This blemishless burning fire

This blemish less  burning fire.

This  blemish less  burning    fire,  ever  alert

Queries    why  the  same  is   inactive   in  others

With  a  vindictive   destructive    ire,

 A  cool  sip  of  ice  water  and  you  turn  to 

Catch  the  running   dialogues   in  TV.

TV show   boomerangs  with virile   fist  cuffs

 arson   and  lootings,  uncanny   episodes,

it   is    sad ,  bad  karma  to  be  born

in  these   unchecked ,  inductile   atmosphere,

spearheading   one  to  another,

 I see the key chain  dangling

A   whiff  of  wind     sweeps   it  past,

The    car   key   moving  hither and thither

Falls  as  if  bemoaning  its  karma:

Still    consoling itself ,   me, as well,  

Tomorrow  I am the starter,

Driver,  run  racer,  with  a  killer  instinct,

Even in  crash  I  hang  on 

To my  space,  my  special  space,

The   car  key  jingles  with  a

Blemish less    fire.

I wear the Sacred Thread

I  wear  the  Sacred Thread of Patience.

This   strong  undiluted ,twisted 

like  a  multilayered   knot

 A    thread  Of    Patience   

Runs   Cap-a-pie  :   not

Bogged   down   by  any  Fear

  Or   Sagged  down   by                                

Wearied, sweat    and  care.

Drilled   by Will, powered   by

A    Supreme   cavalcade     of

Predetermined   foregone  images,

This   Architect  called   Soul,

Unyielding  to the  mounting 

Pressures   of   day to day  seemingly          

Declivity , no  certainly  not .

The   self willed    God  -ordained 

Thread  of  Patience  pulls

Me  up,   furthering  with  a

Ladder   of  Patience 

Accompanied  by  a hope

Of   Bright  Days  Ahead.

  

Blood! Blood! Red Blood.

 Blood!  Blood! Red  Blood.

There  it  flows  out of its veins,

 Green veins restricted,  now   as if                                                                                

In  a  flow  chart,

Now   looks   liberated, no not?

Congealed , no more  use  to 

Anybody,ANY BODY in  need

beckoned  by   accidents and surgeries,                                                                                                      

Blood, red Blood, is it  my  blood?

Your  Blood,  Blood  is  Blood .                     

It  looks  as if  giving  a  message,

Man’s  heart  is  congealed,                                          

hardened  like a granite ,                              

I am already   frozen inside.

This  is  only  an extension

Of  my aberrated   status   outside.                                                                                             

Glaring two

I   walk  by  the  symmetrical  lawn.       

The  measured  ,sprawling , gravel

 as  if  chiselled  by  the  architect

of  the  mansion, by  the  side, coagulating

  and    supine    grass   up fronting

the  sky   for  its   clangs of  Mercy,

it is  getting  hotter  slowly,

 the  cloth  drier  is  empty,

 not  yet   time  for  the housewife

to unload  her  bucket of  garments,

sparrows   safe  in their  shady  nook

of   neem     tree , my  ancestral            

symbol   of lineage   the  leaves 

serve  a s  good  exorcist of  umbrage,

my   BRITISH POETRY   fritters  in a  corner,           

return  of  the  crow  to  dip

its    long    beak   in  the  bucket,               

you    too    go  to  the  cool pot.                 

Mortuary Breathes

Mortuary   Breathes

                                                                                                                           

This   ghastly , weird  mortuary

breathes  with    many a  breathless

those   of  whom  throbbing    till 

A while  ago,                              

This  mortuary  preaches 

The otherness of  Life,

Figures   in   some,   distorted,

Some  in  amputated  shapes

  heaped up, their  souls

already  embarked upon

A  different  journey, their

Own   predestined  routes,

While  the living  ,the kith and kin

In  a   hurried  journey  here,

  land  and  Search    them:

This  place:  a  white cloth

Covers  and  closes  the grand finale.

Morbid  yet, sheltering

All  the voiceless  now.