salvation

faded voices from the past
are amusing balms for wounds
what fails them now
was their triumph once
that stained my hands in disgust

desperate for a sound
makes them wonder
if they were deaf or me
and i walk over the dry sand
from this circle of storm

whirlwinds bring together time
the gone, here, that would be or not
i watch them march to the fight
and drop their weapons

to the icy ring that only screams death

seed

the connecting dots are moving again
they will shift the now to then.
i will stand before the wall in vain
and the vines will cover the marks again.

the dots have begun to form a line
with rusted ends and center plain
i wont play in this tug of war
let time again be the sinner's stain.

little dots now look like clouds
shifting to another barren land
i try to catch the smoke so moist
with my feet under the ground to rest

i only watch the dots float away...

lets talk!!!!

never mind where i walk
i still walk in a circle
and reach the same old ruins of a future.

does it matter what i mean?
i still scream in echoes of a dream
and wake up in the coffin of my afterlife.

who lies with me here in this silence
is not the angel of release
but the medusa in my mirror

who turned myself into stone...

Moira

for moira..

shadows of a desire rise
of wishful prayers to the ocean
the oyesters are just waking from their dream
and joan of arc is happy it seems
millions following they can see her rise

star of the ocean
exceptional cause of love
my love she sleeps in my love

when the dawn shall break
and she open her eyes
blessed will be the ocean
with her fingers touching the breeze
of a soft sunny day.

i promise!!!!

this time when it shall rain
i shall not count my steps
this time when im late
i shall not try to find a way
if this road met mine years ago
i would not be here
and this time if the road kisses
i shall walk with it
without a promise
without my umbrella
no games
only dots on the sand by the sea
shall know the secret.

showcase

sitting in her glass cage
she watches them clap
she has known some of them
that blotted face
is the knight who surrendered last week
the one on the left
is the restless hangman of time
those two in the right
are the fools who thought they were invisible
somewhere in between
stands a woman who always brought gifts
there again, they come
the bunch of clowns
then she sees them both
standing apart
one is the keeper of the ballot box
and the other holds a magic eraser
they have just joined you see

this is glass not air
this cuts to test, doesnt spare
to touch her skin they need to break this wall
its the test of a thousand births to recall

they have come to see her dance today
to raise her
to slaughter her then
the hangman tightens the noose
the fools are out with their knives
the colourless face is blotting in acid
the clowns are slowly unmasking
woman there has only prayers
and them standing apart are helpless now

only her eyes twinkled before she fell once more.

foriegn lands

one september shall remember her
when the tin birds scratched a trail
they all saw her through the fog
and smiled for she trembled unbared
as phone booths turned to violin players
and children turned to paper cut outs
they followed her everywhere
and beside the graveyard of time and times
they made her loose her way

that september she came back to her love
of myriad faces
that never saw her.

Innocent

men are taught to apologize for their weakness, women for their strengths.

There,
she stands before you naked.
You know her skin is white.
Above her there shines a light,
that makes her look so red
and thats why you hate her.

You can see her eyes are crystal
hence you see through them,
the black wall behind her,
and some foggy landscape beyond.
You know her flesh is pure,
and thats why you hate her.

You can see her feet are blood soaked.
She killed the her in them,
and still she stands unbent.
You know that she's the hero,
and thats why you hate her.

There
she is bared again.
The crystals have begun to melt.
She looks around for her again,
and you know that you have found her,
you have more reasons to love her
and thats why you hate her.

painted...

hatched lines on a canvas 'Kolkata'
hides nostalgia under flowery color heads
sqeals of laughter as the wheels crush
and drops of diamond unseen by the 'rush'

Only waste

Wasted night
for a wasted heart
which wasted a life
then rose to a wasted day
and was born again

Bagful of waste
looks back at wasted time
and brings here wasteful fear
to a new born waste