Monday, March 28, 2016


[ An ode to the poetic mind of Pablo Neruda ]

through a jungle
of beliefs-
i run from house to house
chased by a raging bull

how do i
describe you
in words alone-
all the words in me
are 'stolen'

hidden under
a white brimmed hat
i read faces
bricks and lanes
burnt by Santiago sun

when the end came
six and half hours later
i was envisioning
the army searching my house
for a man named 'poetry'

treading on  a planet
snapped from all modes of return
the soil
coloured with blood
of perished revolts

One February we were selling love

the thrum
of a tranquil guitar
at the Beatles Ashram
we'll meditate
along with butterflies


what can you offer
to the morning breeze
the chorus
of four bright boys
merging with the fog


by twilight
one black bulbul
tells you the tale of a god
selling peace in packets


from the hubbub
of money machines
this spring we'd sell love
to the babblers

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