One Year Of A Soul

I looked down from the mountain slope.
It was a lazy day, ready to elope.
The afternoon sky was turning purple,
behind intermittent snowflakes.
I heard effervescence in the cloud.
It might rain- ah, snow and rain!
Earth soaked hope and desire.

When I woke up this morning,
doubt and fear of future were on the hunt.
I had a dream of my favorite cat,
transformed into a human.
He mindlessly destroyed
all the trees of this mountain,
history of dream and reflection.

I lost my gay friend to the cruelty of
human ignorance and intolerance.
I wish I were beside him
to listen to his struggle.
He had a soul of a benevolent river,
now meets with quiet vastness.

A sudden surge of light fall upon me.
It is a romance of earth and sun.
I remember the girl I kissed last summer-
on this mountain,
on these red rocks.
Under the starry sky was the best.
Then we moved on.

Darkness arrives fast in winter.
Night brings contemplations wiser.
Thoughts of dying alone never scare me;
living indifferent does.
If my passion fades,
will my soul wither? 

Light Sound Rain

We bade farewell to-
eternal waves on white sand,
rhythm of hues on seashells,
a lonely heron among seagulls,
rows of sprawling palm trees.

Rest of the sunset was
lingering on the blurred horizon.
We had to rush for home before
heaven burst into sound.
Defying our predictions,
water was poured upon us.
We stopped at Tampa Bay
for Cuban Sandwiches and red sangria.
Music just started a few black women.
They lit up the night brighter than
collisions of million clouds.
We froze those moments
by drinking and dancing.
We came home happy.

Colors Of Tears

Water is clear, so is a mother's tears.
She is burying her favorite son in-
Homs, Beirut, Baga, Paris....
every day in every corner of home.
Sun sets without a promise.
Cold wind whispers without a whistle.

I didn't cry for her tears.
I was busy in a coffee shop
telling others stories of-
colors of tears,
shadows of unequal deaths,
politics of asymmetrical humanity.

Monalisa Lost

sleepless eyes-
gloomy days
broken marriage
loveless sky
man or woman

lackluster forehead-
decrepit hair

absurd clothes-
ordinary breasts
fright overweight

delusional da Vinci

just sex

screaming night of-
seductive skin
bewitching lips
raptured waves
aroused figments
surged oxytocin
withdrawal effects
vulnerable ego
inflated promises
confused twilight
decadent tomorrow
lingering pink
fragile sex
just statistics

Living

I met her in a whirlwind of romance.
Smile was her veil of hurt,
evening fire was her lips,
tumult was her freckled face.
Free but reckless passion assured her,
almost numb, almost divine!
Her soul was glorified by my flesh
and others'.
Again and again.
Then came love, doubt!
There, she created music of eternity
from memory of tears and decay.
She was the darkest and the kindest-
a saint and a whore; an oscillation!
She died once at the alter of
a million rules of a few men.
Not anymore,
slow redemption of a benevolent slut.
She is living.

Weeping Milky Way

It was an agile September night in Southern Utah.
Heaven showered twinkling lights on her.
When shooting stars flew everywhere,
I watched a fire consuming her history.
Happiness flourished amid cacophony of crickets;
I heard loud illusions but she listened to the hope.
We burnt throughout the red mountains and desert-
I was blue and she was pink.
Tears fell upon the Milky way at the dead of the night.
She whispered, "the brightest road is our dreams."
Ah, we are fading fast into asymmetry now!

Gone

She was here,
then gone.
Her mama's empty arms,
now, barren sky.
I wonder if she is-
on the mountaintop,
on dusty crystals,
in purple flames,
in summer rain,
in spring blossoms.
Eyes were bright;
smile was courage.

She is right here
and everywhere. 

Dancing Flower of Summer

Midnight storm fell upon our fossils,
a wild fire then engulfed the darkness.
I was simmering around-
my lover's lips and breasts,
silver rings on her belly button,
red and black tattoos on curves,
dancing flower of summer.
We heard an hour long symphony-
of sound, smell and shadows;
of touch, shiver and goosebumps;
of fast breath and delicate pain.
Sudden cries,
that must be her sob for my glory.
Often, perfumed hair were on my face.
The loudest noise was our happiness.
In the end, we were quiet;
perhaps, contemplating a renewed desire.

To Katyusha

I saw her on my way to heaven.
I asked her if she would walk across-
sand dunes, arches and elusive skies.
Her reply was a silent smile.
I asked if
she would paint her silence on a snowstorm.
Instead, she painted faded wind in purple cloud.
I asked if
she would paint her smile on a starry night.
Instead, she painted murmur of an orgasm.
May be I was hallucinating.
May be I was in love. 

Reflections

On a crystal lake-
I saw ripples of a fragile face,
and ruins of fragmented Sun.
on a night train window-
I saw shadows of a million fleeting stories,
only memories remain in fast moving darkness.
on a bathroom mirror-
I saw evolving lines and grey of time,
an unfinished specter by a cruel artist.
on a clear sky-
I saw clouds at the mercy of whimsical wind,
breaking a desire I wished to obsess.

In Memory of A Revolutionary

I

I saw Him first when I was five.
I remember a calm, bearded face.
He often visited with my uncle,
and told me stories-
wearied peasants and their feudal lord,
American 'agent orange' in Vietnam,
Russian 'proletariat utopia' propaganda.
Marx, Lenin and Trotsky;
freedom is the prerogative of plutocrats etc.

II

I cried when cops kicked open the front door.
He escaped through the back;
hastily left food on the dinning table.
They asked my mom about Him and others,
and about the left-over food.
Frustrated, they took my dad to the prison.
I heard he never opened his mouth
though there was sign of torture all over him.
Such was the passion.

III

I missed His beautiful stories.
Everything was story for me then;
reality was an absurd abstract.
My uncle told me that He left for the jungle.
Armed revolt was the last refuge.

Growing up, I saw new people,
they were from the jungle but never told stories.
They brought us a manifesto and demanded money.
I asked them about Him.
They said that He was their comrade.

IV

He came back once on a Christmas night.
My mom woke me up.
He hugged me strong.
He was fighting for the freedom-
revolting against the authority.
Last thing I learnt was my parents' tears
over His bullet ridden body.

V

I cried then and I do cry now.
I never knew
if He was a hero, a saint or an evil.
But I know I sat on His lap
and listened to the stories of
humans, cruelty and humanity. 

To An Unknown Girl

I

Clouds were melting fast
and then dropped lazily
on a thirsty morning earth.
Delicate sound of the first rain
was harbinger of her arrival.

II

She had bright and wide mouth,
pink and full lips.
She smiled with her eyes,
as if happiness was that easy-
smoking weed on a chilly night.
Perhaps it was,
because I am still in a trance.

III

Every beat of music-

high note of joy and low melancholy!

I climbed a mountain and 

ran to see her festive valley.

Her home was my impatient desire.

Time disappeared, 

melody of memories lingered.

Hide And Seek

We are playing a game-
hide and seek of love.
              you hide but,
              your eyes seldom lie.
              I hide but,
              I am always nigh.
When the game ends-
              you seek
              for feelings true.
              I seek
              just for you.

Leaving

raptured sky
breezy rain
sleepless nights
bared soul
morning Daisies
nonsense laughs
pot parties
pregnant silence
naked showers
satin bosoms
scarlet kisses
moonlit sex
bathroom tears
butterfly love
two years
I'm leaving
beloved anna