In and Out: of a typical south indian ritualised eve ..and the unusal skies


the uprising caffeinated clamour
of filter kaapi flavoured aroma
as it  fuses in a zigzagging mishmash
with the slow-ballerina swirling pooja agarbathi-s
of even more complicated fusions
of what they
say popularly: mogra kewda
javvadhu saambrani
champaka rosappu
and whatnots

arousing ‘nostricintalling’
senses in starched up stern~inhales
all in that
fiery-tiny packed up
‘matchbox’ typa living room

outside, an expanse in seeming quietitude
as if standstill yet in looming mutiny
within an extended Indian evening
of a confused monsoonal summertime

in a partially clouded twilight
more clariant

with the beaming eastside
fullmoon goddess
gleeing over
the opposing skies’ studded

the unidentical twinlike
rare-shone jupiter
nearing for liplocks
with its
counterpart in brilliance

the constant venutian charmbloom

no other tiny flickering stars
matched this painted surrealism

of a haloed nightish bluegrays

best kept away they were
tonight, like
alien glowworms

for a palette
unusual yet befitting
the beauty beheld

in infinite immensity

of the specimens, dullened to be transcendental


[spotted one by one the potential suitables for ‘dead’ly showcasing, one (un)fortunate dusk. and they were…] 

fading pastel peach 
of this drooping bulletwood 
its sun-gaze days 

fallen magenta-ish 
of the corner planted 
hardy shrub’s 
basal sprawled leaf 
in withdrawals 

ironic to their names and origins and preceding existence 

[added some more near-similarities lately, fractured twig 
fragilities in stampede, spritely fanta-ish yet suicidal 
petallic shields prematuredly detaching off, etc, etc.,] 

these made it there 
in the herbarium: 
made mummified dehydrates 
drying dying dead  souls 

might they be 
from a lacklustrous time   
a clouded extradark dusk 
or the thoroughly neglected 
geriatric shedoffs 
in striking xanthous hues 

making absolutely no difference 
either to the bulged bumblebees 
in their heady pollen loads 
or the unpredictable 
vagabond winds 

in page-compressed burial with each specimen 
were the obvious questions of lost reasons 
as well as their once-breathing 
instinctive needs 

that all got numbed 
well before 
spreading sparsely from their core
only shrivelling faster 
detracted from their own margins 
more because of outer worlds 
pulled back 
to its humble origins 

liberating from 
desires of the ‘alien’ unknowns 
those envelopes fatally 
had remained just theories: nuances 
of relationship intricacies 
in complex sexual tangles   
with delightful teaser tactics 
of advancing formulae 
rolling out naked 
in entwined acrobatics.. 
ahh, the wasted love-bond 
never got coupled 
until anytime 

what if they were in their senses? 
they would have 
denounced even faster 
of what was garnered: dreamt uniting entities   
been tired of scribbling voluminous scripts 
in metaphorized cryptics 

hard-pressed truths 
remained surprisingly visual 
of their lucidly branched 
abstractive winglets 
from constricted veins 

whose depths 
were still impossibly impossible 
to be reckoned 

the such meddled 
crosssectioning explorations 
broke out of hands 
a puff of dustful airs 
dissolving homogeneous 
with unknowns 

bigger nothings 
of the unitary 
everything: weren’t 
in traceabilities 
of their many 

but got 
to be selflessly 
of a type 

talking of the extremeties [but more inclined to the purplish horizon]


and yet again
it was graying allover
a blanket woven
from the skies
and mountains
and deep meloncholic
stares of listless hearts
when they came:
drizzling metallic
clapters in a row,
did they swoon
out of the glooms,
the reds were reds
blues were blues

oh but when
would be
the unparalleled
purplish fusion
bloom out
of monotony:
passion pitched
high until your
boundless turf

Of moults and renewal, a seashell…..and my lifeline inspirAtion


Reading words of Boris Pasternak from Doctor Zhivago…
“Reshaping life! People who can say that have never understood a thing about life—they have never felt its breath, its heartbeat—however much they have seen or done. They look on it as a lump of raw material that needs to be processed by them, to be ennobled by their touch. But life is never a material, a substance to be molded. If you want to know, life is the principle of self-renewal, it is constantly renewing and remaking and changing and transfiguring itself, it is infinitely beyond your or my obtuse theories ”

Words spoke out in summating this as thus, also affected from Sartyre’s Existentialism reads I am in now, the book as refered by my lifeline inspirAtion:

moulting layers
defined conscious sheds
much pointed uptakes
but, the
overall essence
that was bound to happen
over its existence
remained a blur
from infinity:
an incomprehensive dream
a streak of falling jugnu
into nowhere

this renewal
this core

A macro-photographed seashell before weeks ago instigated descriptive ponders:
Shell over the black hardcover
shone in cleaving whites
albeit its well made
ancient opacities
in curvaceous
tapering layers: mouth
at its apical front
opened like a craving fish

Felling off porosities
here and there
dotted blacks, one
a bigger hole
dug like an eye

Fossilized stature
screamed from past
its ‘will’ : to be ‘lived’
in the focussed ‘essential’
lights of the present

the unprecedented forbearance of presence


the dreams remained dreams

shows you a melting romantic
in hold of eyes before hands

last night, when we drove
in a windy suv, you broke out
of your love
to accompanying grimly me in some other secretive mission
that was perhaps targeted against the gang you operated
and yet surprisingly …it not even took a second for eyes
in an awaited awoken mergence all at once
my vines wound around your pedestal chest
simmering cheeks in motion slided
settled in an unsaid equilibrium
on your warmth-radiating lap

but then, dream dissolves
inconclusive as usual
leaves an opaque painball deep in the eyecores
and an uncomfortable rheumy coldness
wetting lashy concaves
as they rub hard to stare
at tearing sunny reality

the tears stick around
the whole day as a glimmery shield
in washouts of blinding dusty intrusions

brimming as hot spring hopes often

until again dreamy darkness takes over:
mostly the fears and past in repetitive patterns
mixed enigmatic with hope and hidden sunrays
to be impossibly unraveled:
the future

neither the vastly nights nor the hidden lights maketh me to sustain

it’s the very focusing eyes
in daring holds of pain and tears and winds and dusts and chills and a flashing smile facing incidence: the now

p.s: the title was somehow inspired by milan kundera’s ,” The Unbearblae Lightness of Being” & its film version.



in your presence        
a vaporizing feverish crisis, arise in wafery trembling layers over heavy beating pain gravity  
tongue licks in your nostril warmth: a relief of new normalcy streamlines upon sliding down spathy lids with narrowy frillridges running inbetween to deviate  

beautysleeps instant in vivid dreamvisions within twin darkmoons in random

chants your name repititive in just smooth vowel syllables even over consonant hitpeaks, thusly unhurting your arrival in fullness
permanence skies    
in your absence      
fingers roll in an invisible spiral in endless innard turns like your concentric depths of pulsating shimmer-eyes which I stare forever in magnetic  

gulps a string of sweetsour anxious chunks, over silences in hard-immobilized logjams that need shameless revelations by even a slightest chime of real talkings, in
awaits so long  

ears heaten up from inner volcanic cochlears spitting electric, its molten lava unto reddening papery margin tips in switching glisten-embers like those burns
between us  

energies keep deep-delving in your intricate searches those which phase-transforms melting away my fleshy dilutions cell by cell, in your gradual crave-haunting hope-memories, merely leaves an unseeing pithy dot of holistic me orbiting to be an integral one, with your
soul spherule    

Spiritual Poems : purely] bound morpheme : DU Poetry


Spiritual Poems : purely] bound morpheme : DU Poetry.

[purely] bound morpheme

there’s something inexplicable at first
about your sudden origins from nowhere
and signature presence throughout the day
right from dawns’ dark nascence:
your unceasing winds
swaying all ways
in tubular coolmint deposits
with overpowering guavaish scents
of sticky prickly-chaff’s inflorescence
and indignant roadside airs
of municipality’s rawcut leafblade, those
thigh-high grown cockatoo grass piling-up
though some remote mustiness
from distant rains’ store
floats on in davana notes

blows in a dare checkout
sketching my rather submissive outlines
slashes forehead wetness curls
of which a clumpsy strand posing
as, “a zoomed arched black sword
across mascaraless eyelashes
until pale peeling lips”

pulls out at limpid ease
further impoverishing

skirts lift such highs
from your wavy undulations
expose a skimpy being
to hottening knives
to many incandescent bits
of a singly summating soul
in harness of
intimate summersun in summons

whence comes this cool primal
freeform, filling in our nothingness
medium by indefinitely definitive traverse
so allows its other end
in magnificence: still-solidifying
flares of helium passion simmers
hardly containing itself, in a secondary
reachout to this miniscule untouchable
in slow-pain dissolution, primary bellows
hold me in meandering discourse, whilst
I gear up in solidarizing fundamentalities
that which now tantamounts
to your conquering warrior
invariably cutting across
my continental mass
at sweetshy disposal