It is not the caged bird alone that sings...

It  is  not  the  caged  bird  alone  that  sings.....

It  is  not  the  caged  bird  alone  that  sings,

Outside    vagabond    voices   to  the tune of  timbre

both  of  his hey  day  and   declivity    now:

 With   tumbrel  the  farmer is  wedded

 to  his   ancestrally   transmitted ,proud

 lineage  of     cultivation.   The bard

 not   wilfully   but    woefully    writes

 his  pages  of  unethically   got  and

seen Mammon  worship .

Only  his  pages,  but  others’ coffers,

 The  black  crow  in the much

 visited balcony    amens. 

Acidity remarks

                   Acidity   remarks

I   am throttled ,  bottled,      

Tight-lipped,   furtively 

thrown  in  a   hurry,

The   angry  young   man

throws  me      for  love  negation,

Or  retort ion,

  is  he  bothered if  the

Victim  is   defaced   or  deceased?

Out  of  the   empty  bottle,

Broken to pieces,

I  am  flowing  still,

My   supersicilious      pride

has   bubbles   all   over,

 The  flash in the newspaper

In   the   morn  highlights

‘’I   am  banned’’

Hungry voices

Hungry   voices.

Those   indefensibly     dead , still   rig out

Of   their    half    burnt  bones, care  to

Somehow    speak  to  this   uncaring

 Sadistic    world  of  diabolism:

The     still  burning  embers of  the

Burnt  wood,   remind  the  sad  tale

Of  bygone  ,   the   dead , resonate

With  their   craving  angst  

Irredeemably  suppressed  

For some  reason  or  the other.

Tapping  the  cold ,chilled  ,barred

Doors  of  Justice,  Some  familiar

Passers  by   rehearse  the  poignant

Faces ,out  of  gratitude,  record

Their  voices on the   tawny   stalk,

I  refresh   those   lines  as   I pass  by.

Chocolate

Chocolate

April’s   Dove  spreads   its

Wings  of   message   of  peace

While   the   shiny   sheets   of water

by  the  glowing    River  Thames,

caress   your    creative     aura,

I  stand   by  the   wheel  of   London  Eye,

   A  sip  of   hot    chocolate,

  Fragranced   smoke   escapes

   the  seductive  cup,

   hot  chocolate   is 

 women’s day’s  best  treat.

Lovely! Lovely! Lovely! Is The Rose!

Lovely  !    lovely !   lovely!   is   the     full

 Blossomed   flower ,

The   Metaphysical   Rose 

In   my   ancestral  reared   Garden,

 I  don’t   smell  it,

The  fragrance  pierces   my   nose,

Pervading   the   Valhalla   like.

I  feel  a  sensation  it

Wants  to    contract   its  space

To  be  more   possessive,

No  more  loves  you  crave,

No  more  lost   things you  miss,

STILL  the  ash  coloured  Dove

Looks      NOT   askance  at  me 

But  to  approve  of  my

 Internalised   ambience.

Words'changing attire

       Words’ changing  attire.

 Words   always  not  bright  strokes

Of  brushes   of  ebullient  painters,

Not   splashes of      retaliating    waves

Or   receding    froth  dashing  against

Pebbles  or  crabs  hiding .

I  closely   sat by,

saw  hammering   words  

on the  frittering  pages,

 him , hammering  words

 twining enjambments,

At  times,  words   are like

  Modern  double   sided  saris,

words  could mean  a lot

behind   the  closed  eyes

of   a  saint. Yet  they  are powered.