...
He saw the jet
Leaving off a trail bright
And also a cuckoo song emerged sweet...
Like a perfect lovely tweet...

Blue blue day...an afternoon flight..

Thinking you
Is like having a flu...
And a bird that swooped
Went high up again...
Testing her capacity to fly...
After swooping down
One needs that strength afterall
To embrace it all...
The deep down run
And a high high up...

All...
Vertical
Only two states...

The afternoon when came with such a glorified Sun
Setting slow
Against front deified western...
Why a bird like a seagull not catch up
The sprite?
The afternoon monsoony balmy delight?

And
A song emerged sure
Out of the two phases pure...
One right up
After a downy feathery light...

He perhaps then remembered
'babe's got blue eyes...'

Afternoon
And
A straight arrow
.
.
T
H
G
I
L
F

A

Finding them...like Jean de la Fontaine...

Found them
In a dream
Like a Fontaine...
Fabular...
She
The soul of a breath of life
Sitting on a rock...
Upon a white transparent cloth spread like light...
And He
Coming down, flapping
His wings...
His hands on her face
As if...
He was saying something
To Her...
The breath
Of a Soul...
The soul...
As if He spoke the unspoken verse...
Found rare...
Scarce...
Sparse...

And
The blue sky
With cloudy cottony prints,
Had a bunch of flowers...
Flowers flowing...
Flowers white spraying
The whole of the sky...

Found them
La Fontaine
Like an ethereal unreally real dream...

One calm cool sea breezy morn
Unbarred...
Unhindered
Like an universal dream...

Wayfarer blue...

Met a friend
A wayfarer...
Blue
By the road...
Sipping tea we
Had a conversation-
On the roads...
The highways...
The God...
And some tech
Like twin sparks...
Engine oil not getting sticky...
And the advent of more power of horse...

Met a wayfarer,
By the road
This morn
To get more into
The pristine God...
Who often like saviour descends
From His Home...

And
Me got Home...
Me got Home...

A fourth july letter...

Dear...
Knowing you are no Abigail
And me no John...
But
This day can't us fall...
For this day is always within us
A day of deliverence...
Credence soft...
And faith upon God-
By our solemn acts of devotion...
A motion...
A monumental scope...
A day to be in forever Hope...
A day like this wish i forever stays
A day of total absolute independence...

(Wishing Happy Independence Day to all my American friends...and to all...for freedom is the only choice to live it good...it is the state of rising...a waking up...an emancipation...)

A saree blue white soft draped...

Sometimes She comes
Like a soft cottony white saree
Draped all over me...
My dreamy scape filling she
As if laying a sleepy cool feel...
A gelato serving
Without being bound
By any copper penny...

Sometimes she comes
Like a wavy sea of a sky white and blue
As if a stairway to heaven...
A tibetan song with flute accompaniment
And a loud monastic gong...

A waking
Like loving too much this small life...
A vision
Like finding the Goddess tempting me to dive...
Into her cottony soft...

Meeting sea breeze...

Traveling
Through the windy wonderous road
he felt after a long time
Sea breeze...
The breezy sea cool
Sweeping in...
Sweeping feel,

Traveling through
The unwoken street
Of the city
Which slept restive in peace
And bred poetry,
he felt the same Dante piazza happy
Woken up inside...
After the shortest of the shorter time
A life time
Of the Big,
Taking a slow but huge swig
Of a Chardonnay...
As if he had all the anticipation
Of such a known unknown wine...
That he had in company of a painter
Amadore kind
Once sipped...
And he like a morning serenade
Became a sonata...
A music...
A song...

Une nuit silencieuse...and loving her...

Loving her
Is like falling more into silence...
The silence of Her own
Which one feels in one's marrow of bone...

A silence so blessed, serene...
A silence tasted by seahorses deep living marine...

Loving her is like raising one to the most...
To catch Him in moist sweated karmic post...

Loving her is like standing lone atop a hill
And there getting all of the silent ascetic feel...

Loving her is like dropping oneself into an eye of inner storm
And still being at the eye feeling no unrest at all...

Loving her...
Is like being provided by silence godly and most operative...

Loving her is plunging diving unworried into the deepest of the bluish deep...

And being born into a speechless movie Eisenberg
With no ship of one sinking without purpose...hit by icy berg...

Loving her
Is discovering beauty of the universe
As painted continuous by faraway yet glistening hopeful stars...

A pink blue sojourn... an evening onset

The evening onset
When a pink blue sojourn me met
Was it really without that dream
Which once one had vividly seen...
A dream...
Like mount vesuvius...
A dream so conspicuous,
As if god's dedicate
Me met...

There are there...
Purely ...
Surely...
Still...
Strong...
Even in
French terms!

And she left...a gift...

And she left a gift
Wrapped beautiful
At the doorstep
Silent
As she came
At dawn?
Perhaps...
When he was asleep...
When he was in dreams...
Of a writeup...
A cruel insensitive writer he...
Is he not?
Not he?

And coming out of his dream sleepy transient feel
he the careless...
Realised by the light of the day...
How she
The Holy...
Has left a gift
At his doorstep...
Wrapped by her touch...
Her smell flowery still vibrant...

And so much he
Got her sense...
That he wept...
Touche`...

And he could not decipher
What he should do...
Should he run?
Under the glorious sun?
To search for her?

But where?

he thought perhaps...
Teary eyed...
Cursing his own aloof creative jolt...
And he thought if he could be a Bolt...

The prototypes... when they sang french...

And they sang...
The  prototypes...
'Je ne vous connais pas...'

And he got drunk
Not knowing
What they on media player wrote...
What they on files and folders saved...
His tablet was his only choice...
And he heard their french voice...
Singing there...
French...
So good...
Music likening a tune
Alien but not silent...
Voiced but so unvoiced...
So rhyme laced
As if he got drunk...
As if he in alleys of a french provincial town
Moved noiseless...
Smooth...
Blessed...

Santiago route on road...a morn when got born...

Some morns are so marvellous
That they take in all
As if one is porous...
Some morns are so miracle blessed
As if one losing all becomes the wealthiest...

On road such a morn came just
As children in white one passed...
Singing a song
Which Elton John prayed
Once ... sitting on stool of wood
Absolutely dismayed...

On road such a morn
With halo of Apollo got born...
Just before eyes not perceiving
Just before ears not listening...

On road a Santiago route evolved
And one with the Virgin mother involved
Only muttered soft
In surprise joy filled held aloft...
'Christ!'

For one got ashamed
Seeing Him walking cool the same...
Despite -
All ...

For one witnessed
How in hayfarm a babe smiled
Toothless...
On His Mother's lap...
Waking,
As if new born...

Seen You in the Light of Eyes...

Seen You
In the Light of Eyes
Seen you how you got dyed...

Seen Your  eyes lighted
As if a lamp
Got her wick ignited...

Seen You beyond eyes,
Seen you beyond time ,
Seen your being
Beyond everything...

Seen you beyond-
Your smiles that do bond
With your tears,

Your Windchimes...seen 'em too
With paperbacks doing a boo boo...

Your ascetic view
With a sky collecting morning dew...
Seen that too...

Seen you
In the Light of Eyes...
Seen your lamp ignited...
And
Your wick catching a calm...
A burn...

Je ne te compare pas...

When the golden aura
Fell on you
Your dress
Reminding Artemis...
When the sparkle on stagnant pool
Of water of yours feel the shine
Of the gold newest falling from southern sky...
When the pigeons on your limbs come
To take a refuge...
me never compare you;

For with you whom can i compare?
With whom actually i you pair?
Je ne te compare pas, mon amour...
You can only catch your mirror
And perchance there,
methinks you
Can me find...
Can you not?

Seeking... you...in nothing...

Dear
Am i seeking You?
Nay...
That all i can always say...
For seeking you the most
Is not my way...
For seeking you is not seeking you either...
Your glorious terms...
God where once spelt His charms...
That can never be sought...
Who so ever that ever bought?

i seek you not
In the chaos...
In energy loss...
In atomic blasts that only caused decay...
nay!
i seek you not in the crowd...
In queues long before cinemascope...

in their stead
Seeking you where
Nothingness sheer null results breed...

In nothingness...pure...
Sitting on a mat on a cool marble floor
Of a temple...
Or a church...
Or a mosque...

Seeking you there...
Your stem...
Leaves...
Bare...

Nay...
Je cherchais rien...
Not am I on any feign...

Seeking you
In the late evening sleep
Seeking you in nothingness deep...

When she sang...like a Fabian ,

'Tu es mon autre homme...'
She a Lara
Sang
Personal...
Subjectively inclined...

By golden red getting blind...
He got the feel
Standing still
Looking up
Only to see
The sea above
A blue ocean overhead unwired
As if a bluetooth connect...
Receiving all
Without being too much wired...

'Is a Fabian dream
Wrapping me up?'
he thought
Looking at Her
The goddess of sky-
An ocean blue...

He looked the unoccupied theme...
Non disturbed
Not perturbed...
The She...

A sea
Of a sky...

And he thought
He was near too...
Listening to
The twilight breeding ice...
The twilight serving energy poetic...
The twilight singing as if...
Like a Lara...
A Fabian
A Maurane...

'Tu es mon autre...'

Am i not loving it?

This green underneath
This feel of a football field
So youthful...
This mirth
Of being
Among dreams budding like flowers
This joie!
Aha!
Am i not falling in love with this place
Again?
Like coming back to my mother feel?
Like being in her sweetest lap?
God!
Am i not loving it?

'Your talks are ... well...don't know!'

'Your talks are...'
She started thus
Once
Looking straight at him
One cloudy breezy cool morn...

a few moments earlier
They both walked a green land
And
They feeling tired
Planning a rest
Sat
On a bench
In a park...

he was looking at the sky...
The trees...
The birds flying like little kites...

And she was thinking
Absent
Being present just by
his side
On the same wooden bench
With a green paint- a bit worn...

'Well...
Your talks are ...dis organised...'
She finally stated...
As if that was a very big hurdle
She had to overcome...
Saying
Stating
A fact...

he was listening...
Perhaps...
Perhaps not...
Perhaps looking at that eagle
he sought
Something...
A fantastic flight?

'But...
Your talks are good...'
She added
A  rejoinder...
A mind...

he still looked around
As if he was not interested...
She heaved sigh...
A long deep one...
Pathos ridden?
Perhaps...

And he took up from the ground
A triangular stone small...
Smooth surfaced...
Much like the one
Once an architect
Left for him ...
In a stormy rainy thundering day
Of a night...

She
Knowing
Said nothing
Not even being curious...
She smiled...
'Your talks are good...nonetheless...but that I don't really know...'
Saying such
She slowly stood up...
he followed suit...

Moments enchantes,

When i
Think you
Believe me
Moments enchante`s
See me through...
For i dream...
Like a dream of a day
When no waves arrive
No turbulence...
No movement...
No thing stirs...
And i
By your eyes
Take a move...
A flight...
As if a light
Enters...
And
i so much buddhist become
That uninhabitation
Creeps slow sure
In me,
As if
i realise a monsoon
Within
A spring too
And autumn even
And summer green octave and sestet
And even a glorious rhyme seven
Stanzaic!

And
Hear you
Saying
'Vous me voyez a` travers...'

Happiness... if you come with a mind...and me teary...

O You
Angel mine!
Why do you think of painting thus
A picture
So true...
As if with happiness You
Make me a tryst...
Why dear?
Why such a way
To turn topsy turvy
A mind-
Fully swayed?

Why do You
O Happiness
Angelic!
On my tear glands stick?
Don't You know
My tears are imprisoned?

Why?
Why ?
O Happiness
Angel mine...
Do You unlock
Those gates by heaviness so far padlocked?

A greenish country...a village...and white cloudy escape...

Some sudden arrivals are like destiny
Like this morn he
Cycling hard
Sweated all over
Arrived...
At a village,

A village neat country side
With a dusty road
Going
Like a river
Following the undulations
As if going by her whims,
And running through a village
With trees long...
And trees bushy...

Green...

And above
Only sky blue
Like a marine
Scape...

O how this morn
he escaped
Into a scene
Where only white cloudlets could be visibly seen...
Floating,

he took a pause
Purring mild
Panting
Perspiring
Like a marathon runner
Glowing
Under a tree...

And he took
A long deep breath
As if he had the wish to take
All flavoury aroma of the place...
Restive...
Peaceful...
Silent...
Like God...
The most beautiful...
The Supreme kind...

And he thought
he got another birth,
A Birth
Always happening...
A Birth never to be seen...

he had that feel
On his perspiring soothed limbs...

Meeting Murari...encore...

He thought he knew him
By name...
Murari...
A kind soul...

Seeing him
In his blue uniform
His face
Where aging had left already a light trace
His coppery hair
His arms longish bare
His pepper salt chin
he thought he had seen...

Some twenty eight years back-
Perhaps...
he was then too young-
Innocent,
Forever on song...

Sitting by the window
he had then a world
Which him showed
How in summer mid and rainy halved state
Grass flowers rose to greet him evening late,

Sitting on the balcony white
he had then captured flight
Of swans, cranes, and numerous others
With solitary delight...

Jocund!

And
Then there He had been-
Murari...
Too...
He would visit on occasion
Like a joyous celebration...

He-
The
Murari,
Had bhojpuri songs
And in a voice so young
He would take him to His village
Where under a peepul tree
Cows grazed
And a woman,
Probably
Murari's love
Would there come
To sit awhile for Him,
Thinking Him...

That Murari
he thought he met
Grown old
A bit coppery skinned
And salt peppered...