2010

Saturday, September 4^th

And there you are, at last!

Sitting on a low wood by the edge of a narrow lane,

your wait celebrates every moment dashing to 6 PM.

Under slanting Sun and your bright eyes,
beats of an unknown joy evolve in my heart.

A spring of your straight smile flows instantly;

possibly, still vivid on the western crimson riot!

Our nonsense talks about cop chasing car,

Anderson Hall through almost bleeding Fall,

and your love for Oreo brownie ice-cream,

as if everything is a fast infatuation!

As evening fervor blossoms the brightest,

innocence glimmers amongst glitter of our eyes, just!

Friday, September 10^th

Radina’s Coffee, 3 PM

Early romance getting fervent,

we sit by the window glass facing the same narrow lane.

I am afraid today if this is a dream,

moving rapidly through multitude snapshots.

Happiness on your smile abundant, you rejoice,

and I wonder if it’s just the random weekend vibe!

East Stadium, 11:30 PM

Night falls and green turf becomes brazen by September dew.

Train of impulses takes us over now,

soft words culminate into touches restrained,

I see sensation on your dove like neck.

Under a million glittering darkness,

we look far above in the ever unfolding mystery.

Tenderness moistens aloud on our trembling lips.

Monday, September 13^th, evening

With our every passing zeal in the thunder evening,

chains of inhibitions are liberated one by one.

Now, you unleash yourself as passion arrives.

The gate of ecstasy opens up in a rage.

Fast murmur of our breath follows veiled aroma lissome,

I see goose bumps from your neck to your bosom,

Some lines between us melt into glory,

with every paint on your lips and fingers sublime.

Whisper by whisper, bite by bite,

bursting thrill colors a hickey on my neck.

Wednesday, September 22^nd, Konza Prairie

Wonder of fading rays on the cloud of heaven

leaves a trail through just showered prairie.

Blinded by cold sun, we kiss, see time fly!

As stars get brighter and moon burns full,

we start towards cacophony of wild.

Adrenaline takes over curvy roads little known.

We believe, you pray and we believe again.

Warmth by warmth, I sense you the most today.

Walk by walk, I live an age in this moment halfway!

Stefan, I and A Few Others

I dedicate this work to my PhD adviser, Prof. Stefan H. Bossmann.

Under the lull of a purple town,

a brilliance touched by eccentricity

incites motivation, weaved in freedom of thought.

A glorious rainbow rises in the dark rooms of sweat and sweet.

Every cyanine lights up my mind infinite;

I would hold a candle to those cells on the horizon.

Dreams and dreams, your loudest song alive!

Multitude of parachutes migrate in bright and blue

in the deepest darkness of the ocean bed.

As power of imagination charges,

bio-luminescence makes a leap from the ocean to CB 344.

Step by step, a party of molecules starts in a round bottom flask.

Fire, Fire! set alight those cells;
let them die and us live for a while.

A touch insanity flirting with risk, your grandest show!

.................................................................

Cyanine: A range of dyes that we synthesized in lab in order to image tumor

Parachutes: a metaphor for jelly fish whose luminescence is being used for radiation therapy

those cells: cancer cells

CB344: synthesis lab

An Evening With Dostoyevsky

On a low light evening, I went to an underground Moscow bar.
There, I met with a filthy, ruffled face in a dark corner.
A drunk gambler, but, what an amazing charisma!
I sat opposite to his table and an obnoxious smell welcome me.
I saw Russian damsels hovering around his prodigy. 
He murmured an introduction to a revolutionary manifesto.
It was about blue and white collar,
less oligarchy and more happiness.
He declared Putin a Rasputin, a failed "Superman".
"Keeping fellow men impoverished is crime,
that deserves punishment."
His murmur became thunderous, almost epileptic!
Next, a few concubines offered him their ample thirst.
Nothing distracted him at that point and he went on aloud.

I asked if we would become evil as we plotted against devil.
"greater good would follow", he thundered.
I shared with him my trajectory of "greater good"
by the length of mighty Brahmaputra river.
Two decades of deception and wile,
two decades of lost childhood!
There was prevarication of ideology and ideals. 
"Red October promise was a facade of socialism.
It was an orgy of oligarchy;
every gulab became gulag."

I asked,"Why is Pussy Riot Karamazov being punished?
A blasphemy or a veiled avenge of Rasputin?"
"Only a benevolent 'idiot' can save us.
Now, we wait for His arrival to wipe out our days of sin."
I said, "He may have already returned, but, He is crucified by-
Government, organized religions, liberals and conservatives."
Fanatics!

To A Secret Lover (Illusion)

"The very essence of romance is uncertainty." Oscar Wilde

Red roses and dark chocolates will surprise you this morning.
You will ask if anyone saw me leaving a part of adoration on your door.
Few names will cross your mind, but, you will still be wondering.
Dark chocolates will melt my infatuation into your revelry.
Every cocoa bit will make you wonder if love is a dark inebriety.
Then, you look keen and you will see my dreams on the velvet petals.
Some will be brilliant like your red hot blouse.
Some will be cold, February cold of our frozen inhibitions.
Some dreams are lofty hopes, to see you every Wednesday and
to run to the summer rain beyond scarlet celebration.
Some dreams are pure pale, your hidden treasures deserve my expedition.
You will know me in those screaming dreams of yellow morning.

Epilogue (Reality)

Dear Fab,
               When I wrote "To A Secret Lover", I was thinking about you. Not knowing too well was compensated by the power of imagination. Why should you know this? Because a) you are the protagonist in the poem, b) when my biography will be written someday, the posterity must know who the secret lover was and c) I have always adored you. Only cardinal sin I have committed is that I painted you in red; it probably should have been white which is your favorite color. Do not say anything now, your silence is my imagination.

Mausam,
              Wow. I did not expect such a message. It was nice, but also made me uncomfortable, especially since I am engaged. I am sure the posterity will remember you for something else than any inspiration I had.

Killing

It was a cold, December Friday.
You waited for a lovely weekend with your little girl.

Travel to a fairyland, to the warmth of Merry Christmas.
But, cruelty unleashed a psychopath among children;
Mother earth soaked red and every bit of innocent laughter.
Echoes of your brightest flower were never heard again.
Heaven too changed its color from blue to black

in the hope to cry a gloom to wash away your tears.
Mothers of Newtown,
"Do you still look forward to the weekends?"

You do remember the day you brought your baby home;
You looked at the back seat often while driving your car.
The miracle arrived with a scream to pour joy into your soul.
But on a Friday, a psychopath scared away the miracle forever.
Now, you wonder why; your beliefs are challenged by that fatal day.
Your dreams and hopes are dashed by the sound of sin.
When your son asked where his sister had gone, you cried silently.
Fathers of Newtown,
"Do you still look at the back seat while driving?"

Lincoln's moral high ground divided and united a nation.
Morality is, now, your propaganda to lecture gullible Americans.
When a soldier dies in the senseless caves of Karbala;
when a child is dissolved by the bullets of second amendment,
you see money in war and in gun lobbies. (institutionalized corruption)
Red is the color of money and red is the color of Washington DC.
Politicians of America, "Do you see the blood of the kids in your hands?"

Of Love and Lust

Come in white this weekend; I will paint all colors on you.

I'll prepare a brand new recipe for you, both love and lust.
Zubrowka on rocks, hot kebab, Clapton's guitar and my poems.
We will start our conversation with color red.
I'll paint tear drops from Gaza Strip right below your belly button.
And, color my love on your summer bosom; what a rhapsody!
My favorite poems will echo on your agile heart beats.
Later, we'll discuss humanity of Mandela and his last few days.
You will ask for more love as darkness arrives.

Come in white this weekend; I will paint all colors on you.

After second drink, we will dive into the moon soaked pool.
There, we'll revisit our green rebellious days on mean streets.
Bullets of second amendment, privacy of fourth amendment!
At half past two, we will drink our last; dance till lust takes over.
As clouds obscure blue heaven, I'll honor your crimson lips,
and a purple tattoo, a relic of lost love on your wild back.
Finally, brisk wind from the clouds will invigorate your desire.
And, art of my touch will color you the brightest in the dark.

Come in white this weekend; I will paint all colors on you.

Next morning, we will rekindle our lingering sparkle from last night.
Yellow will be the color of your mellow surrender to me.
Your rousing dark brown hair will still revolt for the night's orgasm.
A flurry of my love will cry aloud on your twinkling eyes.
Then, we will express our shock at American boots in Damascus
and at how the days, the weeks and the months will unravel for us.
As the sun fades, I'll paint scarlet on you in the heaven of clouds.
Orange will be the color of our hope and love and lust........

Come in white this weekend; I will paint all colors on you, sweetheart.

Happiness

I

I searched happiness in-

pale yellow pages of history.

    Abraham Lincoln was weeping
    on hallowed ground of Gettysburg.

    Loud gun shots silenced Gandhi
    and Martin Luther King.

eternal meditation of the saints.

    When looked at the face of silence,
    I saw children of Newtown in a pool of blood.

II

I marched along side men
and women who shouted "Azadi."
Our voice thundered hearts of evil
in Cairo, in Benghazi, in Tunis.
Then, I swam to Homs via Jerusalem
in the river of tears and sigh.
I saw my mother
in every smile and wrinkle of unknown women.

Promise of a paradise on earth haunts me.
I am a son of a cruel revolution.
Bit by bit, metamorphosis of every
thunder and promise into hollow dream.
Happiness is an eternal struggle.

III

I made friends of all sounds and colors.

Our crescendo ignited the dead of the night.
We danced to the passion of youth and acid.
All became one!

In the morning, we became different again. 

Every molecule mocked at me with utter disdain.

My only hope was in the denial of reality,
so, I built prisons in mind.

IV

I kissed my girl-
sometimes in sweat, sometimes in mud.
Her every loud cry defined me.
As the symphony of our frenzy faded,
I looked at her brown eyes without thrill.
I woke up and off to run a few miles
on the curves of the city.
I searched happiness on those curves
of less human but more spaces.
I drained myself and
found lucid dreams in sleep.

Youth and acid,
tears and revolt,
love and sex,
dream and death;

Happiness lurks.