Wasn't I who told you the manner
of sitting up in presence of promise
Weren't you who told me absolute
words of comfort and convenience

We were in a chapter of lust
Where our fingers were reading
And we both were blind must

weren't you standing beside me
asking about the seeds and their sort
Wasn't I who told  you crop of obedience
Grows in natural liberty

No where no one would fancy a year
of seven months and a day
Of uncertainty and fear
And a sun less than a ray

Wasn't I a villager
Of misery and rebellion
Weren't  you my Lord threaded
In darkest night a way

Now all misery adapted
In mother-hood and rebellion is
Sewing garments for orphans 
 

How can I stop you wearing golden weathers
How could I wear mirrored garments
For all hidden doom in weathers you wear can be displayed
Now I find you nowhere
O my! Healer what hide and seek you play
Come for an evening and pull down all branches of my ego
Or turn it in  rivulets to unfathomable sea

I know dark night with all its serenity is disappearing
Darkness is continuously dropping and a channel of light is appearing
I know dreams of youth are continuously absorbing in your silent eyes
And my evening is still sleeping on your eyelashes
How could I touch your eyes
Who can raise a wall in course of dream?

How beautifully melted my passion and your love
In a foggy evening when tear and pain were exposed together
How strange your way of addressing was in a dropping night
When dreams with a thought of descending were perspiring
How dare I to hear your word that drew the picture of insight while it was pronounced
How frightfully I and my soul knelt down in your presence
While your sword was shining in your right hand but how kindly you sat there and how simply asked
me to walk on the sword without having seven cuts in my heart
You have asked me to lay down and put the sword on throat
You had also told me that it is love in beginnings

26 September 2004

Lightening and rain were making a new weather
He whose home was not built before his birth
Was pulled down like a hollow tree in blowing gale
A ray of hope appeared on his face after years
He saw himself was kindling a candle and putting in a globe of glass
On asking he spoke I am the foundation black stone of Adam

How Still my heart is
what a symmetry in this cemetery lies
an embalmed beauty it seems
without an urge of art
like a tamed animal without a cart

I sat under a shadowy tree in front of an orphanage
kids might call me a Buddha
I don't know, was it my face or you my destiny's author
who told them the story of my incomplete education
they called me an illusion
If an illusion I am why an orphan seemed to me a star
bright while has a dark night in his way
bright while his pleasure twinkles
shines more when breaks and disappeared just for a day
since they are in thousands

I might forget an orphan I am too
lived in third world true 

April 12 2006