Sunday, June 16, 2013

June haiku


starry nights--
do you know how distant
we are


at sea no more
the still eyes
of a marlin


to the nest...
the song she used to sing

Tuesday, June 11, 2013


‘Doctor, I find nothing unusual
in a person roaming with his hands
hidden in gloves in this sticky month
of May; you should judge the outward
versus the inward feeling of passion,

One needs to nurture the warm within,
since the first time my path crossed with hers
My life had been a torture, dangling
in tenterhooks. Till the day I gathered
these gloves, these woolen ones - you like the color?

Last week an ant brigade terrorized
my woeful love- you can’t see them,
They don’t squirm on the surface, yet I
feel them piercing into me, and yes,
taking my gloves off are of no use,

I told you, they are stabbing into me,
All I want is some pesticide, you got it?
Its been a whole week of burn, and somehow
I’ve stopped short of ending my world
in some suicide forest, believe me,

...hey, what’s bitten you?

Losing my sleep

Its not the patter of rain
but murmurs throughout a journey.
Its not the warble of green frogs
but peevish sounds like wind scratching
dry leaves. Or the anguish of a tempest.

I’m no sailor to worry about storms
or whether the Great Bear is on its hunt
for a suitable winter refuge.

I’m ready to believe that we’re journeying
by bus, and it’s nighttime so we can forget
the petulant glances staring at our chuckles
and laughter.

Yet she’d surely disagree - it is rather
a waterfall narrating anecdotes
for so many eons…
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