Wake all the Dread Poetry: How Mind reveals Destiny

I fear a Man of frugal Speech. I felt a Cleaving in my Mind. I felt a Funeral, in my Brain. I felt my life with both my hands. I fit for them. I found the words to every thought. I gained it so. I gave myself to Him. I got so I could take his name. I groped for him before I knew. I had a daily Bliss. I had a guinea golden. I had been hungry, all the Years. I had no Cause to be awake.

I had no time to Hate. I had not minded — Walls. I had some things that I called mine. I had the Glory — that will do. I have a Bird in spring. I have a King, who does not speak. I have never seen Volcanoes. I have no Life but this. I haven't told my garden yet. I heard a Fly buzz — when I died. I heard, as if I had no Ear. I held a Jewel in my fingers. I hide myself within my flower. I keep my pledge. I knew that I had gained. I know a place where Summer strives. I know lives, I could miss. I know of people in the Grave. I know some lonely Houses off the Road. I know Suspense — it steps so terse.

I know that He exists. I know where Wells grow — Droughtless Wells. I learned — at least — what Home could be.

The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë/Unpublished Poems

I like a look of Agony. I like to see it lap the Miles. I live with Him — I see His face. I lived on Dread. I lost a World — the other day! I made slow Riches but my Gain.

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I make His Crescent fill or lack. I many times thought Peace had come. I meant to find Her when I came. I meant to have but modest needs. I measure every Grief I meet. I met a King this afternoon! I never felt at Home — Below. I never hear that one is dead. I never hear the word escape. I never lost as much but twice. I never saw a Moor. I never told the buried gold. I noticed People disappeared. I often passed the village. I pay — in Satin Cash. I play at Riches — to appease. I prayed, at first, a little Girl. I read my sentence — steadily. I reason, Earth is short. I reckon — when I count it all.

I robbed the Woods. I rose — because He sank. I saw no Way — The Heavens were stitched. I saw that the Flake was on it. I saw the wind within her. I see thee better — in the Dark. I see thee clearer for the Grave. I send Two Sunsets. I send you a decrepit flower. I shall keep singing! I shall know why — when Time is over. I shall not murmur if at last. I should have been too glad, I see. I should not dare to be so sad.

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I should not dare to leave my friend. I showed her Heights she never saw. I sing to use the Waiting. I sometimes drop it, for a Quick. I started Early — Took my Dog. I stepped from Plank to Plank. I stole them from a Bee. I sued the News — yet feared — the News.

List of Emily Dickinson poems - Wikipedia

I suppose the time will come. I taste a liquor never brewed. I tend my flowers for thee. I think I was enchanted. I think just how my shape will rise. I think that the Root of the Wind is Water. I think the Hemlock likes to stand. I think the longest Hour of all. I think to Live — may be a Bliss.

I thought that nature was enough. I thought the Train would never come. I tie my Hat — I crease my Shawl. I took my Power in my Hand. I took one Draught of Life. I tried to think a lonelier Thing. I want — it pleaded — All its life. I was a Phoebe — nothing more. I was the slightest in the House. I watched her face to see which way. I watched the Moon around the House. I went to Heaven. I went to thank Her. I worked for chaff and earning Wheat. I would distil a cup.

I would not paint — a picture. I Years had been from Home. I'd rather recollect a setting. I'll clutch — and clutch. I'll send the feather from my Hat! I'll tell you how the Sun rose. I'm ceded — I've stopped being Theirs. I'm saying every day. I'm sorry for the Dead — Today. I'm the little Heart's Ease! I'm wife — I've finished that. I've dropped my Brain — My Soul is numb.

I've got an arrow here. I've heard an Organ talk, sometimes. I've known a Heaven, like a Tent. I've none to tell me to but Thee. I've nothing else — to bring, You know. I've seen a Dying Eye. Ideals are the Fairly Oil. If all the griefs I am to have. If any sink, assure that this, now standing. If anybody's friend be dead. If Blame be my side — forfeit Me. If ever the lid gets off my head.

If He dissolve — then. If He were living — dare I ask. If I can stop one Heart from breaking. If I could bribe them by a Rose. If I could tell how glad I was. If I may have it, when it's dead. If I should cease to bring a Rose. If I should die. If I shouldn't be alive. If I'm lost — now. If it had no pencil. If my Bark sink. If Nature smiles — the Mother must. If pain for peace prepares. If recollecting were forgetting. If she had been the Mistletoe. If the foolish, call them flowers. If this is fading.

If those I loved were lost. If What we could — were what we would. If wrecked upon the Shoal of Thought. If you were coming in the Fall. If your Nerve, deny you.

Image of Light, Adieu. Immortal is an ample word. In Ebon Box, when years have flown. In falling Timbers buried.

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In lands I never saw — they say. In many and reportless places. In rags mysterious as these. In snow thou comest. In this short Life. In thy long Paradise of Light. In Winter in my Room. Is Bliss then, such Abyss. Is Heaven a Physician? Is Immortality a bane. Is it dead — Find it. Is it too late to touch you, Dear?

Is it true, dear Sue? It always felt to me — a wrong. It bloomed and dropt, a Single Noon. It came at last but prompter Death. It came his turn to beg. It can't be Summer! It ceased to hurt me, though so slow. It did not surprise me. It don't sound so terrible — quite — as it did. It dropped so low — in my Regard.

It feels a shame to be Alive. It is a lonesome Glee.

It is an honorable Thought. It is easy to work when the soul is at play. It knew no lapse, nor Diminution. It knew no Medicine. It makes no difference abroad. It might be lonelier. It rises — passes — on our South. It sifts from Leaden Sieves. It sounded as if the Streets were running. It stole along so stealthy. It struck me — every Day. It tossed — and tossed. It troubled me as once I was. It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone. It was a quiet seeming Day. It was a quiet way. It was given to me by the Gods.

It was not Death, for I stood up. It was not Saint — it was too large. It was too late for Man. It will be Summer — eventually. It would have starved a Gnat. It would never be Common — more — I said. It would not know if it were spurned. It's all I have to bring today. It's coming — the postponeless Creature. It's easy to invent a Life. It's like the Light.

It's such a little thing to weep. It's thoughts — and just One Heart. Its Hour with itself. Its little Ether Hood. Joy to have merited the Pain. Just as He spoke it from his Hands. Just lost, when I was saved! Just so — Jesus — raps. Kill your Balm — and its Odors bless you.

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Knows how to forget! Lad of Athens, faithful be. Lain in Nature — so suffice us. Lay this Laurel on the One. Least Bee that brew. Least Rivers — docile to some sea. Left in immortal Youth. Lest any doubt that we are glad that they were born Today. Lest they should come — is all my fear. Lest this be Heaven indeed. Let down the Bars, Oh Death. Let me not mar that perfect Dream. Let me not thirst with this Hock at my Lip. Let my first Knowing be of thee. Let Us play Yesterday. Lethe in my flower. Life — is what we make of it. Life, and Death, and Giants.

Lift it — with the Feathers. Light is sufficient to itself. Lightly stepped a yellow star. Like Brooms of Steel. Like eyes that looked on Wastes. Like Flowers, that heard the news of Dews. Like her the Saints retire. Like Men and Women Shadows walk. Like Mighty Foot Lights — burned the Red. Like Rain it sounded till it curved. Like Some Old fashioned Miracle. Like Time's insidious wrinkle. Like Trains of Cars on Tracks of Plush. Lives he in any other world.

Long Years apart — can make no. Longing is like the Seed. Look back on Time, with kindly eyes. Love — is anterior to Life. Love — is that later Thing than Death. Love — thou art high. Love can do all but raise the Dead. Love is done when Love's begun. Love reckons by itself — alone.

Low at my problem bending. Luck is not chance. Make me a picture of the sun. Mama never forgets her birds. Many a phrase has the English language. Many cross the Rhine. March is the Month of Expectation. Me from Myself — to banish. Me prove it now — Whoever doubt. Midsummer, was it, when They died. Mine — by the Right of the White Election! Mine Enemy is growing old.

More Life — went out — when He went.

More than the Grave is closed to me. Morning — is the place for Dew. Morning — means Milking — to the Farmer. Morning is due to all. Morning that comes but once. Morns like these — we parted. Most she touched me by her muteness. Much Madness is divinest Sense. Must be a Woe. My best Acquaintances are those. My Cocoon tightens — Colors tease. My country need not change her gown. My Eye is fuller than my vase.

My Faith is larger than the Hills. My first well Day — since many ill. My friend attacks my friend! My friend must be a Bird. My Garden — like the Beach. My God — He sees thee. My Heart ran so to thee.

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My Heart upon a little Plate. My life closed twice before its close. My Life had stood — a Loaded Gun. My Maker — let me be. My nosegays are for Captives. My period had come for Prayer. My Portion is Defeat — today. My Reward for Being, was This. My River runs to thee. My Season's furthest Flower. My Soul — accused me — And I quailed. My Triumph lasted till the Drums. My Wars are laid away in Books. My wheel is in the dark! My Worthiness is all my Doubt.

Myself can read the Telegrams. Myself was formed — a Carpenter. Nature — sometimes sears a Sapling. Nature — the Gentlest Mother is. Nature affects to be sedate. Nature and God — I neither knew. Nature assigns the Sun. Nature can do no more. Nature is what we see. Nature rarer uses Yellow.

New feet within my garden go. No Autumn's intercepting Chill. No Bobolink — reverse His Singing. No Brigadier throughout the Year. No Crowd that has occurred. No ladder needs the bird but skies. No Life can pompless pass away. No Man can compass a Despair. No man saw awe, nor to his house. No matter — now — Sweet. No matter where the Saints abide.

No Notice gave She, but a Change. No Other can reduce. I seek the ancient hands that shape eternity in new forms and renew the ever alive in me 48 We would be better beings if we could understand the worst in us not to evade or hide ourselves from others' gaze but to remake words to probe reality get close to others and know roots don't grow in cosmetic void or cries in melody they need nursing clear contact like child and mother communing reason and vision like dream and action 49 Is it the fear of dying penting up, don't know I can't resist restlessness of moth at light is me: God dropped in his mind enlarging moments of happiness into life I know a fire burns the thumb-sized flame beyond the heart restlessly I seek light in shadow forget the sun I feel its heat and see the light by light itself In the mirror strange eyes meet mine as if probing the progress of my wrinkling heart: I don't know how to bear wounds of curiosity 10 Seeking fire in the furnace of delight I fail to weld my fragments into one lasting love: I act delusive orgasm to get out of myself tear dreams in holes live bit by bit, in pieces restive as ever 11 The games I couldn't play the adversaries I made unliving the sun in field undoing the dense air with spray prove I'm obsolete in a land of scams God seems irrelevant and altruism is preposterous kind of naivety or doubletalk they think right poets are good but foolish 12 I'm dying to connect myself to your navel love and feel your heart beat inside your breast space cared by blood at your altar sip life in your flame 13 You were so near yet I couldn't reach your body: I've used it to the core the raiment is tattered now even ghosts despise it 18 After the night's rumblings prayers add wings to breezes morning's serene calmness 19 Again the stone-cool city frightens the oval existence downward in black moment swamps of labour will vanish in fume I see no prayers: I keep no accounts and no bars 23 In the name of faith and God politics fuels bigotry strips the prophets corrupts clarity reasoning ceases when mind purveys prejudice: August's damp eyes gaze down the walls that clamp breathing on bended knees I wonder if each day must be wintered for the sin of surviving 41 'Amidst so much grief and helplessness love is God's grace to hope and live' 'Alright, I can forget gaudy icons, pervert godheads and crudities in hills even suffer rebirth if you can ensure a decent death' 42 I am a stranger to things so familiar: I am no heir to their kindness nor can live their faith through cracks skillfully made for immortality they may know me well when the sky clears after the rains 43 Pseudos, shams, crooks and politicians pervert: I thought the dews were tears fallen before mourning 83 Falling leaves like hair from my head and chest don't hide strains of memory shrinking, melting flesh swelling voids efflux ageing earliness missing 84 When she stretches her legs for me to shave the pubic hair we hit the hay together remembering the first night I gave her nothing in my hurry to see her nude 85 She props the stooping lemons with stake but avoids bending close to me: I die to draw the blossom in my twining arms but she likes the other scent 86 Stones carved to dance and music come alive figures ever sensuous pride in what we hide our cultural memory they excelled revealing 87 I seek in sex freedom of nature metaphor of veils that hide body spirit as two and celebrate pristine purity of Prakriti reach ecstasy 88 After a hurried love making we drift to sleep: I don't need my neighbour's wings to vindicate my flight Silence is mantra in action beginning divinity's descent and change in inner being enkindling love hope and faith 7.

I must find my way asking strangers in strange places sensing soul, using insight The blank space between words is the burnt skin of time I couldn't paint: I'm no god or godfather to sacrifice sun, spring, moon, morning breeze or rain nor any gods of love visit my house but it grieves to see so many martyrs awaiting resurrection the short way 13 The city shouts at anonymous strangers seeking sojourn against puzzling hedgehog and expectant past sticking future with choked geniuses unable to flush their own muck but embarrassed by lunar dust fallen from nowhere stories prop to trigger riots all around known and unknown faces bleed alike and they bury histories or blame informers hired to spread myths for non-payment cause shame to their own kins and their own land turn epiphytic 14 The morning in Banaras along the Ganges is no longer fresh: I see the colour change to cover to make distances from the moral remains and shadows of lowing cows in dried pasture mate with throbbing dreams that look for space in the eyes 50 I kept waiting for some stranger to come and execute one last miracle my hair grayed but no one came I couldn't push time locked in my room 51 A fear always lurks shapes into nightmares through sleeplessness image loss of love haunting since birth shadows chase featureless but squeamish now hard to make out watery squiggles swimming across the shore 52 I don't like to get lost in the crowd or remain a non-entity feeling low in my own eyes even if my host is too high to shake hands with I know he won't remember my name or face after reception he'll go west and I'll turn homeward with numb feet in shame perhaps cursing myself for smallness or shrunk before fawning connections and banal shows 53 Life doesn't end with joys of a day or two: I wasted my life weaving it into hopes that could never become love or faith: I couldn't find a charismatic guru so made the idol one and looked at the red face any time I needed help and guidance in the silence of my restless mind searched for love and life's purpose my ersatz faith couldn't give: How long can I grow without roots or make way for what is approaching in digital noises I can't be inheritor of arrant cowards smelling the arse on their fingers nor can I be the priest checking the burnt tongues to test criminals stiff with cold I'm tired of animal struggle for survival and last rites in candle light digging cursed treasure for night songs others croon I can't decipher names in smoke nor forget the faces emerging from the matrix of tremors that are islands to shackle feet in silence close the cycle of the waters that feed the sea I feel the lumps hinder and pain now it's time to break off and bury the ash in the earth and plant afresh foliage for rains or sun to nurse a destiny I could take pride in My years upon me keep me from finding myself in joys of love-making under a grove of trees or walking down to the stream for a swim together: I want to burn the fallen leaves but fear the flame will hurt the trees I can't stand the stench rains bring the backyard is too big to clean I can't rescue my habitat nor trim the trees for better light this all reflects the shambles made for disco of convenience why regret burial by taunting helplessness now?

The earth won't wait for my dust nor the sky hold rains till I descend and someone places a stone to remind how I couldn't live my wild ambition and destiny couldn't leap to being I was not I wish I had the freedom to breathe a moment more or less but I live my ignorance each moment challenging myself it's no spiritual claptrap but a blind can't lead the blinds: I watch a poem of silence in stone her dignity preserved like the eternal Taj I remember the white tomb of love I stood before and prayed for his grace when aloneness pierced the soul in search of mate intricate patterns appear and fade challenging mind we need a new key to the myth not spoken but felt in moments flapping between the hearts I seek images for my wordless experiences in loneliness commune for meaning in the world lessen lonesomeness for a moment and again suffer the same angst and frustration of failure in haiku silence The poet doesn't know when words become poetry or what he intends to say he just says what he says knitting together thoughts ideas, feelings and memories into a form which looks good at the first glance creating more meanings in readers' consciousness that each one sees different sense denying complete absorption yet thrilling the spirit so much that they read it again and again and be one with the poet Frazzled at the day's end when I smell her flesh she curses my knots and the two decades of living the same routine in kitchen and bed and nowhere to go in shameless convenience I release my tensions: What is this world with PCs, internet, e-com robots and cloning the moon and mars remain lifeless as here without roads, power and house they dream I T satellites, aerospace and silence cries for water honest bread and peace the hungry billions seek no hi-tech slavery the global cheats promote liberal economy stealthily purvey rights and environment with politics of control doom the future They die of mother's milk and passions that flow in post- modernist exterior it's the same nature in a handsomer disguise the unchanging inside: Her site spurts changes hands plead for a little more space to feel presence map out the concealed parts rehearse performances again and again Raising each child— a test of patience, learning each day to live and smile her innocence through aching arms and shoulders 8.

SEXLESS SOLITUDE It's all linked but I don't understand or don't want to understand because I am too much with me and worry about her dying libido and my own shrinking sex amidst salsa chill Bihu fever, Vishu rituals ringing emptiness day and night shake the age- wrapped youth for single-edge play in forked flame carve image of heaven to challenge the jealous God undo sins of races flowing in my blood: I love Him through the bodies He made but they don't understand redemption in churning and parting of the sea they don't rejoice the flames of henna on her palms nor let the lily bloom in the valleys use the clefts and cliffs to deface beauty and spike voices don't condemn me if I am not white the water still flows in my river My window opens to the back of a garage where guards make water at times show their dick to the maid in my kitchen: They are distanced by a barbed wire fence Goes awry the electrical circuit in the brain cells in my drugged sleep I utter expletives unmindful of the victims: I can't help my sensory overload Sweating desire inhales new sketches with mind's pen on the pillow image by image night passes not knowing how a hazy sun rose from the sea Unlinked to the trees he doesn't know his family stands aloof, questions ancestors don't change the mood of the weather: I can't turn my inside out nor know life's weight when lifeless between earth and sky it disappears one with elements quiet there's no way to know the thread or its mechanism that binds secures life now or beyond what if I can't feel the weight of the colour on the leaves on tree maybe shrinking into itself 20 Walking down a long corridor a beam of light beckons from a distant window up ahead a figure gently motions me to move further along the passage a large oak door appears etched in the stone on the wall beside the door odd-looking symbols from unknown alphabets I try to push the gold latch on the handle but it doesn't open a golden key in the hand shines brightly in the dark I step out from inside the window opens to the sea an enormous yacht slowly moving towards a mansion kings occupied with rare riches and power: I am promised a new sun 21 Living among the sick and the sickening what else shall I carry except germs and allergens that keep me tossing and turning from 10 p.

I re-live bliss through death 52 Her guru reminds he knows her inside out: I love the light after birth the eden on the earth I may not know where I go after living the hard life but I know the freedom — get back to what God gave us in love let life shape anew from the nude origin 70 Where will we reach sailing in a coffin or dreaming to anchor off the rainbow arch the gold and purple ashes won't revive the phoenixes lost in myths and stories: Their petty politics defies silence 77 I don't endorse their pact to squeeze adulation and control faith of the masses to shed blood and spread darkness: I'm diseased in soul before the devil reappears I must commit the act or suffer the bull for castrating in the dried canal where some fishy cousins waylay cowmen with their upthrust bosoms and make noise too in the half dark seizing and unseizing slowly all dreams get buried in sand and grass now I don't bother the sweetness of papaya growing taller between the fence and the drain or the urchins stealing the fruit there's no fun in romance with the moon or flowers at night smells and sounds of the weather smack of allergies that cripple the andropausal day and ice all the gelled machismo too many are the grudges and I can't remedy my mind or body with mystical bids: The roof and base tell of the wild growth, the expanding peepals snakes, scorpions, lizards have free time round the year it's the deserted look an extension of my existence without repair or maintenance for decades their apathy disturbs sleep I suffer scars and sparks, burn my skin measure my shadow at different hours yet I couldn't become the skeleton I watch the earthworms on the corpses that swell stomach of headless mummies or lie dormant to kill the spirit the elements, ochre moon, sun, tongues — the Buddha's fan fails to renew faith I can't redeem my karmic credit Dusk is doomed when I shovel light in darkness fail to live the intensity of prayer moistened eyes draw me near divine for a while soul is light and flowers and wings furl in moon but soon pain overwhelms my space and tears swell fingers feel decaying fireflies in lamplight voice turns blue I scare my vision there's no grace It doesn't end even if I abandon desire: I was dependent on my father a self-made man against the currents I couldn't read the sky and its stronghold the prints of the Ganga's sand have faded like the rainbow in a spray of years that prick like pebbles now the caries, cavities cyst and myopia haunt and sexual anxieties disturb sleep and dreamless nights the hairs on my balding head mirror the laughter I have ceased to take note of I have ceased to peel the ugly shapes, the cunning and treacherous I work with resent my identity and the future I fail spinning influences yet I'm sure when I stopped it won't be all that bad: She hears the voice of unrealized bliss in the coos of koel at the window sill this evening rains love and delight His message to meet at moonrise among the flowers sparkles a secret on her smiling face passion glows with charming fervour She is no moon yet she drifts like the moon, takes care of him from the sky — meets him for a short, waxing leaves him for a long, waning Before going to bed she looks too sad to have any sweet dream: She senses all things changing as she passes through the city again: At the river she folds her arms and legs resting her head upon the knees and sits as an island Is it her quietus that she roars in herself like a sea waves upon waves leaps upon herself?

The wind lifts her curved nudity hidden in the water curtain: I touch the strings that whisper love in each falling drop Gods couldn't change the rhythm of the body and its needs: When the sun is erotic and the moon lyric the winds turn tempestuous in the orbit of love legs slide by calls of nature You and I alive in cold winter night feeling warmth of your body through erect nipples after days of abstinence Before the foamy water could sting her vulva a jelly fish passed through the crotch making her shy- the sea whispered a new song Swirling spiral of her skirt spills tides of dream and memory: I breathe fire in the dance forgetting bends and twists When I wanted to change seats my friend said she can only if the door's locked the light out and her mom in another city Life limits between whence the sun rises and where it goes to relax: When I have no home I seek refuge in the cage of your heart and close my eyes to see with your nipples the tree that cared to save from sun The smile you weave splits the sun I lose my direction in clouds that cover the banks darkening the white of the lake moon kissed Drinking evening star blue green patterns before eyes no meditation no god visits to forgive the sinning soul in solitude Exhausted she sleeps unaware of my presence this warm night carefree I croon my spring song alone and fill the void with new dreams As I repose in the wrinkles of her face I feel her crimson glow in my eyes her holy scent inside a sea of peace The room has her presence every minute I feel she speaks in my deep silently Love is the efflux from her body spreading parabolic hue — enlightens the self I merge in her glowing presence Looking at her face for the glint of her nose-pin or rise of renku they couldn't finish but form in their eyes together Your vacant eyes reveal this city: Living in dust smoke and white darkness I know I just flicker — stand alone like a lighthouse lost in the fog of seashore Afternoon dancing on the waves — receding sea then a lashing roaring wall of water, returning sea What should I do about the mornings that couldn't be: Breathing pipe choked with coloured dust celebrate spring in coalfield: The chilly wind blows to freeze my feet and fingers tonight I can't rise and silence the whisperings storming the vacant room A moment of love and long silence for years: I lost my sleep over a thought I could not make my own: Watching the waves with him she makes an angle in contemplation: Crazy these people don't know how to go down with the swirl and up with the whirl but play in the raging water They couldn't hide the moon in water or boat but now fish moonlight from sky: I watch their wisdom and smile why I lent my rod and bait A cloud-eagle curves to the haze in the west skimming the sail on soundless sea Digging sand with her little toes the toddler in thin sun awaits her mom from the sea I thought I'd exchange my anxieties for a bit of peace but thinking was easier than happening: I couldn't even sleep Standing at the edge I long to float with waves and wave with instant wind: My hand held out in the dark remained empty: The thought is sin she thinks and denies me sex to protest against my mind in the gutter that breeds erotics in verse The truth of our togetherness is more real when we lie filling our body with each other silencing sensation I fear the demons rising from my body at midnight crowding the mind and leading the soul to deeper darkness Sleeps the night with desires wrapped in blanket — spring in the eyes gods couldn't change the rhythm of the body and its needs Awake in dream time he looks for the candle — love's invitation lighting up in the dark and sings the body's song Whirling and giggling with livelier partners in the pool breathless I can't keep pace with her swim my way to the bank The sleep is buried in sex for diversion yoga or prayers: An insomniac weak with desires and prayers hears the heartbeats rising fast with dark hours survives one more nightmare The chilly twilight- tossing leaves and branches tell of the wind before sunrise she and I cross-legged, cling to each other He watches the mound of dead leaves in the backyard to grow dreams after the end of summer and drought: Muttering Tablet of Ahmad in TV noise he lies on the sofa by window seeking post-lunch nap for change Bored with politics and news of falling sensex he folds the paper and flips through the old PLAYBOYs to see the nudes seen in youth She receives my call complaining why I didn't go to see my father while he says it's alright only gums bleed and joints ache Gentle like a dove love was graceful a night away on the white wave it's a sea searching ways leaps to eternity tonight The bamboo garden we picnicked and made love in is now all concrete — managing environment and pollution control The power goes off suddenly summer heat chokes in bed sleepless she turns undoing a hook or two of her tight bra Wish I could kiss her for letting me hear the angels' whispering new moon rises in Libra promising love and money Greeting the first rains after months of soaring heat the lone rose flutters little petals to the ground echoing our first embrace After days of rain it seems summer again sweating all day now without light at night many thoughts drift like clouds Shining on rose leaves silken layer of dew drops: Roses await sun and wind to clear the baleful fog: I fear she'll say no to my love again I'm no romantic turning sufferings to bliss and delude in heavenly meeting with god or life's grandeur and greatness I'm human and feel their meanness every moment get angry and lose my sleep as the earth writhes in the pain butcher's knives inflict There's little save poetry and prayer to put up with rising darkness in and out and god too is silent Couldn't be happy with my present nor could realize any dreams all these years — there's nothing to look back to say I lived my life well The chart predicts I must keep the company of the righteous but how to find one among the wicked that write our fate Psalms or no psalms workers of iniquity shoot their arrows with praising lips and god flees to see their shrewd schemes Hiding or waiting it raises its head when least expected, a snake glitters in the eyes, looks for the moment to reveal fangs Crudity of the stone conceals grace of nudity the image of Kali reveals to her devotee The sun on a mountain grave illumines the path to divinity unrealized in soul With steel flow the rolling water pierces the rocks shapes them into stars turned into river's song She visits a beauty parlour to erase wrinkles and returns with the same wintry darkness Hanging pictures in bedroom and living room the young couple please each other's eyes leaving box of books for downstairs den The lips in her eyes and long hours in the mouth- no moist secret between us to reveal: All her predictions could come true had I paid her the fees for her writing psychic reflections on dreams I failed to realize in life Wrinkles on the skin remind me of time's passage year by year traveled long distances renewing spirit and waving good bye At the river-front in-drawn with Buddha's image in padmasana eyes half -closed, meditating his eyes not yet opened Stray fungi grow on the broken window frames beside my bed watery smell swells as if a corpse in the river Feeling the difference between a tin house and a weather proof tent: His first winter — recalls swirling snowflakes at Chaluka inside the fibrehut warmth of blue waves surging With black and white marks and nest of ants on its skin the tree grows taller shining through the geometry of sun, moon and halogen My voice brown like autumn crushed in noises I can't understand days pass in colours buried The sea smells from far off leaps to the sky I drive through the maze of returning folks with fresh catch on their head The sun couldn't help nor fish protest: I couldn't understand what's Hindu about having fish and onion after prayers by the river in the temple courtyard Fears to see his own image in her eyes so avoids seeing her again betrays his cowardice They watch her bare back to feel the body through crotch thank engraving pen she loves the etching on skin to enhance nudity Peeling the orange with manicured fingers she slits the rind from top to bottom, separates each section with artistry Dancing on the car top a girl holds the mike to express her love twists the audience Slung-jawed awake two grinning skeletons sit bolt upright in bed hear the shrieks next door but too scared to call the police The nightly ghosts crowd my mind's passage to forge gods' names in disguise I fail to scan the face of thought and life in the dark The chill outside deprives me of the bright moon I breathe in my fears: Night's prisoned friends keep me awake with planes flying over the ashram every now and then I watch the directions matter Unmindful of her body's joy the ascetic absorbed in vision or communion with muse I feel the ripples of fire One thousand miles travelling together in tense silence he and she contemplate the next round of duel I can't cement cracks nor save the frames from collapse: The yellowing patch on the lawn won't green with pesticides — the water infects the roots even if I am drying up here Each night speaks to me in flatulence, wheezing and pain in the legs: With years of rubbish he reeks of aborted dreams lives a stagnant pool cut off from the running source rots in the marsh like a frog They own little earth and seek to auction the sky: Lying all day with pain in the heels and sinking heart I read tanka and wait for miracle to sleep Burning without warmth one more hot and sweaty spell of summer, restless down with stroke, without light, fan exhausted, alone in bed Ageing he thinks of the ashes and the long trip ahead in spirit feels the earth he would become celebrating life New leaves welcome his shadow near the window the telephone rings perhaps to greet Naw Ruz: I didn't pray or keep the fast Like tramps and dogs they piss and shit I see I'm sucked in my own cracks: With moral twists name of god or religion they fly planes to bomb sheep of his pasture and expect grace for humankind Preaching peace explode 'plane bomb, car bomb human bomb and bluff the living corpses with politics of terror They claim to kill satan mass murder innocents and blow themselves up: I wonder how god condones vague prophets and their cult From the border rings he's stationed dangerously: No cakes or cookies to celebrate my birthday this New Year's eve lunar eclipse and blue moon cheer the cup in foggy chill Vibration of thought with their venom in groups my spirit disturbed I lose desire to live here conceal my angst in tanka Their loose tattle or loitering on the street changes nothing not even the hand they wave to penetrate the body Surging like a wave they image in the air and end up wriggling worms hiding through the thick hedges digging the dark undergrowth Is it the water or sweat flowing from the cleft they queue up to drink?

The sun of knowledge shining through the beer bottle under the neem tree: He takes out the letter and writes a poem on its back recalling the last words winds whispered through the stars that still shine in the sky Waving arms of trees conspire with overcast day to drench again the two of us look for shade under leaking umbrella Over the dried moss rains have grown new layers making the path more slippery for all of us falling is a postscript now Laden with new shoots the trees promise mangoes to celebrate summer: Waiting for the remains of sacrifice vultures on the temple tree stink with humans and goddess on the river's bank Awaiting the wave that'll wash away empty hours and endless longing in this dead silence at sea I pull down chunks of sky Two moons so far away yet so near like rain landing gently on my open arms Unknowable the soul's pursuit hidden by its own works: Conveying the inexpressible her lines and curves: Brooding condemning things not done and unable to undo he prays ceaselessly fails to stop now compelled to make a choice Try to sense her in a moment that she's never been I walk with light in hand how will she know it's me?

My legs heavy with pain don't move: When I roll within veins crackle like dried wood breathing is oppressed I can't leave the four walls to survive midnight attack Leisurely the birds keep talking beyond midnight hot humid summer keeps me sleepless too It is for their love of God they play loud music or chant His name on loudspeakers but it kills my peace the whole night I can't sleep Couldn't sleep all night darkness of thought spread over the mind with closed eyes I negotiate fear of missing the train and loss She is so upset with my repressed anger she doesn't sleep with me and questions too why I take alprax when it doesn't suit me An insomniac meditates at night and says: Short nights and long days sleep loss rustles a friction echoing in bed the cycle of cravings over and over again In his ochre robe the rebel sanyasin says he'll drop his ego like the skin's layers torn off and starts peeling an orange Did I kill a snake or do I pass forked urine the astrologer asks to calculate my future I tell him no and yes Unable to see beyond the nose he says he meditates and sees vision of Buddha weeping for us Resting his chin on the back of his palms he stands at the dusted railing to watch the planes roar and take off Silence of birds and moon so miserly I feel homesick: On the roof top she waits for her man with moon cake and lantern: Rises with the lingering shadow of the dream: Pie-eyed from the back door enters concealing smell from his sweetheart The maid fans burnt coal and dried twigs fire to make tea for her hubby lying in sun and shouting Filled with worries all her dreams in one basket- runs to catch the train sand and mud dried on hands ghost fish biting the lungs Burns spiders' net with incense stick in the alcove paper deity unmoved by prayers for safe sojourn in the new city In their drunken chant lurks divinity, the joy let loose in rhythm roses colour the spirit drowsily lost and regained It's prayer to sink into her flesh and bury myself in her breast to escape the faithless hands that never became mother Seeks music in love's masturbating keys at his bed's foot the breath of God lies forked like a tongue of briars The cocktail of drink drug and meditation- nightly yelps tease unshared guilt the hell of silence Transparent in a one-piece dress she tiptoes waving from the window not seeing him leave I love her undress the light with eyes that spring passion with kisses she leaves her name again for my breath to pass through It's not ageing but eternal delight: The beads of sweat on her breasts do not touch her years or face in candle light her shadow is more restrained than my thought A mist covers the valley of her body leaves memories like the shiver of cherry in dreamy January Watching the moon in the western horizon two haiku poets scratch each other's back and mock the rest as neophytes Once so intimate now uncomfortable strangers smile at each other in the party no one says my name even once At the crowded window implores the clerk to process his papers but he ignores, irritates at the end, abuses A black dog moves freely among reporters lying on the ground to shoot militants in Taj resisting the commandos Amidst trees without fruits and the rising jungle flowers a seasonal grace in colours coexist with disfiguring autumn Whatever the rut they mate without the season ejaculating hatred from their mouths and stink- their cum doesn't turn me on Covering with soil their ill will excreted from the anus at my gate in the morning even sun despises villainy Love runs awry in the name of Holi yields to revelry of colour and sex: Delayed monsoon may now come early and quench earth's thirst with respite from heat and power cut: I smell wetness in the air Fear of rain and driver's non-arrival at night spoils the cool drizzle this evening can't relish even the drink No one gives him what he needs after a day's hard work in lab — a lover, a good night's sleep and it passes again, waiting Eternity too short to quench love He walks down the aisle looking for the nave to kneel and slide out After prolonged heat wave sky watery explosion earth lovely doom Seasonal change viral suffering, realignment with doctor's bill Each morning the sun shines through window panes, revives the dream for verses Smell of kamini in front of my house excites: Each stone, drop, pebble waste of life in worldly self: In the darkness of backyard he searches his shadow: I stir the water to pierce clouds in it: He has no wind-rope to tie waves in the net: She reads my age in the synthetic dark of moustache and whitening chest Willow summer-sways its bough half-rests on the pole light goes off again Silence is sound in the blank of unthinking mind poetry is peace The child lost in letters and numbers spins new designs She waves a quick smile from her new Maruti— tyres screech The sun vanished in the blue morning couldn't last the flower's smile He sees the ape in the glass self-satisfied his own image The blue white dapples on the canvas seeing the eye of silence Sipping gin he says he loves sex each night but hates the smell They are skinny but skilful, can't be swatted: He sweeps yellow leaves or gathers years in a heap burns to merge with dust After hours of power-cut cobwebs in the room swing in thanks My bedroom a maze of cobweb spiders breed The red light is on: In nightly silence glides the airbus through the clouds trail of white smoke After sleepless night a drowsy sun tears the morning sky A lamp floating on river breast in bridal grace waves in the gloaming Looking for Taj in grains through sand storm find history trapped between toes Shining from the blade of grass a drop on earth's breast: I know waves that roar I live through silence of shore: I felt her fingers the strings of my son's guitar unplayed for a long time After hurried lovemaking we drift to sleep: Flickers of peace hide god in heart like running brook love in nudity Monsoon shower after a long heat wave monotony breaks Ripe on the branches mangoes fall one by one end of the season Coal grows golden each moment in quiet corners raw wind singes It hangs like a drop any moment evaporates love is gullible Morning mist rests on a swathe of pond lone fish looks for sun The moon glows and heat wave all through night scalds leaves kills butterflies The mynahs herald the day clamouring for moths Vacating the house he leaves four decades no thanks to any Not age but years of worries — his furrowed face The leaves sway to fly like birds free in the sky Long forgotten the beginning and the end: He closes the eyes expanding inner space a short-cut tour Looking lovingly she bends his head down to hers twines like a creeper Unable to change time my watch doesn't move moment at will The rains wash the paints that hide the face The frog in mirror slips by damp towel cold sets in slippy hands Half -fleshed faces track from behind the windows rawness of journey Falling chalk over head clouds understanding: Rains leave soil soft — seeds sprout with first sun pearly dawns Frosted faces dissolve in stale rain clutching female body We lie together filling our body with each other's sensation Celebrating forgettable memories at public expense A star shines bright beside the crescent moon: Shaking hands couldn't part with the henna on her palms Reluctant to climb the spiral staircase- bathing in kitchen Measures loneliness sip by sip at dining table From the alcove removes faded flowers and kills black ants 8.

Thick dust on leaves unwashed by rains for days- stagnant time Oleander and hibiscus blaze with passion- making love in sun Two wolves smell the carcass in field heat wave chills Dust storm this evening- end of the mango season without tasting fruit Throwing stones at unripe mangoes- two urchins Couldn't keep freshness of leaf in water The first rains coming back from the desert home- plateau souvenir One more empty day but in the mailbox a hint of hope tomorrow Where shall I keep the thirty years junk if I go elsewhere?

A sad soul under the mango— my husband Ending the night's long journey her short story Patterns of hair block the flow: Cooking smoke waves to the afternoon sun: Chilly night no soul on the road guard at gate Welcoming the sun dew drops on dry leaves-- an epitaph After the walk two women relax on bench exchanging tensions After cleaning the maid leaves behind an oily smell A tiny spider on the marigold sucking its golden hue Seeking its roots around oleander leaves custard-apple A Christ crucified with the violence of music in the hall After the party empty chairs in the lawn new moon and I A dead voice calling up at dawn: Such a wild change in the mirror beside her- I look a stranger Stoops to set pleats of her saree mid-August Meeting her once and so much love in one night to last the whole life Each sun aggravates sadness moment by moment: Narrowly escape the midair web of spider perched on hibiscus After extraction he gives me my old tooth list of drugs and new bill Collecting fallen twigs on road half -clad women Palms waving to greet the first rain of the season: I wait in the room Craving for a lick of the salt on her skin to become one with her Desire for diamond dies with price I can't afford: Wish I could be part of the quietude this morning: Between virgin curves he deep-breathes evening mist rests in the hollow A load of wood on her frail back autumn evening Their shadows dissolve and reappear walking along the river On a cycle he sells bouquets and roses peddling dreams A watchman gazes the stars on her body elements clack Alone on the platform wait for the train swatting mosquitoes Scars of existence- wintry sun and chilly night crouching on footpath A dead man couldn't keep standing- lies in dust Knocking emptiness I cross the valleys within now stand at stone gate Love's beauty happening in the soul God presence Silence of class test occasion for haiku thoughts lost in lecture To give voice to stone he chisels the soul-image Krishna plays the flute A lamp on the river— the breast in bridal grace waving in the gloaming In the spring sun the lone pomegranate tree smiling with buds The blue-white dapples on the canvass seeing the eye of silence The mirror is so small I can't see the ocean beyond my own look Silent Ram sheds tears over the bodies burnt in temple's name Violence breeders climb power ladder- peace stings Tears invisible on his water face Buddha meditates Through long shadows in the morning remembering gradual death After the 'plane bomb stuck between concrete rubbles a mother and child In the naked grave some flesh still clings to the bones: Lost in black box he searches love to live- smoulders in ash They still bomb lands for peace repeat August 6 They kill and hide in mosques pray, in fear kill more, and flee To hunt the hunters flames mate with flames- touch the sky Her presence- alien sensation in my veins In my courtyard swoop neem, peepal, cheeku leaves: Between her fingers and lips swaying some puffed rice Still fresh in the hanky's fold- jasmine Soft footsteps of students bunking class test Her smile arrival of spring at the bower A butterfly restless over the other trying to console Ahead of us-- racing hyacinths in the river Two lizards inside the switchboard turned on Two of us at the waterfall spraying love The whole night waiting for the train running late drowsy sunrise The night queen fragrance seeps in from the windows my bedroom blooms She snuggles up in my arms her dimples joy of heaven And here it is every name Of someone burnt to death, on the stairs or in their room, Who had no idea what they died for, or how they were betrayed.

They did not die when they died; their deaths happened long Before. It happened in the minds of people who never saw Them. It happened in the profit margins. It happened In the laws. They died because money could be saved and made. Those who are living now are dead Those who were breathing are from the living earth fled. If you want to see how the poor die, come see Grenfell Tower See the tower, and let a world-changing dream flower.

They called the tower ugly; they named it an eyesore. Ten million was spent to encase the tower in cladding. Had it ever been tested before except on this eyesore, Had it ever been tested for fire, been tried in a blaze? But it made the tower look pretty, yes it made the tower look pretty. But in twenty four storeys, not a single sprinkler. In twenty four storeys not a single alarm that worked. In twenty four storeys not a single fire escape, Only a single stairwell designed in hell, waiting For an inferno. Make it pretty on the outside, but a death trap On the inside.

Make the hollow sound nice, make The empty look nice. But if you really look you can see it, if you really listen You can hear it. Political cladding, Economic cladding, intellectual cladding — things that look good But have no centre, have no heart, only moral padding. They say the words but the words are hollow. They make the gestures and the gestures are shallow. Those who were living are now dead Those who were breathing are from the living earth fled.

If you want to see how the poor die, come see Grenfell Tower See the tower, and let a world-changing deed flower. The voices here must speak for the dead. Speak for the dead. See their pictures line the walls. Poverty is its own Colour, its own race. They were Muslim and Christian, Black and white and colours in between. They were young And old and beautiful and middle aged. There were girls In their best dresses with hearts open to the future. There was an old man with his grandchildren; There was Amaya Tuccu, three years old, Burnt to ashes before she could see the lies of the world.

There are names who were living beings who dreamt Of fame or contentment or education or love Who are now ashes in a burnt out shell of cynicism. There were two Italians, lovely and young, Who in the inferno were on their mobile phone to friends While the smoke of profits suffocated their voices. There was the baby thrown from many storeys high By a mother who knew otherwise he would die.

There were those who jumped from their windows And those who died because they were told to stay In their burning rooms.