featured in the poetry forum July 29, 2013  :: 0 comments

A dead matter,
Flown out soul,
Though I intend, I indulge
Many a times I kill
Rendering to death
Offspring to shape.

Give life!
Though the ink is cold
Every sitting, a new transplant
Born in solitude,
Words are the oxygen,
I let you breathe.
Thoughts where I am grown,
Feelings, I am planted in
Before I let it run.

Quietness is all I ask
The hen is brooding
Eggs will break
Life is coming out.

editors note:

If you want to make an omelette, you gotta break some eggs. – mh

Gravity of the eyes

featured in the poetry forum June 5, 2013  :: 0 comments

To give life, an artisan
Where, vanity to disdain
In the furnace forged
From dimension to shape
Where beauty is carved
Mosaic in its ornate plate
Now on the wall it’s hung
And its magnetic silence
Pulls them to observe
Still the eyes of Buddha
Teasing from the wall
For: the eternal peace.

editors note:

In this case, the story tells the picture; a peace portrait. – mh

The light kite and his flight

featured in the poetry forum April 14, 2013  :: 0 comments

Sleepwalker, he sings,
Looking for the dream
In the sky to catch.
He lets his welkin ring
Pull gently on the rein,
A world of never land to see,
Controlling the steed.

Small bobbin he rolls,
Lurking in the void,
Throwing its shadow beneath
In the luminous doubt.
Somnolent found is the city,
Proximity of which, is very material,
Had kept less ears aesthetic, to listen to
Creative sanguine flow.

Indignant kite that,
Pushing once again, the wind,
Along with fluctuating dream,
Betokening to go ahead,
Unseen behind, to make it see
The paper, where the horizon rolls
Entangled into his finger tips.

The kite is landed
Unharness the belt.

editors note:

I’d rather pull the belt tighter and go for another flight. Nice! – mh

Her Uncomprehended Character

featured in the poetry forum August 6, 2012  :: 0 comments

Before the dusk
Dark side of the street she goes
Heading to the unknown
Whenever the halo comes
She strides so quickly
Hardly seen in the day
And returns before the dawn.

It’s arcane nobody knows
Where does she go?
Neither does she reveal her job,
Nor does she go to college
But, calls herself a student.

Applicable fashion choosing
Displayed in the market
And her recondite deeds
Questions keep reading
For her masked identity is
Demarcating herself in the society
As unidentified paramour.

editors note:

No need to let the mystery turn to fear and distrust. Maybe she’s just a midnight seamstress. Why not ask her? – mh

Evening by the lake

featured in the poetry forum April 17, 2012  :: 0 comments

Mellowed moods to summarize
My thoughts are eager to tell
My heart is not satisfied
My eyes are too keen.
Dream that I dream can not be seen
Insulated concrete by the abstract feel
To realize clouds beneath the water
Borrowed from the sky.

Creative observation smile so mad
Thinking to my wandering nomad,
I cry alone devoid of any ears,
I have forgotten the world
Looking at the ripples left by the water duck
Forgetting the insipid reality
Matrix of my aesthetic hunger
Crying in the solitude.

29 January 2012

editors note:

The distraction of ripple and cloud obscures a poet’s hunger and solitude. See them, too, and forget. – mh


featured in the poetry forum December 27, 2011  :: 0 comments

This crude life
Is asking for many things
Stretching its arms
With the manner of insatiable
Lightening weeds of summer
Where our human forgets
The dark horse we rode.

Know this lingering self
Who has to return back
Withering along the night
So to realize the position
Understand yourself
In the lightening furrow
Among the black clouds
Just to make that light
Meaningful depiction
For our momentary
Residence on earth.

editors note:

In dead of winter longest night time of year, a little light to show the way; glowing from inside out or flashing from outside in. – mh

Voice of Everest

featured in the poetry forum July 25, 2011  :: 0 comments

Sky shudders over my head
Ice forms in my skull
Stampeding over, they keep record
Either it’s a thunder near
Or it’s the lightening in front
Deaf my ears and eyes blind.

My voice is lost in search of ears
Had I the articulation loud
Deaf you may not have remained
Day by day I am going naked
My clothes are removed
For the ice is melting
Neither snow of Alaska nor the Arctic cold
Can recover my skin.

Where are the ears to the cry of sickness?
Where are the nurse and doctors?
My wounds are arctic ice
Every crack is burning with pain
Who will stitch and treat them
Am I semi conscious or lunatic half?
For I cannot feel the pain
deceiving devotion you cannot deceive the truth
I am only child curious, getting to be known
How it makes the difference
In choosing the less chosen
On which highway of the words I walk.
I am still not heard.

The same absurd look

featured in the poetry forum June 5, 2011  :: 0 comments

Loads are my work
Daylong labor with fatigue,
Profession undertaking.
I am the exhausted Sisyphus
Tasteless taste I am taking
Staring to the world.

Every dream of a better life
By the eve I surrender
Clearing the glass with wings
Just to forget I am tired
Beer glass where moves the tide
For my mind is wild.

Intending not I am intended
To articulate the obscure thoughts
Devoid of any sleep dreaming
Pleasure in whose sublimity
Silent words screaming
Resilient lake where
Fury of the wind spins.

A pair of his pensive eyes

featured in the poetry forum April 5, 2011  :: 0 comments

Plunged into an azure depth
Wishing to know some how
Flight enigmatic searching life after life
Where you can not reach to strife
Wind he is of desert blows the sand
Moved the world with an errand.

His only devotion may freeze your life
Inspiration to the eloquence oh! poet
Taken away to the never land
Thousands entreat they fail to persuade I am awake
Many a reclusion dream to dream
Staring to the house of a woodpecker
End of a reverie into a question ask
Who will understand his eyes?

Stretching from horizon to horizon
Into a thought of strange journey
Leading me into a lost solitude
And formation of a visual answer
Comes into existing words
Where my effort in contradiction
Finds a feather of a poet
And familiar pain of an artist.

An overlooking exit

featured in the poetry forum February 21, 2011  :: 0 comments

Performing rituals
Prospect of this morning fog
Devoid of any taste of life
blurring with stiff cold benumbs
Adjoining bare trees where
Few birds are fighting with cold.

By the force of his age
Beside its note of alarm
Conclusion of an old man
Shivering with Siberian wind
Dragging his morbid steps with stick
Like the brown grass of winter
His cheeks are drenched by the tears of frost.

And due course of his vital spark
Anticipating his imminent owner
Preparing for the comfort of his
Inheritance of final retreat
For the Grim Reaper is
Waiting his claiming hours.