When the winds blow in the mountains, they create a music with the river and leaves of deodar, oaks and pines. A man never thinks of poetry, but observes it, feels it. The words do not exist then, only music. The soul of the mountains one cannot capture in pages. I have only tried to write about the music, and a little more from elsewhere. Mountains send the winds to other places too.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Come, return
when you say that you cry in sleep
in dreams,
leave this punishment for me;
Come, return to me
now the flowers are falling.
Look into you
you are waiting for my touch,
for how long will you hurt yourself
now the flowers are falling.
Hold out your hands
let me come into them,
I have collected for you
the last few flowers;
Come, return to me
now the flowers are falling.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Consumed
hailing the torrents of lust
exhileration shreiks at walls
falling to the gust.
Mere shabd..
mere shabd tumhare paas sahara paane aayenge.
Samet lena mere shabdon ko zahan mein tum
log tumhe meri har baat bhulana chaahenge.
Dhoondh lena mujhe apni kisi kitaab mein
kuch bhoole huye shabd tumhe ab bhi mil jaayenge
No particular thoughts..
1. So much I have written on love and loss
Now I really love the candy floss.
2. You come rushing into my heart
I fall a little, one more part.
3. All that happens is for good they all said
Reading it in your message, I doubt you too have fled.
Being a Butterfly
Look into the eyes of a falling star
you will not find love
that lasted a lifetime.
Butterflies wake up
to fill colors in the air.
Hold a color in your hand
you can be a butterfly.
The butterfly can choose to fly
away from a spring
about to whither
or it can spread the wings
and fall like a star
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
A dark mind
floating with the waves,
I look outwards to find the love
it hides in darkest caves.
Tea & Coffee
I like coffee beans
dark, strong
always biased.
Do you see
your leaves of tea
flying with the eskimos?