37

i spend
my blue moon nights

drawing clouds in the sky
and filling them up
with unspoken lines

and in splashing
some more blue
around the moon

and in flying
across the sky - making
my way through the clouds

i am the cow
that jumps over the moon
on blue moon nights

and i moo
and i move - on blue moon nights
and i am

blue

blue days that start with blue are not always
blue
they only get bluer in all bluest brilliance
~
super hero pencil boxes, pens, black ink
shoe art, paints, miniatures, camera
breathless
~
"I'm more beautiful than you are" that invites
sudden laughter and foolish grins -
one of those moments
~
too costly for what they are worth
rugs and shirts (that do not button down)
but still shirts, let them go
~
"not the right shade, nor the right size"
ear rings are not so easy to choose
easy bargains for lack of sheen
~
the streets promise the usual
scrambled eggs and steaming coffee
and laughter
~
a movie, two women and a place
and emotional complications, it ends
with things hanging somewhere there
~
beautiful sad music, folk songs
all in an unknown tongue - secret
wish: I was born that, that I understood
~
no tea, luck not so bad, there is coffee
and conversations and blueberry
and realizations
~
then a goodbye.

the forbidden song

to sing that forbidden song
of forking lightnings
where every note of the song,
every point on the lightning

was only the start of something
new and unbelievably similar
to everything that followed,
everything that had gone ahead

sweet forbidden song, the song
that should never be, but yet sung
to the tune of the summer breeze
is the song that stays forever on -

is the song that sure and must go

5C

12+25+259+127+77=500.

Joy!

fifty oil pastel stars

last night i could count
fifty stars, oil pastel blue
on the sky, at a distance
twinkling to themselves
twinkling for no one

last night i stopped counting
stars - once i counted fifty
bright blue oil pastel stars
that twinkled for no one
and went to sleep

last night in my dreams
i saw more bright blue stars
fifty more of them i could count
in bright blue oil pastel
i counted the stars, till fifty
that twinkled to themselves

and woke up to this morning

evenings

any evening is good enough for you to see through the grave your own
for time repeats and time is so full of stories and the stories repeat with time
moments replace one another as moments pass by when today is a fond memory
and yesterdays long forgotten to take you to the next day when new flowers are abloom already
stories of people wearing red caps only to prove the uncertainty in real or in paintings
everyone has a version of their own yesterday and it is only a lesson
for one's own self and for everyone else when realizations do dawn from somewhere
across the table or from somewhere besides when you know what from inside woke up
to show you things in real a lion or a red bit of paper of only shadows of eyes for
nostalgia does help at times but not always for nostalgia only blocks the way to rush
forward towards tomorrow or the next day of life or the next pointless living moment
with no element of surprise, woo - hoo, and this is new, yes, brand new
totally out of the gift wraps that we never knew
neither i or them or he or she or it or you, oh yes neither i nor you
time to taste the latest brew, the super potent dark brown brew
the shade of the dark night sky
the shade of a failed try
and the moments pass, as the minutes now are then past, as you grow old
you only know it's all

gold gold gold gold gold gold gold gold gold gold gold gold gold gold gold gold!

6 to 7

i must have had seven cups of coffee today
or may be more, no counting the moments of boredom or the cups of coffee consumed
i must have read four pages of the book i read in all of whatever i read today
from three different books that i carry in my bag, i think i should carry more
if only the bag did not feel heavy the way the heavy it is
there is one droplet of black ink left in my pen. yes a fountain pen -
it is not my fault at all if i happen to like them
i should be able to write at least seven lines with that one droplet i hope
and i can paint a dream for seven lives whether there be ink in my pen or not
and dreams being dreams do not bother me and i wouldn't let you care about them at all
i was asked not to wear black, green, or white today and the ceremony moved to the next day
so no black or white or green tomorrow too - i can't imagine a rainbow
without black or white or green, but well a day or two without rainbows work just fine
or a rainbow or two without black or white or green and the visual poetry that awaits the next week
the breeze blows in wet with the teasing rain and brings in motion pictures in black and white
the distant bells ring and ring till they think they should ring and the echoes persist
i remember the bus window seat where one song played in my head over and over again
i fell asleep singing my song and forgot to get down where i should and it matters not
when the world outside the window is only the unchanging world and every place else
is reachable from anywhere else with a song in a head that repeats itself
and i only dread the night when i might fall asleep despite the seven cups of coffee
and it is now six, only six days to seven now and i've done nothing at all

the june tune

realization of time repeating itself
and the moments in life hence
june ends, begins july

to fly

and the very last day at the end
of the world, the place of mythical
legends, the sun sets in

ha, oh my

then are born the stars and golden
fountains and black clouds in steel gray
and red cherries in fruit juices green

only to try

to be and to talk consciousness
of philosophers and men of the mind
and philosophies and the ways of the mind

by and by

the golden glow fills from inside and
disappears from outward in when
the words get intensely intense

deep and high

stories and books and depression
and paranoia, is not uncommon amongst
tamed lions of the circus behind the cages

a string and a tie

easy to see and easy to be
limitless and mindful and free
to be clear sans fog, as can be

and then a sigh

to be all hopeless inside but
still be hopeful on the outside
for tamed lions in a circus - and to confide

is no lie

and then to know hope
when the smell of hope fills the air
all over and all around, hope and hope

is worth a try

the ways to where you should go
in twos or in threes or in fours
only long thoughts when follow

a night and a good bye

Sat-err-day

the sun rises late when you wake up late
what use is a day when one knows it not
but the moon was not on all the time
when one is fast asleep, dreaming reality
the stars twinkled invisibly for a careful eye

when awake after glasses full of water and
the late realization of yet another late night rain
after the cleansing of vision beyond the mist
only scrambled eggs and coffee wake up
to make up for the forgotten meals in between

dance

Come what may
Go what will

An empty street –
Breeze
And golden glow filled

The full moon
Clouds
Trees, silhouettes

Can empty a mind,
Make one realize freedom

And make one dance
All along the road

And when alone too

Nuffink

While I should be here
I’m only not here right now

Without a fear
I wonder how

The world goes around
Round and round

On the set axis
With life in excess

While I should be here
I’m only not here right now

And that answers nothing
If there is something called nothing

Sway

the arrogance

of assumed
perpetual youth

 - can stay

till it’s time
for the next

 - birthday

Of Angelic Nights

of angelic nights, experiences,
and the spoken word,
vast starry electric land scapes -
where rain drops were miniature

fire-flies

Recall

(1)


"So, do you have a mole on your head?"

"No... Erm... But I do have a mole on my upper-lip..."

"No, no... something on your head? Say, a mark?"

"Yes, I do have a birth mark on my head..."

"Ah, so I was told..."

"Yes, I told her..."

"You told her too!"

"Yes I did!"

Laughter

***

(2)

"You have a squint!"

"So do you!"

Laughter

***

(3)

"Ha ha ha!"

"Ha ha ha!"

Laughter

***

figured!

to figure it all out is far more easier than one can think.

it only takes a mug or two of strong coffee, extra bitter,
a song to play in the back ground, in repeat mode
the happy trance that the repeated tune and the repeated words
as in a chant can bring in
can switch on the light bulb - plink!

deep breaths do help, to control the excitement
that one realizes on realizing the thing that one longed to realize
and then to believe that the vision that one just had is the way
and to loosen the grip and to give it all up and to give
them all up, singular, plural - not two but one!

then go back to the curse of words without which one can think not
read or write or think - in words that mean things
far beyond what they are supposed to mean and indicate
but to realize the thing one wants to realize is not done through words
but through a momentary flash of symbols and sounds and something beyond the senses!

to figure it all out is far more easier than one can think.

Rain

Quite unaware of anything
Or everything
That it created
Or that created it

The rain falls
Outside my window
Slow and gray and silent
Alone and alone

All by itself

eyes

no matter when other
eyes are watching you
or not
in the darkness

you do see them eyes
behind closed
eyes

frozen frame of
eyes
vast, wide
infinite

enveloping darkness
all around
and behind closed
eyes - are

eyes

looking
at, through
you from here
till infinity

frozen
in all definite
probabilities

:) (2)

Another wonderful movie.

Beautiful. I did not even ask. Happened on its own.

Aah, Life!

HBW&TEOTW

Well, there he casts the spell, once again.

Magician, this man!

Makes me want to read GEB all over again.

aah!

Nostalgic,

Aah 1
Aah 2
:)

And the aahest of all aahs ever even after a million listens -

Aahest!