Night/Day

My Russian friend and I wrote this poem.

Night
Tonight, I will shower a few stars upon you.
Their gentle, calm light will illuminate
the darkest hours of our lives.
You can count them lying on October grass,
and know that I am one of the stars
burning bright in your life.

Day
When the sun roars on the earth's edge,
my desire will paint all the hues on you.
When tired sky weeps on the mountains,
my dreams will kiss your eyes aloud.
When muddy clouds veil our temptations,
flames and flowers will lay by your heart.

Saturday Morning

Before the sun shines on my eyes
perfumed thrill of my lover unveils me.
Desire, like a flash flood of crimson light
sweeps away our demons on a Friday night.
And noise of our lust is lost in the
thunderstorm of August darkness.
Now, we are recovering passionate bodies
on the edge of a Saturday morning.

Eternal Echo

Faded charm and wearied vitality,

as the random moments trick.

Dull noise of morning birds,

and frozen stars in the evening sky.

Everything is like inert passion and loud silence.

Ah! Lofty laughter of loneliness.

Then, you arrive on a beautiful day.

Extraordinary morning and lazy wind on my face.

Budding spring of multitudes, xanadu at sight!

Cry of joy in sunflower harvest and then rain.

I feel like a child, hopping on naive imagery.

Thrill of an infinite dream and love.

Dream

Blue is the color of the sky.
Or, our prejudice for monotony?
Dare to dream-
crimson and fertile mud; day and night.

She is dancing in the rain.
Or, crying at her last Spring festival?
Dare to dream-
her moist eyes hardly hide the impending winter.

Faraway are snow capped mountain tops.
Or, our empty perception and conformity?
Dare to dream-
crystallized labor and tears of the heaven.

Gandhi was the beacon of non-violence.
Or, our hundred years of decadence?
Dare to dream-
wave of millions can sweep away tyranny.

She is painting a castle at the morning burst.
Or, challenges ordinary images of our memory?
Dare to dream-
her euphoria, pain and love on canvas.
Imagine-

Euthanasia

I can only see a pale blue sky far, far away.
Can you hear my broken existence?
and torture of the deafening thunders?
Freedom, I value the most is enslaved by fate.
Pain of invalid, pain of pity and pain of insomnia.
My life has met its grand finale; celebrate!
Euthanize me my friend, let me be free.

Ma', wipe away those glittering tears.
When you remember me,
you will find me in my poems.
Read them aloud; you will hear
my relentless passion, pain and angst.
Train of thousand words. My swan song.

Don't forget your promise, my brother.
We had hours of argument on dignity and life.
Do not hold on to the residue of burnt candle.
Let the lingering flame be blinded by my last bright.
I shall see you on the other side of the sky,
if it exists.
If not, goodbye, my sweet brother. Goodbye!

Vicious Cycle

Infatuation

Reflection of the clouds
(hold your mirror, sweetheart)
Snow capped mountain tops; clouds were below our feet.
Vigorous imagination of wild wild youth.
Blinded, we gave into temptation.
Insomnia was never so pleasant and
restlessness was never so creative.

Love

We rode the wings of a white horse (early romance)
Then, broke free on the yellow fields of October harvest.
Under lightning and rain, we were swept away by insanity.
Modest breasts, fast bites and dark mark right above your knee.
We flourished each other with delicate noise.
From crimson to crimson, our decadence (late romance)

Betrayal

Two years of cowardice (you don't deserve love)
I looked back if everything made sense.
Our turbulent love in the time of cruelty;
and you dared to name it sacrifice.
Six months of your manipulation and lies (toxicity)
Tears in the dark storm and you called it sacrifice?

Break-up

Death to you everyday (overwhelming darkness)
Snapshots of anger, hatred, frustration and fright.
Irrationality of hope, an essential illusion!
Running through the heartless city of concretes,
I reached the snow capped mountain again.
Still burning, slow heat of two hearts.

Infatuation

Reflection of the clouds
(hold your mirror, sweetheart)

Reincarnation

Hell

My funeral. I woke up by an illumination (Maya)
There, I saw images of my last childhood,
struggles of youth, secret lives of sodomized lovers
and above all, my lies, deceit and betrayal.
I was in hell for five cosmic minutes.
I was in hell naked standing to be punished.

Earth

My mother. Nine months of a whore.
I was a product of unknown father and his lust.
My low life was trapped between hunger and tears.
I was blind, only two dimensional darkness everywhere.
Is that a sound of swans dancing on water? Fly!
Then saved by the love of a socialist, Jesus.

Paradise

Divine polygamy. Promised lovers of God.
I spent seventy two hours, every hour of a virgin.
Uniform conformity and loud music of supreme authority.
Cacophony of dirge for reason and free will.
Banished homosexuals from the garden of Eden.
O Jesus, take me back to earth and blind me now!

Last Love Lore

Let me kiss you for the last time tonight.

I won't judge you; neither will I fight.

I will offer my love before we depart.
Heaven will break the silence of our hearts.

Riots of thunderstorm will deluge our history.

The sound of pain will be sob, our blind noise.

Let me kiss you for the last time tonight.

I will touch you light and play the tunes of lost love.

I will revive the fossils of our good days.

You will win tonight and I will give up.

Dissolve my darling into the eternal darkness. 

Goodnight forever!

The Girl in Train

You are lying in divine disarray!

Your flowing midnight hair is a goodnight lullaby,

an echo of aurora on a crimson river,
and there, van Gogh envisioned his painting
"starry night over the Rhone."

Glory, glory to your burning bright eyes!

hues of concealed passion delight,
and there, Blake crystallized his poem
" ............burning bright,
in the forest of the night.”

I saw her first when I boarded the train to the University Hospital. She had flowing black hair and big, expressive eyes. It was a Friday morning. The train arrived exactly at 9:15. She stood out in the train full of blonde people. The coach was packed with students; I was standing about twenty feet from her. I could see her occasionally through a sea of people. Everyone was busy or at least, looked busy with his smart phone. She was holding onto the iron stand and looking outside through the door.

At the University stadium, almost half of the students got down. I readjusted my location about five feet from her. At this point, I could vividly see her. She was in a black jacket with a grey top underneath. A black skirt with black slakes added to her voluptuousness. About a quarter of her bosom glittered bright in the low November sun. She was most probably in her early twenties and corners of her eyes were yet to yield into the wrinkles of advancing winter. We were standing opposite to each other. When the train started to move, she looked an askance at me. Within a few seconds, she looked again. I made sure to pass a slight smile though I couldn't determine if she smiled back. There was a little movement at the right corner of her lips. Our communication did not last long; she got down at the next station.

On Monday, I made sure to board the same train. My wandering eyes searched for the girl. She was seated by a window beside a young woman with two over exuberant kids. Dark clouds were hanging over the city and a few rain drops just arrived on the window pane. Inside the train, almost everyone was indulged with electronic gadgets.

"I should sit beside her at the Stadium station," I thought. At the next station, I walked gingerly towards her and sat in the front seat. She still had the brightest pair of eyes but, her hair color was changed to chestnut brown over the weekend. Her ample bosom was hidden under the veil of cruel red jacket. I noticed a tattoo of cross on the left side of her neck. There was a beauty spot right below the tattoo; so was on just above her upper lip.

"Those lips are deserved to be kissed with care and utmost passion," I thought. While the neighboring people were busy in their worlds of a foot radius, she was looking intently outside. Once, she looked right into my eyes. It was painfully acerbic. So, I looked at her reflection on the window. Our eyes met at the focal point of the window once. It was smooth heaven.

That night, I dreamed of the girl in train. She was in shabby white clothes. She had scars all over her face, dry lips, slightly bent nose to the right side, hair in shambles and thick lines on her forehead. She was sick and her mouth smelled like rotten egg. She was leaning towards me with her bright eyes on my lips. I was sure that she was in a mood of coquetry. A feeling of disgust and infatuation overwhelmed me. The more I looked at her the more a man, rather than a woman, incapacitated my sub-consciousness.