We live even after death Although death is eternally true, The efforts to gain…..
All the wicks extinguished,
Sun descended, stars are distant –
The deity is waiting alone.
The old earth is so beautiful
Sunlight awakes silently, and
Embrace the still sleepy earth.
The night ends with swelling light,
A distant hazy face from the past
And dew on leaves like tear drop.
I crave all the love, joy and
Deep rooted sorrow of the earth,
Before leaving this golden sunset.
I set the love free, as sunlight –
That I want inside my heart,
When I feel cold and apart.
I have searched you in the dark
All went to the festival of light
None opened the closed door.
My message like a butterfly
Searches you through the concrete
And rests on the floating deity.
Alone like a wounded heart,
A burning candle in an empty shrine –
The whole surrounding is dark.
The color blind night takes away
Unexplained black and white memory.
Gleam of my heart cracks in silence.
As the barn owl hoots
The full moon cruises from dark east
To the misty land of the west.
Shadows, cold and the sunshine –
Hum of the industries of the town,
Leaves started falling on the green.
A cold cloudy November morning
After a drizzle eyes become bright
Sun came out from the cold shade.
You are walking in blue sari
Beside the deep blue sea –
Surfs wetting your astir feet.
An unknown craving encompasses me
Like turbid early November mist,
Sonorous call ring across my heart.
Winter leaves shake their heads
To tell a fly not to come close
Else they also might fly in joy.
A man with silver hair and white dress
Crossed the dark road restrainedly
And vanished on the other side.
A young girl has collected
One hundred and eight lotuses
Beside the rail track canal.
A void engulfs me slowly
Absence of you and a silence
Makes a motionless world.
Every moment I celebrate rebirth
With sky, wind, the wounded dog
And you silent untouchable love.
The Ursa Minor choked my throat
The light spread through the fields
And touched the lonely hearts.
As the bird leads past the houses,
The pickles, the fire and calls –
I stopped to hear your touching voice.
Loves angry tongue break
Sudden drain of speculation
Crickets sound, silent repentance.
Intricacy to feel your simplicity
Like touching the newborn spring
With crooked finger in cold smoke.
The interior is carefully covered with roses
Still the invisible thorns pierce me
And the blood makes the roses wilder.
It’s a cold foggy fearsome silent
Dark lonely December night
With distant vision of purple fire.