if only it was just a spider

go on, you have a feast
I will escape into solitude to meditate

my mind's engine has stopped
I want to empty it to move on

how do I generate a ghost,
any ghost, who makes me forget

torn, broke, I trudge deeper into the jungle
yes, I laugh aloud at my dare

my veins stand out but I am no longer torn
once I find the way, I will hit the sack

while you have a gruesome feast
with everything ghoulish

I know I irritate you all the time
with my enigmatic smile

"my parlor is the abode of a stray,
and you know, 
you can't get away any longer"

weeds sprouting out of your mind

I pick the mouthpiece
speak secrets into it
you think I will gossip
but I read out a poem

stanzas as sharp as razors
when I wrote it in the bath
a storm was brewing in my heart
(my skin so bronze, not that it matters)

why do you have a lopsided view
your thoughts always sour
you find blemish in all that touches you
as you always have been doing

I will always keep that fence erect,
now that weeds are growing around that
obsolete phone. 

"I am still speaking into it, assuming 
my poem might inspire you to write a few songs"

I want a red planet of my own

photo by Toni Frissell 

I need a nifty hat to keep me afloat 
just outside of my watery grave 
don't ever assume I have the privilege of misery

that thought is but stale 
where is my shoe, 
it is too late to contemplate 

remind me the chain of sequence 
(I was wearing white with five carat diamond)
 how I fell into water or was I pushed 

I am all mushed up in there 
akin to a boil in a cherry 
abhorring yet fascinating 

in the light of day 
don't let anyone get away 
I am not hidden in darkness 

"not again. never again. I will float out. 
I will not suffer the fate of Pluto"

spectacular in the jagged edges of mind

Still Life, 1907 by John Frederick Peto 

steaming earth burns the feet
jagged edges of rock bleed them further

I am so intimate with my hat
yet I have that umbrella too
merciless sun hits me hard

I trudge along all alone
on that lonely dry path
my feet dragging in that forceful way

I thirst for water, to sustain me
but I fall flat on that ground
which embraces me to its breast

all my stuff now hooked to a nail
while I am but dust in the Universe
my soul walking any place it wishes

no bleeding marks anywhere,
no dried out bones either
not even a photograph on that wall

"maybe a memory in someone's mind
not that I expect that as I am gone now"

where the night is without wind

Artwork by Ulrike Bolenz

stuck in the mud
her hands and feet

suppose she is searching 
the geometry of her origin

the lines, that curve, and an angle
throw her a lifeline

netted wings, broken at places
urge her to fly

her tears wet the ground
cementing her fate

"a seedling, perched on the earth
needles the mind, to prod, to incite"

smoky trails

smoke, not nuclear debris
blows into the air, acrid too,
tickling my nose. 

I watch the train on the bridge,
fascinated by the train of smoke,
a dark trail in clear sky

the seeds of toil on the ground-
a much needed respite from drudgery-
I touch my nose yet again

burnt ground, folly of merciless sun
or something unknown buried deep 
by black suited man

in the deep dark night-
all so hush hush,
where thoughts too are censored

on a clear day, I look at myself,
almost translucent skin-
nothing so spectacular

"mutant life abounds where I live
isolated, but for the train.
even smoke is a welcome diversion"

rainy illusion

when the fiery wind sings

Old Bank Street, Manchester, UK by R.A.D. Stainforth 

you hold my arm
(it makes a nice frame for pictures)
you have mastered that craft
to create illusions

just a deal, that show of caring
it can't repair the damage,
fathom deep, cracked to the edges

such a close call
why would anyone add to it
those redundant emotions
I want it back, I want to exist
I don't trust chance anymore

"the billow of clouds, 
cloud my mind, 
and I let you hold my hand"

broken like that venus

the ghost of a sky opens up for us

showing a glimpse of its mighty anger

by the way of thunder 

but lightning is really the path
if a circle can be called that

fear of the unknown tears into us
when the howl of the wind rises and rises
veins go icy cold despite the heated flesh
I place my hands on the granite table,
empty and cold, through and through

you fill the bathtub for me
yet I feel so abandoned
when the howling winds call out names
I can sense the weight of loss
of something as yet un-named

"a fallen tree, its broken twigs, all speak of chaos out there"

random words

I need
I need to spread my wings
I must not let the clouds to host in my heart
I don't want the state to rescue me
who needs a patron
when one has oneself?
the ticking will go on 
to measure my depth of misery
I will spend my day in inducing humility

but why?

you may dance now
with as many as you want
my heart will race to catch you
and you will be back
where you belong


 "the question is where do you really belong?"

killing innocents for what?

may you burn in hell
killer of children
you took away their choice to live
you ignored the panic in their eyes
you did not listen
you did not talk
you, as always just killed
how can you get high on blood and gore
that too of innocent children
no sweat flowed from you
only bullets, only bullets

yet you forgot
if you snag even one life
thousands will rise to incinerate you
you deserve nothing less for diffusing the stars

dusk is but a chimera

that spacecraft is waiting
planets are aligned
let me tread slowly into space
but first I must tangle with you

call me a lunatic or a loser if you must
you are aware I have to spread my wings
one of my endeavors to explore the beyond
leaving behind my very own angel

I am forever spinning into dreams
whatever you say, I won't sway
I will come back someday
born on a Christmas day

"that crowd is akin to shroud
I wish for silence to be loud"

soulful lingering

in the highway
subtle is a misnomer
fresh palate hints of sex
toasty thrill of lingering soul
yields but a mix of emotions
speeding tends to the palpitating heart
I burn in the darkness
in the deep stark night
something flickers
everything so silent
except you sitting by the candles
sound of your breathing drives me insane

I close my eyes
my mind travels again on that highway
yet nothing can take away the subtle whiff  
of lingering sex. not while you sit so still..

chaotic

such a singer that owl
his eyes shine in the dark night
his fervor does not find favor with me
as I am at crossroads
all my plans in the mud

birds may symbolize freedom
I do not see a thread of it
in that owl's song
maybe I should let it sit on the crocus
or a rose or two

"the thorns would stop his singing
but the flowers would commit suicide"

marking time

standing underneath the wind chimes
I contemplate about the future
I get over my grey thoughts
as the rain no longer sounds like dirge

I think of you, feel a spark of joy
the sun sees my spilling happiness
and dispels the cold
the birdbaths sway as I find my way to you

no jaded feeling can slash me now 
your mere presence is enough
I have waited a lifetime
I can wait a few more hours

a mirage, a reality-
doesn't matter--
if one wishes for togetherness till eternity

In the chaos, I desire peace

she stands there wearing strange socks
speedy recovery from a frivolous illness
looking at the surroundings
I almost have an apocalyptic vision

the inklings of that echoes in my literary works
gnarled roots do not go with healthy poppies
such a weird thought, 
a passing fancy of desiring thorns.

with an audible sigh,  
I dread her entry into the teens
thirteen going on thirty
I go blue in the face thinking.

"she standing in the midst of chaos-
such an apt epilogue for the goings in my mind"