Anger, Desire, Hunger.

I had to hear them all,
All they had to say and do,
Hoping that they would by themselves
Look at the problem,
Anger?,
They have been ceaselessly talking
About it for centuries now,
Only talking,
Never dealing,
Never realizing where it rises and feeds;
The Desires, and if let, how it burns,
Hunger too burns me,
I am a system, and these,
Anger, desire, hunger are very simple,
They are the forms of me,
And what burns about me,
There was never anything about them
To be talked, never,
But they did,
And I had to listen,
And ask, does life have
Any meaning?

Unfinished Lines.

I try to understand you
I ask a why
I can't deny that

I wake up

To only see you

I live it, when

I see you walk away

It’s cool,
I play

It can only go up

To a point

Fingertips on my lips
I focus as am
Too close to the sun

Hear me out once
I'm a bad listener
I try
I ask a why

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A ray by a ray
Life reaches out
To me as I lay
Alone
Light through light
The roads reaches out
Inside of me it
Works up a me

I see her
I say a “Hi”
She says she
Loves the sound of that

The ray would

Someday search for a day

It would know then

What a search had meant

And I would trade it

With a day
For a night with
Her

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Mixed up
Here there imaginary,
Nothing that anyone can do
I dream and in that dream
I live a love
To something for live for
A day or a year
Or a lifetime
In a song
I call you
Be mine
Be there
Till the end of us

Indulgence

I scribble out an I
It's an
Inner burst of a last relationship and
As always being
Invisible to my anger
I take a deep breath,
Walking a night in the sound
i see a star in the sky from my window
And a face of last memory,
The memory clings,
That's what they do,
Clinging tightly to the dark night these radiant memories,
Always as usual I gather myself.
For sometime every night,
I become raw to the I,
Increasing the chaos of my survival pattern.

Tricks played by a mind 
For a mind 
The intensity of a wait 
The nights remained nights 
There were letters written 
About a vulgar pulse 
And some tears 

The candles remained burning 
The clothes wet 
In hours dark countless 
And I 
What could I say 
You awake! 
I called out 
I vowed 
I shall not sleep 
Till my mornings come.

A Love Poem.

A voice lies underneath,
She says “I cannot be with you.”

I ask “have you looked?”

She is soft, brown hair hides her dark eyes,

Her perfume lies trapped in those brown curls,

That play around her long neck,

She recalls “I wanted to know peace”

I reply “You have learned patience”

“I may have learned vigil perhaps” she walks closer to me,

My head looks up “It had silence”

Her long thin fingers now point to the window “The night wasn’t silent”, she whispers,

“Was it your heart talking? Your ears had no one,” the house is silent, my
Lips have no strength left,

She kisses me, sweet, “a night some months back, I spent building a nest”,

“It lasts forever,” I live one more breath to tell her;

“ Perfection must be a pause then, my love” her eyes smile,

“Love has to be born, it has also a sunset, not a pause,” I switch off the lights,

“What I feel is real”, she moves away,

“Desires are if life is”, I move towards the window,

“Freedom then should be just a play”, she closes her eyes, I see her in the moon light,

“Shadows don’t play, the light does and it knows nothing of freedom or otherwise”, I smell the air,

“It hurts”,

“It has a threshold”,

“Beauty then should be timeless”,

“ Yes, it fills me, this room and all those who are witnessing us now”,

She switches on the lights, “ It is golden in the morning, only then”,

“Look, the pole star”, I call her to the window,

As she moves, she smiles, “the past of lovers are like those stars”,

“When lovers are, the past ceases”, I hold her,

“You and I have played for time that seems endless”,

“Yes, endless”, I kiss her

I Spoke A Walk.

I spoke a walk one night
A corridor long, crumpled in a pattern divine,
In a hand of smile,
A small flower in a concrete heart, stood stiff and proud.

I spoke a walk,
Tripping as I came across her again in a afternoon light,
Sun flashing through her eyes,
Aching to hold her in the shades to fight,
To build a pattern, to live or to die.

I spoke a walk,
Breaking a pattern, a whim like gravity moving all,
I went up and down her entire face, her spine and all her gods,
A ray came in as a messenger,
Shame, shame called the purple audience, as if I had cared.

I spoke a walk,
I lifted a desire, no longer
Dark horses could harm,
It was harvest, all could see
And reap, she laughed after the moan, the linen still remained white,
And now I was right,
The linen never cared,
The pattern remained dismissed.

I spoke a walk,
Long nights and small days,
From the thought that went flying in fury,
It wanted no bridges now, as
She was now a cloud,
Far away shining bright.

Story-Telling.

It was a play
A distraction that I took
No notice of,
In a printing press my

Name was printed in letters
Small and big.
“What am I doing?” she asked
In all her eagerness, I replied,
“I go to play, as
I never like to work”.

Throwing her hands up, she
Sang “ Your name
Looks like a train name”,
“Does it”? I laughed, “I
Thought it looked like a theatre”
After a long silence, she asked,
“Aren’t you going to put me in your play?”
“I could never play, if you weren’t in it” I
Smiled,
The story now reached to a point,
It had to leap or be killed,
It was the intoxication of a man
Being man, the creature who could not live
Without story-telling, without the playing.

It always took a kiss to know that it would be the only one that I would live for, the one that would change the materiality of my life, it would be the truth, it would be selfish, I would be free. The free is to not to feel anything other than the feel of being alive. 

Except life what exists is more than it is to feel alive. I felt, it was always there to be felt.

The Cold in me is the Life that throbs.

The Soul.

Wishes driven to wonder

Words drilled on paper

The  I remained  alone

The learning was

Written in rebirth

Of that which created a light

Where memories were  raised

In which a life become a life

The I could not be any

It had voice of none

The words  to it came in slow

They could make and build

To study and learn

For  days and for nights

One after another

Sustenance was the content

The content was the escalator to be built

To be integrated

The I identified it

Answered by a process

The process a devotion

To think and to choose what

And through it

The soul was then created.

End of a morning folded
An abandoned air in it's retreat
I moved now in half in-completion
Coming across like an unfinished life

I had always moved to un-finish
It was the kiss that leaned on
All my stanzas
That were now stuck in my brain 
A flower struggling to float
I thought to write a poem
On the night
And a window
So some day when she looked back in
I would still be there in a photograph
Coming across like an unfinished life