We are crude monsters

 We are  crude    monsters

 Green   blade  of  grass

As  sharp   and  cutting 

As  the    sharp  memory

Of  God  who  dwells  also

Upon the  blade  or  bunch

Sticking  on the   piercing  smell

 Earth bound  rudimentary,

Up fronting    the benefactor  sky.

Those   are  not  morning’s

Fresh   pearly     dewdrops, 

Tears  of  angst  for  we

Mercilessly  trod  upon  them,

Can you find tears from the

Uprooted grass ,the  crushed

Flies ,insignificant insects

For even when alive insignificant:

Looking  up  to  the  Heavens

I   too  trod upon the  tender

bunch  green  and   sharp   

but are they sharp to retaliate?

My Space

       My space.


My space is huge  and interminable Faith
in the realm of God  and His Fort,
indomitable  and unyielding,
you  walk on the heap of the withered grass
to be burnt  or fed as fodder,
the   land   can  be  disgruntled,
a  transient    facade,
yet,my space   is  huge and interminable Faith.

You are on my Right..

  You   are  on my  Right....

You   come  straight  as sunbeams

Unswerving   as the   Rod of  Justice,

These   warm     shades  or    silent  wake up 

Calls   for  those on the green field

With the  pail  of  curd  rice  

and   lemon   pickle ; they  still 

hugged  by  the     mother  sleep,

done  their  karma  by the  paddy,

have  been doing  for  many  decades,

richly  paid  by  dividends  by  the  crops,

I worship  you  to  knock 

at my door , my  right  is  might.

                                                                                                                  

A facade

               A   facade

You   are miserably at  the

  very  centre of the  vortex,                

Cutting    cruel situation ,

The  spooky  spokes  of 

Conundrums   rising  by

Leaps  and bounds 

as   the  spring  ball,

what   are you  now?

An ignoramus ,itinerant

A  gypsy ,multicoloured  

Attire with big  beads,

Gnarling   around   your    neck;

Each   day  is  a domineering

Question   mark, sees    yonder

A  tree  as  tall   as  a  convoy,

Behind    the   bark of the tree

Gurgling  water  sounds

Flowing, whispering  secrets

Of  the   BIG  UNIVERSE.                          

Stumble upon....

2) Stumble  upon.....

                                                

Stumble  upon  ,  blocking   rugged  black  stones,

  after  prolonged  doubts  and  debates , milestones  ,            

                               

achieved   and negated  by those of    gumptions,

a  few  tardy      or  unduly  hasty    assumptions ,

misconstrue   a   toy, painted   design ,  a  blackbird,

stagger and   climb  to     view  from  helipad,

This  life  is  a  knocking ,  a mirage,

A  discarded  car in  a   barred   garage.

 

She knits a sweater

 She  knits  a   sweater...

It   is    nine   in the   segregating    night,

When   stunning  climax  and anti climax  bright

and  brazen    bold   meet  and intersect ,

She   knits   a   sweater  of  burgundy ,cool

Her  dexterous  needle   and    hand foraying  on the  wool,

Tears  from her  eyes  up swelling  in  blood  of  pool,

Thinks   of her  unborn   child  last  year,

A   miscarriage   why? Not  known for  reasons  unclear ,

Due  to  Times’ collocations  in the  rear.