A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language.

W. H. Auden

A NEW ERA

1

I travel over the Earth

In search of the magic land

Looking at the faces in the crowd

Am I the fortunate son from the river’s edge

Where grandmothers indulge in heated debates

About hope and reality

Between home and heaven

“Hold your tongue” grandfather used to say

2

In the evenings ,when the Sun sinks

I see the shadows of forgotten ancestors

Etched on my mind’s sky

I am conscious of the tangled hierarchies

In the eye of the storm in Nature’s mind

3

At last twilight is gleaming

And it is time for the stars

To end all wars

I see the weather from above

Negotiating the future

Making cardinal choices

In defense of a NEW ERA

I can hear  the fascinating rhythm

The rhythm of the next global revolution

“Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers 

back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a 

lover, everyone becomes a poet.” 

― Plato

CLIMBER

Climb the mountains fast

Before the summers are down

Before the wild fire burns the wood

Mould your dreams into action

You are the architect your time

Catch it before it slips through the sieve

Cradles

Mothers make cradles with words

And swing them

To and fro

To lull babies to soft sleep

Swiftly and gently

Gifting them a RHYTHM for Life

Creation

I throw a stone

At

The silhouetted tree

And

Birds flow like words

That fly from the pen

That fly to settle down softly

On the paper ,the safe nest

One merit of poetry few persons will deny: it says more and in fewer words than prose.

Voltaire

Love

1

Love is a magic wand

That sends thousands of butterflies

Flying up into the vast expanse

The vast space for a short life

Unconscious of its fragile game plan

2

Love is a strange word

Discovered in  a dictionary

Ripped of all its complexities

Until it finds its context

Stretching and limiting its meaning

3

Love is a cloud of cotton

May turn into tongues of flames

Fruit of a contact with lust

Leaving a ,sometimes, scar

On the walls of the womb

The Lady in  A Metro  Flat

The flush door closed behind him

She fused her head in the window frame

Removed her mask and looked at the void out

And like a hawk, surveyed, the sea of humanity

Seeing somebody looking up, she blushed

A faint blush that surpassed reality

She looked at the sky and saw a lonely crow

Far away wreaths of smoke spiraled up

Made mysterious by  the great terrestrial spaces

A hot breeze brushed her face tender and fair

          She closed the window

                        Arched her spine full

           Picked up a piece of paper

                        Tore into shreds, a

           Self-shattering gesture

Closing her eyes, she produced physical tears

Creation of immeasurable boredom and affliction

She wore her yellow dressing grown she loved

Stood still before the mirror like a statue

But colour and life ceased to have any bond

Colours reduced to a dull and ineffective tone

She opened the window and looked down  casually

It was evening but no one seemed to have moved

She took a spineless novel and sat on a chair

Stared blankly and waited for ever and ever.

Petals and Thorns

I am cross with the rose
for its thorns
When I am in Love 
I see the rose petals
When I am not 
I see only the thorns
When I walk across a garden
I see hundreds of the laughing 
But the rose is always a rose
Despite its thorns beneath


BREEZE 

Breeze whispers
and 
tickles the laughing leaves

SHE 

She painted her face 
all day before the mirror
The same face looked back
She bot bored to death
And suffered the pain 
All night in the moonlight 

CORRIDORS

I looked back while walking
Into the corridors
Full of shadows 
The past rushes forward
Without feet 
Leaving no footprints 

Ashes

You cannot see

Ashes in a piece of wood

You need fire

To reveal them

Black and white

I discovered ,very late

Life is not pure black and white

I suspect a new shade

Hiding between them

Deep within me somewhere

Yet to be discovered

Trees and mothers

Trees ,small or big

Prays for the Sun

While

Mothers pray

For the Son

Loom AND Shuttle

I am the Loom

You are the weaver

Both are in search

For  the  Shuttle

Day and night

Shadow

I fight my shadow

From dawn to disc

For following me

Long and short

A

Quixotic fight

Reflections

1

She was like lightning
Oh!
How I wish
to harness her in my heart
For ever ...

2

Seasons shifted
Lifting 
The beautiful veils
Full of colour 
Revealing every time
A fresh World 
of 
Dreams 

3

Rain , the pouring rain
brings a train of thoughts
romantic 
both live and dead 
the rain ,beautiful rain
pouring like broken noodles
Sometimes derails 
our train of thoughts..

Her Eyes

The ice in her eyes
needed 
the fire in his eyes
to melt 
and find its own level


 Her Life

She can bear blood  
for 
She bleeds to clean
Nature' training
A training for Life  

The LOOM of life

She is a silk worm
fed 
on mulberry Dreams
and
raped 
day and night
for 
the Loom of life
since 
the human journey began

                          

          

          

Prayer of a Dog

A DOG 
got tired of barking

Looked up
and
Saw a NIGHTINGALE
On a tree nearby
Singing a sweet song
People praised it 

He became jealous
and
He prayed God and said
(of course barking)
"I am also your creation
people praise the bird's song
And hate when I bark"

"Please Oh ..God.
Give me Nightingale's voice
To sing your praise 
and to say my prayers
and let people love me
like they love NIGHTINGALE 

The Dog looked up into the skies
There was a silence 

There was lightning and thunder 

"You are Yourself 
and your beauty 
is the sound of your barking" He said

The dog barked with much energy

                              .. VARMA





prayed GOD

LOVE

Love is like the SEA
The deeper you go
the more colourful it becomes
it is calm,it is rough
it is beautiful,it is unpredictable



LOVE

Love is like a winged seed
That  flies and flies
In search of the right spot
and
Lands and sprouts
On the congenial spot
Growing into a massive Tree

A POET


A poet 
is a soil tester
selecting a space
for growing his flowers

He plants a variety of seed words
and
watches their glorious growth
watering them with love and care
and
helping them
with his fertile imagination