my coconut coir bed

CELLuloid FANtasies

in town's top Ice creAM parLOrS

to SAVor thE chocolate mint EvE

and devour the MElancholy night

from your supple shoulders to her bare back

sApient summer morning Dreams

In mY coconuT coir bed

of a bygone era in Nepal

Of their time, the goal was set by dissident idealism
Cold air inside the darkness, makeshift home,
The winter birds in their cold cages,
Peering out at bare naked trees of ashen,
Ground level feeding under neon strobe
Where filled Maruthi taxis and fancy dress suits jingle
Turnstile iciness against the ancient land of Himalayas.

This is where children dream,
dirt and cardboard
Cushioning their hunger with cold and fierce eyes,
Holding them close, kissing their thinning red lips,
And the concrete humming low, echoing,
Hungry beasts marching toward their grief
Like a serenade of giants rising out of the fiery ash

They rise not for the hordes of sleep-tattered children,
They rise for the noise made of coldness, their heated
Hands wrapped in ice with the reaping of the unkind
Upon their breath. They’ll seek the cultivators of gloom,
The progenitors of war and the ravenous well-to-do
So there might be relief for the misery-born folds
Sleeping near death’s ragged claws.
Soon the beasts of winter will clap their fury
From end to end of the piercing streets
With only the names of greed upon their lips.

Alas

Weeping, wounded to the core
I go down the street
Puzzled, without solution
With the sadness of Floretino
And Majnun.

Rethinking
Infinite impossibilities
With the rhythm of a clock

Resolved

to watch carefully
how a person
drawn so near
could retreat
to an unattainable distance

Our last chance

If we do not act now
we will never again be able to find freedom's favour
to fill the emptiness surrounding us

if we do not act now
we will never be able to kiss again, or make love
or do any of the things that testify to our being free

we will end up puking flattery and gossip,
trembling our days away in submission, compromise and fear
worrying about what the neighbours are doing
living like squealing mice

venture out to night's supermarket only to find food
swarming damp dark gutters
in the deep dungeons
where our soul is locked up

Afternoon blue

fading into
shifting greys of
dusk

coming to 'the end, in journey with Her

Wandering had seduced naive me with her stunning looks and remarkable features, taken me to explore depths I had never known of;taken my had and taken me across the seas through the arid plains between the hills to beautiful valleys and shown me the summits and the dark dangerous depth that lies ahead below the snow capped peaks.

How I never sow the thorns in her rose and never realised that I was bewitched by the devil's daughter. Unbeknownst to me I had wandered and entered the shrine where millions had passed on through never knowing that I am but a lone voyager who travelled with eyes and ears closed.

I was worshipping at her alter to her beauty till my last breath had passed and I was no more; as I had known myself.

and I heard these words

O Pilgrims, thou art where, thou art where?
The Beloved is neigh, come hither, come hither.
Thy beloved is thy neighbor, behind the wall
Lost in the desert, you are seeking and you fall;
If that lovely faceless face you once see
Pilgrim and shrine and house you know are all thee.
From house to house, you sought for proof
Yet never ascended up to the roof.
If it is the house of soul you seek
In the mirror see the face that’s meek.
If you’ve been to the garden, where is your bunch?
And where your soulful pearl if at sea you lunch.
With all this pain where is your gain?
The only veil, yourself, remain.
Hidden treasure chest, buried in soil
Why let dark clouds full moon spoil?
King of the World, to you will show
Magical shapes, in spirit you grow.