Scattered rain

A drop of rain

Turned me on.

Is somebody coming

To drag me through the

Mystic paths of unknown Love?

What I got from the nail tips of the rain

were some admonishments, and sighs.

Could those rain drops

Rob the lust from my eyes?

Like an organism,

The rain drop beckons me,

But I could never see

The rain at all.

Rain is like idols of shattered life.

Still my mind did not calm down.

On each glass piece of the shattered mind

Seeking the rain, I gaze into the sky and the mind.

I wish my love

Showered down as rain.

The Serpent's journey

Why should we gaze at the lines,

On the hands that reach to hug?

I love the bosom's fineries of love

That comfort me.

The look of the love-showering eyes,

My angst.

The beauty of the eyes that behold,

Another domain

I do not need its perceptions,

Nor its beauty.

Honeys do drip in words:

I do not need that

Words that do slip out of tongue

Do not provide bread

For my ill temper.

I search for love

In all lips.

More than the beauty of lips
Who needs the clinical decorum

of the dentals?

When I look into my soul,

I can see all these,

My belief's my breath.

I cherish the sigh of

The mind that comes searching for me;

Not the beauty of the nose tip.

I do not seek the beauty of

The hands that embrace me.

I remember the rare love and the silent touch of the hands.

I will plant myself in the

Overflowing love of the heart

Rather than in its hardness.

Neither the decor of the feet

Nor its shape

would decide my cousrse.

The trust, on the solid earth

like unending will power

crawls into my thoughts

Like a serpent,

My feet do follow

That serpent's journey

Endlessly

Love's Remains

There's no love in this mind.

There's only the smoke from the pyre of the mind.

That was deserted by the love.

My fate ever was to gather and burn

The remains of loveThrown away by many.

I waited for the remains of love.

I burned the remains thrown out to me,

by those who ran to battle field,

those who sneaked out to steal money,

those who took the evining walks,

not attributing any sanctity to them.

How free Iam!

Words Again

My words left me

without showing any courtesy.

When unrefined words

tried to be poetry,

The Painted Forms

Colored Shapes Fill The Canavass

As Terrifying Forms.

Drawn, All in Mixed Colors,

Whenever tried to beautify them,

Devils Kept on dripping down the brush.

Who makes the world weird

Hidding behind the colors?

Are colors the Successors or representatives

of some terrible truth?

I kept the brush washed

to keep my life from getting colored.

Are human emotions green?

Is nature Green?

Is nature's green also guise?

could easily detect empty emotions on the painted faces.

Let's not color the picture of life.

On the canavass, invisible forms of voidness

blossomed.

It is always risky to seek the soul

That throws away the mask

The risk of enjoyable emotions

singular

Body's Plural

Mind's also Plural

World's plural

Language Is Plural

Name Is Plural

When,

Minds Leaves the body,

Words leave the poem,

sky leaves the cloud,

Flowers Leaves the tree,

to be free,

The Singular Me is born.

poems-painted forms

Are Human Emotions Green?
Is Nature Green?
Is Nature's Green Also a guise?