Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Quark Poems



It has already started
To rain
I’ve just started
To learn
Alphabets of Rain


I keep on feeling
That I think
Thought by all

My outcast thought
The caravan of thoughts

Doesn’t know
Where to adjourn


Even time contracts

Aren’t the skew streets of life
Too stretched and too boring to walk?


Can you join
The pieces
Of your emotion

It seems just like
A jigsaw puzzle

Have patience
O passionate man!


I just called
In your cell
To say
I hate you


You may visit my blog
And send response

I’ve posted
An appealing article
On something
Which may really
Irritate you

Irritate others
And let be irritated



Ruined were the friendly oases

This time
Enemy Mirages
Treated us sincerely

Mirages simply told us that
Mirages should not be confused
With water


Solemn wishes
Were shot to dead

Curfew and blackout ruled
In the village of justice

Nobody knows now
How exactly should a rational behave?


Today that I walk straight
On circumference of a circle

Let time
Shrink on my still palms


Order came
And they opened fire

Bloods drop on the soil
Like Dews

The last sigh
Song of the road


Nasty efforts
Cannot compel
My story to be faded into oblivion

I could never forget myself
I’m not to be
Defeated again and again

Existential Touch

A big mountain
Mysterious blue sky
An awful infinite...

I start climbing
I don’t and can’t see my own footprints
On the giddy white snow
Because I have already left them
Below me. Below my being
They may look like my epitaphs.

Hawks hover around me.
I’m about to hug zenith.

A sudden sound
The mountain explodes

I wake up from my dream


A big mountain
Mysterious blue sky
An awful infinite...

I start climbing…

Of Hypercracy

Of hypercomplex lifestyle
Of hyper abnormal mind
Of hyper zigzag world

Kills you
Kills me
Kills us

Let’s search our life

We are lost
In something which is supposed to be
Our enemy’s life

Poems on Gyration

Lone Pine Tree & Her Dazzling Embroidery on Table Cloth

Lone pine tree noiselessly stands on awkward shoulder of uneven northern hill. Old eunuch sun puts on her cosmetics of curvy young clouds.

Last time when I saw you and talked with you (might be, without your willingness), what I found was a totally different you. I sincerely discovered that time; I was not the same person who used to be once before that. So, you are no more that simple girl. Even I am not that simple guy.

Reference frames have shifted for both of us now. And with no doubts, frames shall be continuously shifting and changing for all of us.

I thought for a while that we are now gentle puzzles. Who will solve us, I never know.

Blood rush inside curved veins. Attitudes, too. Reflection and refraction of motion search for equilibrium of something which ought to be always unstable.

I was talking to her in a rainy evening. I was just simply drawn mad seeing her dazzling embroidery done on her white table cloth. As if that whiteness of table cloth is aperture of faint hope as well as down memory lanes. So many easy straights mix up together to generate tough arcs of feelings and emotions. Stories. The show must go on - this unawkward and stereotype slogan seldom measures the radius of curvature of small things.

Straight droplets of water strike slant on the bare forehead only to remind your skew existence. Intercourse of straights produce locus for gyrations.

We are bound to admit- Nothing is straight in the world. Even straight lines aren’t straight.

Trees, roads, houses. Thoughts, feelings, words. They are gyrated. All are gyrated.

We are the lost wanderers of patterns of her embroidery. Technology has simplified our lifestyle. But not life. Economy kidnaps all and all are made prisoners of system. Poison may taste sweet. Alcohol of gossips liberate semiconscious minds. But what about reality of hyper impulses while in normalcy?

Lost Centre of Gravity

A curvy bird
Rests on a twisted trunk
And sings
An irregular song

Skew are the thoughts

Everything is tilted
Table, chair, bed, dishes, shoes, books, TV, PC

Ups and downs are there in every road
Of the world

Steep are the hills
Gyrated the experiences

Feelings are toppled
Nothing is unputdownable

Topsy turvy words
Mischievous eyes

One leg hangs from the sky
Another sprout from soil

One-eyed dog is made to bark
To the microphone
In the recording studio of
An irritating band
For a song of rabies

One cannot stand alone
Falls down
If others don’t let their shoulders
To keep the hand there