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Souvenirs Mist Butterflies Tree In the eyes, the dream Narration Earth day Cracked Gold Song Turbans Child’s inventory Uncle Old stories Peristalsis Torque 1 2 4 5 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18
Tinsel Inside Stuff Physiognomy Of Death Lamppost Hand holding Laundry Outlines Unplugging Crowd Decline and fall 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 .
now bald moons. Filed under: a poem a day by A. pickled Sun. Lucky we had pickled earlier moons And preserved them for a future use. We have our passions still simmering. moonshine gone From our thin pates.Souvenirs All the times we had passed through Stay embalmed and available.J. And now we flaunt them as keepsakes Souvenirs to show bored neighbours We had been there.dried like meat pieces preserved For all those unending vegetable days.Rao Tagged: souvenirs 1 . fort ruins and all. Fates are toothless to chew and claw From wizened faces.
My lips drift away in the sands By wind sailing to differentiate The sea from overhanging sky. 2 . And white robed figures in long Tails hanging from their necks.Mist I seem going down in my eyes And all your gestures are trying To match bodies with my own . The fly does not walk its texture Nor does the song set it tapping A ghost foot declaring rebellion. People and mine from a womb. functioning on own. Preferring to join them in a mist. My mind recognises sovereignty Of the foot. Eye’s smiles are failing to match Your mind with my phonetics.as gusts of a wind As people and daughters about. In the mist are vague contours Of people and shrouds of them Walking towards me and away Like wind that wanders in mist Or a rain that comes in walking On the road . As if parts are wholes themselves.
That were monarchs of all survey. Very natural thing for their wings To die and fall off from falling sky.Butterflies A poet. Filed under: a poem a day by A. before her dying. Wings are folded round a body On way to a misty evening land From where will be a no return And the wings will just drop off On way. A full blown poetry book may yet Launch them on the wings to fall Into waiting laps as beauty tokens.Rao Tagged: butterflies 4 . Before a rich ripe uncle’s dying Book might not see a day’s light. All poets have butterflies in eyes. in the never ending sea.J. thought Of butterflies on mass migration From where they wouldn’t return.
So I believe she is now firmly Rooted to the earth’s eddies Where roots plummet deeper And deeper as memories fade And then we are trees like her. So I believe as belief stopped When she was river from boat And the quickly flowing boat Did not allow us to look back And find her in river’s eddies.on soil freshly laid For her to take roots and fly.Tree We try to re-live our mom’s Memory over this very tree Bending solicitously towards The neighbour’s house wall. Back where she took to sky She is a tree now full grown With ripe mangoes dripping Like rain . It favours him by its richness Of sap and fullness of fruit So green it will turn yellow Or end up as pickle on table By when the cuckoo shall tire Of calling the rain from sky. Held by the earth and its sky. 5 .
the youthful filial dream By a poet who looked for dreams In vintage photograph creatures.and in the eyes A dream. Like Ariel spirit who sang for you To vanish and be gone for ever Singing of pearls that were eyes Of dreams that made his pearls Five thousand rupees for a string.In the eyes. the dream Rilke’s father had no moustache The brows touch. rilke's father. Filed under: a poem a day by A. We are looking for dream fathers Without a moustache. In a pearl bazaar of four towers Far from oyster hosting oceans.Rao Tagged: in the eyes. soft to touch Like pearls solidified from dreams Found in old photograph creatures. their brows Duly touching and knit in thoughts From far off space. the dream 7 .J.
Narration The grand narrative shall go on Briefly interrupted by an event. Leaving maps of earth filled holes. Filed under: a poem a day by A. You see the narration resumes Quickly after the event ends. The wooden posts that enclose The festivities are pulled down.J. As temporary skies after event.Rao 8 .
Speeding away to see pieces Re-form earth we have lost And regain in rivers of time. Our earth-pots had waters That smelled of the desert And a moon in our women.Rao Tagged: earth day 9 . Filed under: a poem a day by A. We are an earth that breaks In shards of our gone times To be preserved in museums And re-forms as tiny lamps Holding all our earth hopes .Earth day We are of the earth in a pot That will break in mid -river We do not look back to see. A sun rising on a new earth.J. Earth pot had holes of light From which the oceans fell As sprinklers on day’s earth For lugubrious trees to rise.
Filed under: a poem a day by A. This monsoon is treacherous On cotton in the cracked land. Minds go cracked like the land And bodies disappear in fans. We wear our palms on board And lotuses smell fresh mud. Water will flow in mud dams The upstream flows drowned By speeches.Cracked Lest thirst should seek water We give much to future eyes.Rao Tagged: cracked 10 .on long – routed Roads fleshed with rain mud That smells like new monsoon Coming from south-west hills.J.
A frozen Arctic waste on mom’s face. This sort of a smile is just some ice. Poets like to add gold everywhere.flitting As if a white cloud passing on a hill And soft sunset hue added for gold.Rao Tagged: gold 11 . Our stroke of luck does not happen All the time .Gold We like to think of the midnight sail Amid light sounds of a boat paddle On night’s waters on gentle breeze As a moment of eternity lost to time With some gold added to it as in love. Filed under: a poem a day by A. A worn sunset with no talk of dawn. staring at a clock fixation As if smiling for ever. We do not like strokes in television Watching.in the television or out.J. a frozen smile Not moving shadow on face . Fixed for ever and there is no gold.
Object is no love but wind. Death is an act of love said Without sound.cat’s purr Love.Rao 12 . Words fall somewhat short All for sounds to take over In crucial moments of love Like death that is a sound. Filed under: a poem a day by A.with no subject-object.just a poof.J. You get windy like doors Banging shut for a nothing Their stoppers stopping Short of love expressions.Song A creak cannot be a song Unless it be at a midnight When the arms of the tree Coalesce to belt out song A soft moony wooden ditty A painful friction.
the. (From a scene in the great Indian epic Mahabharata) Filed under: a poem a day by A. their colored turbans gone. And their swords drawn for a battle With below. Now I survey bodies and turn back To remove their turbans as trophies For my own dearest sister who took A private fancy for their many hues. At dawn’s crack .Turbans From the sleepers I get up and go Past dreams by their inert bodies Careful not to brush fragile winged Butterflies of their eyes enacting Fierce war dramas behind the lids Their butterfly movements in sync As in choruses of some tragedies. bodies will get up And go.turban knowledge That dreams are gone with turbans.Rao Tagged: turbans 13 .J.
not that pointy For the counting and I often forget Where I stop and where to resume When I have to do my home work. stars have changed A lot against the dark sky. left drying in pans. behind The well where the waters glisten And rope and pail wait out a night Ready to bring up the fallen ones Shining by default in well waters Dropped by somewhat loose sky. since I came here. I shall now make their inventory Night after night.Child’s inventory To know when to order new ones I must have their proper inventory. inventory 14 . Since I came . The stars shine up there endlessly And have been.strewn like salt On sea shore.Rao Tagged: child's inventory.J. My fingers are tiny . Filed under: a poem a day by A. In between and run up to the roof.
Uncle Time is to cease to be an uncle A lecturing dad .Rao Tagged: uncle 15 . Filed under: a poem a day by A.in his life He had bitten his sarcastic lips About the world and its maker And you nephew were peculiar. Nephew will join him by and by. In grayscale rolled shirtsleeves .J.below the house. a senti brother To he who stares from a photo. Nephew now asks uncle to wait Till he reaches a house bottom So they will jointly stare at sky Making fine sarcasm together. While uncle was at it . Uncle & nephew will jointly stare At the bottom of the starry sky In due course .
We were there another time The old brick walls with moss A flower creeper in crack sired By a bird’s chance dropping Or the terribly busy antlines Crawling as if they were fate’s Calligraphy on our foreheads Across our skullplates. where Stories are writ to repetition.J. Filed under: a poem a day by A. not very far When their seams come apart As if to admit starlight inside Or for geodesical knowledge.Old stories They come back with a vigor Seeming new but old stories That happen again and again Just the language of thought Frôm old skulls.Rao 16 .
now a stone. It turns afraid in snake folds Of final conclusion reached Too soon.Peristalsis This way our tunnel moves Down and further . Filed under: a poem a day by A.to gravity And against. When a daily conclusion fails The snake is massive stone.this way our fate Wills it through Its dark grief.a logical dead end Where the snake forgets tail In a forked head. Inside is the dark tunneling That moves through our stuff A monster of thirst and hunger Where everything is pushed Like a relentless juggernaut A snake that slithers as bodyA body to a daily conclusion.Rao 17 .J. Accidents of human history.
J.Torque Mostly are facts. Now can you undo a few birth facts? Filed under: a poem a day by A. A creature became itself In the floatsome air fluid To dance as the arc on seas To bring a being into being The fishtail would be gone. A tube goes the way down Matters of mother’s gravity But somewhere facts are twisted. a birth That cannot be refuted Or wiped off from eternity.Rao 18 . Alphas are sigmoid.in beta version. A version stays permanently beta In tortuous path to food and drink The tube’s sigma turns volvulous Facts are twisted to suit designer A making defect from perfect hand Or a frivolous experiment to truth. A tadpole would forget tail To be a normal swimthing.
Body finally connects things Of a mind. Tinsel the sound is Godlawful Many sounds and nightluminous A temporary fireworks in sky Not to be mistaken for all time.its pausebreaks. As body thinks itself to fever. Bodies pause for their wholes As noises go flat. turn smooth In a new landscape of words The poetry that does not realTake place .Rao 19 .J. Filed under: a poem a day by A.its bits of darkness Its interstices .Tinsel This is how the mind conects After the hard night’s bargain With a sleep’s dreams in rags Now mere recalled landscape.only sound tinsel.
J.Rao 20 . A soul dying to be mere body. a monologue. We are the insides of nature A sky’s overtures to the body That has a sky and an earth Become one in single breath Inheritors of recent real man. We speak under our breath As tubes go long and deep Inside a stomach and below Where speech dies in thirst And a breath air turns sticky As monsoon of recent earth. A body since changed to sky. Filed under: a poem a day by A.Inside Stuff We can’t make all this public The inside stuff.
a richness of texture. Wedged between two chunks of time A vast plenitude.breeding marigolds For eighty plus men. We pretend its ongoing through the long Shadows of an April.Physiognomy Of Death His death is difficult proposition for us Its countenance is our matter of space. Filed under: a poem a day by A.J. hanging their boots. the cruellest month To pretend otherwise .Rao 21 . We carry on discourse as if he is in room Sarcastic about other’s talk in the room Below window of an oppressive summer.
J. I have never disciminated Between man and beast. But this is between us two. night after night. I cant forgive the mongrel For its utter lack of respect Shown me . I bend slightly from age As light turns out heavy Under the yellow flood I nightly garner to drown Walking people and dogs Who eat their shadows .Lamppost I deserve all the respect Due to my advanced age. While distributing my light.night moths rise from Earth to make wise halos Round me on rainy nights. One. Susbstantial or a shadow.Rao Tagged: lamppost 22 . Filed under: a poem a day by A.
in a firm grip And it is now any time they will Loosen for gravity to do its work. locking their fingers In hers. so they would not fall off The edges .J.Hand holding Will you please hold my hands Said she at the edge of the bed As if it was her precipitous cliff And gravity was down pulling.as in her time She had done her handholding For others. Filed under: a poem a day by A. hands are not Locked in position. She would know . in their eerie dreams. This time round .Rao Tagged: hand holding 23 .
Rao 24 .J.Laundry We beat our common stones Jointly and severally owned. We shall give them a nice beat Once they are off dirty sleeves. recent feel-good. That is for their nice laundry. A rhythm of beat is the thing. We have left all our currency To remain in the shirt pockets. They smell of fresh lemons Taken off their trees to hang On a sun drying clothesline. We are looking for our hangups We wear always on our sleeves. Filed under: a poem a day by A. Detergents are freely mixed. Our laundry washing spirits Are completely perked up like Goosebumps at a temporary Excitement.
J. The faces shall disappear After they turn outlines Under a sun’s hegemony. The sun takes them away Abolishes them quickly In the darkness of trees. Filed under: a poem a day by A.Outlines I barely see the outlines In the darkness of trees.Rao Tagged: outlines 25 . Hair makes fine outlines In the dusktime of wind When it removes traces Of unique face identity. The sun caresses them The nape of their necks Erect in a stranglehood Of his overflowing hair.
J. when it does With flotsam. Filed under: a poem a day by A. It breaks too. against sands Digging heels in crab holes As moon is down in dumps.Rao Tagged: crowd 27 .Crowd Crowd turns midnight tide For politicians of many hues Submerging minds like sea When the moon is high up. A roar heard every five years. The beauty of a crowd’s face Is no longer in the ballgame When there is a moon in sky Turning ugly when it is down. It is in an electronic machine Where all else is swiped off Except the anger to shout no.
J.Decline and fall After the decline has started The empire is a wooded black.Rao Tagged: decline and fall 28 . Trees stopping to grow except To shed tears of yellow leaves. Filed under: a poem a day by A. Old fool’s imperium declines And falls. Flame’s dying fragrance mixes With flowers on God’s images Their smell is one with its dying. beyond the flickr. a false empire that is Never there. A decline is complete and fall. Past its outer circle of flame.
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