Without you

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Gold

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Silent sepia of dusk

The day went off to die
behind the silent sepia of dusk
behind the fireflies in the fields
The un-awaited chronology
arrived yet again
solemnly announced by ominous thunders
Along with the small hours of the night
Plunging onto the tarmac
Plunging into the drain
dripping with wind
bringing the nostalgic scent of earth

I gazed at a spent rainbow called yesterday
streaming down my window pane
I sailed my little white paper boats
shaped from a hastily folded letter of love
I saw it browned by mud
singularly navigating polythene bags and pebbles
sailing into the heart of the liquid ocean of the sky
Unaware of the silver dagger of lightning

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Remnants

Just a whiff remains
of your sweat
besides my pillow
where you wept in ecstasy

Just a strand remains
tangled amongst my fingers
which ruffled tenderly
dark clouds of new moon

Just a moan remains
of your voice
bleeding amongst wounds
raging amongst fires
muffled amongst kisses
honeyed amongst songs
salted amongst tears
Leafless in autumn
And naked in winter

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Untitled

Lets play
A game
Your state and my corporation
Weld them
To force minerals
Out of rivers
To force Bauxite
Out of hills
To force timbre
Out of forests

Lets play
A game
Your words and mine
To force people
Out of homes
To force farmers
Out of fields

Let’s play
A game
On this checked chessboard
Let’s stake the lands
and the tutelary deities
Let the river run dry
To quench our thirst
Let the mountains spew gold
To satiate our hunger
And when the earth is squeezed dry
Let us stake the universe
And the planets

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Ema's tender hands

Ema’s tender hands
Weary of
Creating flowers
One day
Grew barbwires
from her slender fingers

I am in a hurry

I long for the fluid escape of poetry
I am in a hurry
for death comes creeping in a premonition-
a nightmare of fallen teeth and newborn
remembered at the end of the day
forced by dark clouds of rain soaked evenings

I wake from a siesta
to feel the inevitable night
falling relentlessly
in tormenting drops of nostalgia
dispersing my antique trunk of memories

While with droplets of dried turquoise blue on its nip
my pen collapse in a slumber
at the shore of soft white expanse
dreaming to chart its course
and leave residues of blue waves