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

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.