Walking in the fog

                                              Walking    in the  fog.

                                            You walk  in  the  fog,

                                            To  ease  the  clouds,

                                             Besmearing  around  you,

                                             You  walk  in  the  fog,

                                             Under   the    careless   dark

                                              Yet,  Sinister    and  spying  :

                                             Spiraling   everywhere. 

                                             Creepy  with  its  crooked

                                             Deadening   silence,

                                             You   think  of  next   Birth,

                                              Snowballing   the  transmitted

                                              Issues  of  karma, while

                                               Many   stifle   the  very  life,

                                               The   living   along   with

                                               Their  conscience,  submerge

                                                totem  into  a  fearless

                                               Uncanny ,diabolic

                                                underwater  currents.

                                                You  continue  waling

                                               In the  fog, with the

                                               Clouds  multiplied.  

                                              A sigh, stopover, heals .

Inside the purse.

                                Inside   the purse.

              

                 Inside   the    folded, quality leathered purse,

                  Sophisticated, attractive,

                  Tucked, cosy   in  my  palm, 

                  Inside   the  crowded    public transport    bus,

                 My   creativity   ruminates, chews   the  

                  Cud   of   observation, moving, moving.

                  Inside    the    purse, heavy  

                 Worn out   zip  struck  in the  middle,

                 Inside   the  bus, the  conductor

                 Calling   for   defaulters, loud   and emphatic,

                   Whistle  sounds     automatic ,

                  As if  it knows  the  timings,

                   Inside   the  purse,

                  No  pounds, no dollars, no

                  Western   money  transfer  receipts,

                 Jingling   are  a  few   Indian  coins,  

                 I   preserve    a    paper , very fragile,

                 Oblong,  crushed, yet  preserved,

                 What  is  there  in  a   name?

                 What  is  there  in a  piece of  paper?

                 Yes, very much  is  there

                  It  is    the  bus  ticket,

                 rolls    and   moves  faithfully

                  to  my  destination  midst

                 jolts   and   bolts.    

                                                        

                                                            

                                                           

Look up to The Heavens for clarity

Look  up  to   The  Heavens  for  clarity.

When  man   is   bemused

Most  of   the  Times,

Confused, or  pretending   to  be

Lost  in  the    trackless  path  

Of   thimbles , vouchsafes  the 

 Cacophony  pleases

 his  ambivalent  Moods,

 Silently  you  watch  his

  Histrionic   movements,

  Entreat   the  clouds  to

  Clear  up    fast  :    

  look  up to the Heavens

  for  clarity.