Those Beautiful Pyramids

What else but a samosa
To warm a mind that is in a land of sands and the Mecca
He yearns for the gentle waft
The smell the way it makes his mouth water
A roadside vendor at Mumbai
Will always far outdo when one is presented
With a so called Arabian Samosa
He craves for the Mumbaiya
But his wait is at best long, not longer though
For he would return in a matter of months
Some have never tasted either
Neither the original nor the so called
Only those who have and then haven't for a while
Can truly know
The way it makes one heart glow

A search of knives

Find me a date she said
One that compels me to run into his arms
Yet know, he of all things must care, consider and calm his head
Find me a lover like that
One who could brush away my hair
As you would
And stare gently at the curves of my smile
Tell me in a million words each day
How I make his life worthwhile
When I have a mind that blazes in anger
He holds me closer and makes me calm
Find me one like that
Let him converse to me in countless words
Of his day, his night his nightmares and dreams
Tell me he sees me in them all and more
Yet let him leave me be, should I seek absolute solace on terrible days
When I trip and fall, let his heart tumble
Panic yet maintain his balance and help me up
Find me this man
This is your task
Let him see me in all, let him know my scent like a wolf
Let him be overcome by hunger tenfold
Than mere mortals I have know all along
For you while are all that and some
You cannot be allowed in my world
Find that man for me
Find him

You can fly now

As you have often hurt
Let this knife remain
For this once let me bleed
Litter my kitchen floor with rubies
Of my glistening bleed
While your mind stitches itself back to reality
Let mine fade
For as I stagger towards my living room
I can paint the walls with these deep red palm prints
And then when it dries up
You can think of the choices you made
For then you no longer have me
Hounding you, knocking on your door
For being loved
This may be the final act
Where I have to exit
So that you may learn
That I exist as nothing
As you find greener pastures.

Gently as a breeze
Her face brushes mine 
As she looks to me while she rises and falls
In a union of flesh and desires
She a hungry soul
Unaware of what a gentle caress is
And I hungry as a wolf smelling her desires
She holds on to me as she lets her hair down
As it brushes my face she exhales
And then her lips come closer to mine
Meet mine, brushing along
Making the moment melt into chaos
Yet an order of mortal summon
She a being of gentleness and cravings
I a being akin to a singularity
As her soul feeds mine
She asks
"Could this be love'
I hold her gentle face , running my hands over her tracing her hair, speak
This could be better
This could be our hunger meeting midway

I would fly by often
At night, often rest
At the tree beside her stone block home
As the moonlight traced her house
Rendering a bokeh of the mountain side
It was past nine, that she would arrive
In the night, sipping her whiskey
Onto the porch and sit in the wooden recliner
Beside an empty one
Sing old numbers, in a gentle mellow voice
The windows of her home
Lit by a warm stove's light
It was flicker and splash
Of yellows and orange hues
On her wood laquer walls
Past eleven she would walk
Vanish through the string curtains
Some nights, on weekends
She would sleep beneath the stars
And all I would do is hope the mornings
Took the furthest time to arrive

Who cares for your tangerine mindedness
Whilst my world is a pulp of random fruits
Where shall i draw a line
Shall it be
between the peel.or the seed
Neither of those sing
For neither weave a fancy
At least to me
Whilst your orangish metaphors lament
I only see a wail
Constant
And unending
Is that such a chaos that you cannot comprehend
For it is but a whack on a poet as you
you are not in such mediocrity
To write better
For me to yearn for
To read those poems
In absolute chaos and eternity

An invite for the moon haters

Around six we are watching the sailboats
Afloat on the gently glowing sea
Where the moon will make an appearance
To try and appear as a fake romantic

We do provide stones
But then a fair intelligent advise
The moon is a fool like most humans
Fake and all
No fire and just a mirror

A million billion souls have sung and composed
Or composed and sung
Yet the stars are so much sweeter
On moonless nights
They sing in gentle hymns
Of the sparkles of life and bearing

The follower, slave, oh sorry; i mean the moon
Its sole existence , given life by the sun
And all it has to show is
Of being a placeholder of all that is of a loser

Beware the poets
As you all gather forth
To witness this evenings subtle enchantment
The sun will glow, gleam on you and the sea equally
While the moon will just waste your while

A reply to an invite to witness the moon

How I would like to attend such

Yet only to be distracted as this is what the try seems

For as the apathy of the moon light this is so

Only but a non lucrative

The salads and music

The song and dance

In the apartheid format of stupidity amongst lovers

Split by materialistic essences

More like an invite to a maul

The soul that reeks of hatred to the utter distraught of the stupid rock

That steals the sunlight to speak of its existence

It is like humans

Torrid and fake

Only to bring failure and fakery

Wane and wax

The moon has often seemed alive
Pity i for one cares not
For it may just be sojourn place
Where the minds of lovers meet
A place of unspeakable suffering
Such is the plight of disjoint lovers on moonlit nights
Often the light seems to strike pain
Often fear
And if you speak of beaches and a silvery sea
Know the moon may at best be a taunt
Towards the hearts of the million that are dead
And millions that live
The music it reeks is at best of a funeral band
For that is what it has seen to
When the veil of human foolishness is lifted
We feel only loneliness thereof
At best the moon is really
Is a stark metaphor
Of being the false hope
Like the catalyst that spews love
And then burns the hearts
Making them wilt

Gambling

In the not so distant past
There was another that like I
Both were entwined
Until the wither
The wither of life
For as seasons, our togetherness and the sense thereof
Changes
For a bit, then for another
Yet forever
The felt and the feeling
Often shuffles
Yet all in the same deck at the fold
Like printed kings , queens and the prince
Such is all
And I am just another dealer
Never the gambler
I see them win or lose
I refuse to either
I sit and deal
As life passes on
Until the casino of life closes