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...