Release me far away
My affections and all else
Wrap me in and let go.

Knowing the consumed
The seasons left the lips
I was the kiss, the lips and
the throbs 
In the dreams and all the days
I would kiss again, watching.

So
Release me far away
My affections and all else
Wrap me in and let go.

Questions I escaped into
Reading helped no more
The poems of mine read evil if
I did not read it aloud.

Therefore
Release me far away
My affections and all else
Wrap me in and let go.

.
Chained ankles observing birds in flight,
One day the chains would know too,
They would also fly with me.

The hidden time of lovers runs out,
Then again only into memories of gardens where they met.

Burning you in to you,
Then why is my search
In opposite direction?

The haze
Sleepy daze
Walk, no walk
Smoke from a burnt cigarette 

I can read
Whatever you offer

Experience I want of yours none 
I have nothing hence to share

If you see foot steps in sand,
Wait for the tides, they might be of some help

On my bed 
Sleep sleeps no more
Some sounds they come
They go

When a self walks away
From a self
I would still not be able to say
I'm free to you.

A day another day,
Advantage me again,
All it needs is for me
To go, go, go,
Keen about what it holds,
Organizing reports of yesterday, say,
How unimportant and how
Easy it is to LIVE.

Sigh.

When you are confronted with the enormity of the obvious, and hit by the futility of sharing you risk the possibility of being far from civilization.

You are speaking to no one in particular and no one is speaking to you.  

Picture this:
A path with red soil,
Grey hills at the horizon,
Green fields by the sides,
Hazel sky,
A solitary tree.

What my eyes saw:
The time.

The stimulus in my ears:
Noises of silences.

The feelings on my skin:
Warm, cold, warm then again cold.

I couldn't walk or sit.

I belonged to that picture.

I in it completed the love.

I called it the universe.

I could do so much here now.

Through a static a movement is born
Not through intuition 
Not through absolute
It's a movement
Always from state of static to a
State of dynamics.

This I in movement being
Limitless and through a finite 
organism
in which the potential remains
Unexhausted,
Energy keeps creating energy.


 

Nothing can come to an end till I want it(whatever) to end. Even when it ends, I never come to an end. What only ends is the ending.

Memories again,
I keep coming back to it,
To them,
To know is to remember,
What I remember should fill
my experiences just like light fills
up a room.

What remains now makes it clear of what will remain tomorrow.

Is it like standing on some
stairs(?),
All my life,
Waiting, climbing, counting
seconds,
Inevitable is anxiety with
certain IFS,
But if,
I am not separate from
all the happenings,
Who is there to read the
difference.

The silence had to guard
the secret of branches,
the gardens and other meeting places,
The whispers, the smirks, the wings, the wet mud and the muddy fingers.

One day in the springs
a day of loneliness overcame
the silence,
Where people enjoyed picnics,
Silence remained like a solitary
house.

It was a small sapling once,
in love with the breeze,
And it's morning kiss,
under the shade of an oak it grew well, 
invisible hands nurtured color and perfume to it,
it was happy, it was pure.

That day in that spring
an insight
penetrated the spirit,
the silence seemed prisoned,
Words stopped to drop,
The tears throbbed the heart,
a hidden voice of agony united,
In that one day, the day in springs.

I approached it,
Sat by it,
Felt a ghost in it,
Separated by thoughts
we sat in unison,
somehow I knew,
In the season of wine it
accidentally tasted vinegar.

Deep in thought it finally 
Looked up,
I smiled, I smiled as if
to a dark cloud or green silk,
It's today was made up of past,
The stink of past had stirred up
It's self-consciousness and hence
it felt lonely,
Lost amongst the bees that
buzzed  around it.

Meanings remained unclear,
The eyes extended a horizon, 
The horizon smiling at the sky
understood the eyes that saw it from earth.

Clear answers, I wanted,
I touched my ear to the ground,
I heard foot steps, gentle,
Of a child, running from the mother's lap to the horizon and the open sky,
A thought in me could see,
A purpose which it could not understand.

Then.

Stood by a window,
Windows have a lot to say, always,
A path, a car, a distant shop, market street and
then a horizon,
But the eyes only would look at
what mind wanted to see,
Could I understand it all,
This I am, I exist, we exist, all.

If I name it

it has to be thirst

need to quench it

but then why should I

Can i

or, flow in desires

a rain drop once spoke to me

it was in a drop and how it flowed

in the mist of the life

in love with life

flowing, to stay thirsty,

it was a rain drop thirsty,

flowing supported by a dream,

I too once stepped accidently

unsupported on a dream,

no shoes whatever,

and look I walked as i allowed

myself to walk,

let me be hence,

I be.......

Love needs a vacation
You go, go girl,
Plans can stay,
Build a temple,
You can be dreaming,
Happy to ignore the moon,
No tears now, stop,
Love needs a vacation too,
People love and half past sun,
Flecks of light turning to stars,
Smile and never be nervous.

In my car
The buildings whiz
By.

In my car I am
Independent.

In my car
I can be in comfort even
By being lost.

In my car
I am witness to the
speeding Past.

In my car
I remain rooted to
the landscape.

(Quote---)Grief Strengthens Cynicism.(---Unquote)

Questions of money
Haunts my beloved,
Possibly I make none
No treasures are forthcoming,
I see it as a mystery and
She as my laziness.

I work, my entire heart out,
I do in my limitations.

She rushes to me that all I do 
Is waste
If it pays not in money,
such work hard is the work of
lazy,
A mouth needs money,
Not words, if I have to
Remain your beloved,
Understand the grocer should
Never turn his back on you.

Study a cage
Inside outside,
They come, a reason there too,
Yes, it is lack of reading,
I never can understand fully,
I still feel chill in language
Digging deep in my warm skin.

Mondays become tuesdays,
Springs turn winters,
Motion in straightness,
Nothing else comes,
But a Monday again,
The spring new.

Should I stay to be,
The determination to rid the guilt or anxiety,
Not indulgence alone,
But in genuine reason, in meditation,
Who wants to remain a tourist,
Tourist only one is if One travels outer spaces,
Study the cage,
It may not be of cold steel,
May be images,
May be random,
Connect and see.

I give up, everything,
I gave up everything;
I in love
I give up
I gave up.

Clouds now,
Skies clear, in readings,
Two facing each other
Give up
Gave up
The past, the self.

Thank you for being here,
A travel belongs in engaging,
Journey holds a meaning
It cannot start if I don't
Give up
Gave up
Thinking of staying back home.

Childishness Me,
A room there for you my love,
Carelessly
I give up
I gave up.

The source cannot be Seen if you call it a Mystery,
The source could be a sound
Or sands,
Existence has to make me existent,
It's been a life,
yes forty odd now,
A long time played, the mechanics
of pain seen clear and free,
Closed hands could pick roses
The pricks of thorns hurt no more,
A drop of feeling locked apart,
They rest for some time.

The heart when slows the beat down, it seems all couldn't be mechanical, it had to be cold,
Emergence can only come from a 
Yes.

What holy did you choose?
For a span chose you, you know this already,
do not sing, I don't about this or why now
should I think.
 What did you choose to choose?
A step,
A stone,
A human,
A crutch,
A love,
A railing,
some of them or none of them, okay if all of them too;
birth happens in blood, even of a day, stay aware for rest could turn to junk
if water flows without a feel.

Not a perfect me,
never me,
me always in some sort of weaving,
who would know me,
I myself never knew me,
one day in a story,
a line turned in to me,
not really me, actually  not yet
perfect, but almost an inspiration.

The stories do turn,
wonderful at times, slow at other,
dead sometimes and fire in nights,
they have doors that never open and windows
that are huge to allow memories, yes of all sizes,
to enter.

What would I leave behind,
an imperfection,
may be, but it would be for you,
you would know how then to take it
to your definition of perfection,
I hope that for you too it remains
just a definition.

A construct reconstructed.

I dream a day.
I dream a night.
That I think I change.
That feels love at first sight.
The walk on water.
About my living.
All remain.
The dream that names itself day.
The dream that names itself night.

Passion - knows nothing of the
the word called reality, what and how
can a river too know off volumes when in rage,
the winds and clouds flow to call it a flood,
the veins rip apart,
the body sculpts, the mind unleashes a dimension,
freedom in passion can never exist, it makes no personal
history, if it stops to make one, life stops.

The stage always stands still,
in darkness or in flood lights,
naked or in full effect,
actors get lost, so do their costumes and lines,
the stage stays there to tell stories to audiences, who if like it,
understand why they were there.
Love speaks when stage holds.

A situation always finds me, so
does a question,
interesting at times, happy at other,
I walk out, walk in and then resign,
behavior if to be called it has to have you in the frame,
if you are in that life-wrap, a situation always at all times
hunts me down.

The nature can never intend,
it is just dangerous some time,
the specie survive, they intend to,
some applications stand firm, even if you
and your god disagree.

Whoever designed circle, had to first fall in love.

Paths and books,
relationships and abandonment,
of what a woman thinks
and about why a man never thinks,

She would always have a question that could
one day become a book,
he always had a path that could be loved.

Both could be together, both could be one,
as they are if that is all they could be

Every day a page,

a page in pictures and words,

I know some, remember few,

the night knows them all, the eyes replay that what

they see creating the page on a screen,

then the night binds them, stores them,

I laugh at all who call these pages

unknown or some kind of sub.

My mind, what and how can it be,
it is awed by itself, own self or
Confused and puzzled or
Walks in clarity
all through itself, by itself.

My mind interrupts as you talk,
Wonders what would be coming or going away,
I know it orders life,
then at times talks of living alone,
creating and destroying relationships of itself, by itself........ MY MIND.

Memories are good,
memories are great to have
I could change some
may be more,
I need to tell you it might be a retrospect if it has you
in it,
I could call me a fool or clever, then a gull again,
Like all I could spend time in introspect,
Come around and think it to be waste,
May be some insight with reasons being explained could walk around,
If I could change, memories would always be good, great too.

Examine emotions in time,
in night and in day
when while talking,
or if listening, all my life,
all that loving,
in entire capacities, the beginning or in endings,
there are always a you and me in some emotions
trapped or otherwise.

I could say -
It happened to me once upon a time.

What's a market where a beggar, a prostitute, a trader and a politician, all standing, there, to take in what each other can take from itself?

The market would be blank,
May be what makes a market a market, is a child,
have you seen markets that sell toys to little children?
I have seen one, the streets have restaurants too, the ones that sell toys to you.

Lots and lots of jumps
of laughs and of walking the edge,
these I know will always turn into books.
you too if you do well, will live in a book,
I live in one, immortalized till a new edition kills me, but,
I tell you a secret, if you live, you would always be looking at it.

On a ticket counter, I insisted,
instead of a ticket I got a story,
the teller was at ease, the train wasn't coming in soon,
no one behind me,
I heard the first line,
his wife it seems was a house wife,
then I tapered off,
I guess he might have have always wanted to travel......

Yes I'm listening,
Always been,
And always been thinking too,
Who, who am I listening to?

Change I say to me
Stop listening, It might give me then an answer,
Thinking too is listening, listening to whom,
But I'm busy, I guess like you, telling you,
As you tell (never ask) me,
Are you listening to me?

Chance discovers all of us
Catches us by surprise
Seduces us
'Religion, music, love, house, country, blood',
It says ' was all brought to you by me'.

I feel no need to talk about it
What is there to even acknowledge it
If by definition it is chance
It cannot be a discovery.

Let me now then see all about it.

If love caught me
would I be thrown in a prison,
Yes I guess,
No I think,
I would want to be caught,
It would be a risk,
But I would learn, and only then,
How she would say one day
GOOD BYE.....................

Can a journey be called a journey
If I start walking back from my gaol
to the source where I willed that goal

Walking back would be a walk in time
I would require a mind and maps in that mind
Yes it would be a journey
So what If my feet would be standing still

So many times the poet writes lines
then walks on them back again
writes them again without a change and
feels it is a night rolling itself out again

Sometimes it happens
we start walking back
the tools here remaining simple
the walk seems small

so I thought so
so I thought so

When a painting looked at me
A questioned walked up to me -
'Was I a shaman,
A mad man,
Or ignorance looking at it?'

I feel free to talk - I replied
I feel free to look at you - I continued
And I admire your self-control - I ended my little speech.

It held me long
I stayed in
It wanted me to believe in signs
In fate
I kept laughing,
Then it died on me
Becoming one more map
What was once a paining, so it called itself.

I lie down and it is the night,
There is nothing to do, nothing atall,
Slowly, ever so, the noise
Of air reaches the ears,
the eyes look into the night,
the life kicks back again,
I lay there now doing,capturing all
the undoing.

A mind remarkable traced a body alive,
in prayer and a work to do.
The walk could count each breath,
The face endured the sun,
It knew what it wanted,
The path finally met the man.

Yes!
In a mortal skin moves an
Explanation, a love,
a relationship.

If you read well between the lines
You would know it wasn't ever an
Irish coffee.

I'm so glad you dint
Would you then might have asked
Do every one go to heaven
And I would have said yes.

But you never married
And never practiced a religion,
Upto my neck I sang
And you never read what was
Between the lines.

You saved your self,
You had a way with you,
I thought though, you knew and
You remained with your god.