A world where blurs reality and fantasy
The Sword of Thunder
Honey
when your heart
is broken into pieces,
not even the slightest
we like to see you
scampering bewildered
in the labyrinth
you make in the sky-
look at the world of stars
and the unspoken lives therein.
Here are we waiting
to see a silent trigger from you
and from your dark Matrix,
a sword of thunder
that speaks to us with sound.
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The Story of a Migratory Bird
the odd-shaped migratory bird
comes here every year
to fill the gap in the sky, endless
travelling so many miles
only two open eyes
shallow as well as restless
snakes its little head to the east,
as it perches on a tree, but
balloons its breast to the west
with one leg fixing on a branch
another swaying to and fro.
bending its spine secretly
loves to drink water,
as the nightingale’s heavenly tune
from a wood nearby,
floats in the air
But
there's no water in the jug
this year
the illusive time
moving around it
makes the bird fly
to its own land, forever…
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A Little Flap
(I)
Behind the clouds
a little bird unknown
is flying ahead
towards its destination
keeping a sharp look-out
on the stimulating events
that glide backwards swift
in minute details
it is recording each of them
(II)
is that work meaningless?
perhaps not….
nobody knows
what a single little flap
could print in the space faraway
and discover a shiny feather
that takes away the dark clouds
and presents a sunny sky,
blue all over.
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Desire
In that deep dark star
The real story turns into fairy.
In that decisive bloodless battle
The desires of the characters
Are dying hard
But,
Only the one you long for
Escapes and sees the day’s light.
Ah, that I were a magical interpreter
I would go past the horizon
Speak to them in their language.
By the evening
I come back home
And, share their views
With the special Time
You’ve planted in your garden.
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Shame
The ghosts of disbelief
moving in all directions
striking the walls at random
in the dark cloudy night.
The pride legs
are sinking deep
into the trap under the trap
even the Shame is hiding its face
as it faces the shame
The trace of mischievous desire
is still waiting
for a short spell of rainfall
in some different space of thought
thirstily...
The sun is setting,
It is time for the bird
come back to its nest
and;
dig up the meaning of day’s flight.
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Silent Viewers
The night was on the horizon.
My friend and I were walking silent
on a complex field
covered with a strange white fog;
On one side,
we heard city’s clatter
saw the glare of light;
On the other,
we saw the darkest houses of the specters
and felt their soundless movement.
There, a cyclic clock giving -
Time on timeless.
Click to read my poems on www.poemhunter.com
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