Thursday, December 15, 2016

Ageless Ark

Lets create
something for good
I will be the CRAFT and
you be the WOOD.

Let me uproot you
from the trunks of
long-run mellowed trees
that divide into
branches
beyond the reach
of the purlins
of the kirk on high,
leaving your origins
into the soil stung roots
behind.

Let me
wedge you in the back
with a cut about
two inches deep
so that you,
with soft winds
to natural inclinations
fall
splitting
your xylem rings
and memories of
ageless time.

Let me be your Master
as I axe you
with my power blows,
screening you
through your divide
let your bark and sheaths be
stripped aside
for I
have a glimpse into your
sap and heartwood
be my soul and guide
my hands
through your resins
or let the reflexes of
my muscles memory
through.

Let me feel
the woody you
as you allow my craft
along the grains of your
natural spline
and me with my
panel saw
cut you in rafters
which I shall later join
up to the keel
doft with twitches of
iron nails
holding the ribs
and the knee
to a firm clinker built
and perfect shapes entwined.


Lets create
something for good
I will be the craft and
you be the wood.


I know when the
age of formation is past
sooner or later the
day shall arrive
when as the treasures of
the world you shall vessel
floating along the
contours of the
rising tides.
I might be missed in
the eludes of time
or in a double-cross
my name will in the list
subside
but only if you let me through
TODAY
will many through my CRAFT survive
O! wood of the Ageless Ark.

~ A







Monday, November 28, 2016

Will it ever be me again

Incompatible worlds
that thrive on my facets
poach on me
Vagaries that breed to
disarray me
smother reality
Infectious peace retracts
for prodigious expectations
self reacts to self
Divided along asymmetry
torn along rift zones
flows the molten me
Empty for obsidian
plates sifted
will it ever be me again?

~ A




Wednesday, October 26, 2016

confused fresh

Hoofs of a young fawn at daybreak sped
Bright sunlight strained on a lime-sorbet
Nature soothing the cause of life on all-clear
Senses now spins to destinations off-near 

A while ago everything was confused fresh
Qued seasons were unpredictable instead
And then the manner of life for memory's sake
Stale flesh from free range to broiler instead. 

Reticenct  pleasures sentenced to agony's best
Hope giggled in a frenzied child-like zest
Furtive desires from under the blanket peep
As dreams embodying my life undress. 

~ A




Wednesday, October 19, 2016

Durga

Resplendent pleasure and pain
Festivities in religious ardour
Amulets of Love
Riddled righteous passion
Fragrance of Alistonia
Crazing the lazy daybreak hour
De-greased‎ hides, suedes and Feather
Dhaki rolls the Kathi fervour
Reds smudge hems of feet
Cinnabar brow-smears
Lal-paar tasseled anchals
Durga in her valour
Chakra, club, conch, lotus, arrows, spears,
thunderbolt, trident
SHE is
Still in an eighteen-armed blow
To the two armed Mahishasur..
piercing his heart
Trinkets of blood in the falling
Tiger clawing the wounded-asur
Is breached by the stillness of festivity
Mahishasur Mardini exudes
Shrieks of joy, Sounds of clanking
Conch-Naad, Bells and Verses
Sorrows and Joys are blessings
Crimes of Love bestowing
STILLNESS in a victory hour.....
~ A



Sunday, October 16, 2016

Kinetics

The kinetics of Clockwork
A pendulum in full motion
Swinging
Gaze fixed to oscillation
Hypnotic fruitification
Stimulus to its countlessness
Haste............. I find it.
It spins a web
Bringing many collisions to action
I flow in its fulfillment
Smuffed in its admiration
Smothered by its potency
I submit....
It was
Just a wandering thought
Steeped in Love
For your adoration..

~ A


Friday, October 14, 2016

Its an age gone by

It does not touch me now
nor does it probe into
my sense of being.
It does not declare me alive
nor excavate a sensory fossil
from the crevices of day dreams.
It does not lava
the heat from the core
nor does it benumb me
into the hollowness inside.
Its no more a cause of habit
nor does it ask me to asunder
purpose-truths of this shallow life.
It does not call for pardon
nor makes me guilty of my days.
Its not in the passing
nor in the waiting is it
Its an age gone by
and I do not care..


~ A


Wednesday, July 8, 2015

An hour on "Robert Frost Trail".


Tepid madness of life expressed
Squalls for me and thing suppressed
I trembled on each step I took
To stand where the poet stood.

On untouched turf he oft rode
For rhymes in spoors and every nest
Many with endearing hearts appear
As flames within the breadloaf disappear.

Wayside along the winding roads
A thread of Frost, a scribbled trail
Which rode amid the hearts and words
As spirited horses in autumn woods.

Through rusting leaves an hour spent
Chuckles of gnomes hushed in breeze
While riotous cicadas on crickets rode
The spell of this wayside shrine.  

Winged dreams from a poetic crest
Will always find a branch to rest
The Road not taken poignant though
Stood speechless on a paths so known.

Only an untouched forest does know
Its way to shine in limericks though
New born leaves with a dream so new
Was caught in age old poesy though.

What if I walked the forest breeze
Into the woods with broken trees
Will rhymes of breaths weave a trail
Though winters cover it with snow.

~ A