faintly

something...
vanishes into thick ether,
swimming ripple-less.

faintly,
from far away,
the drumbeats of onam.

*****

what was it?

over the thin glaciers of a dream,
gingerly,
i made my way to something beautiful last night.

i remember,
nodding my head to myself,
saying:
“yes, this is it! this is it!”

waking up,
i hadn’t the faintest notion,
what it really was.

*****

kama

we clutch at straws
like straws that shall
float its own

stop clutching
to float

but clutch we must
to unlearn clutching

***
(just something that came in uninvited, the dawn just breaking.)

night fever

waking up in the dead of the night,
with a parched throat, running a hot fever,
can be fun,
as i discovered last night.

take a long draught from the jar
without spilling,
snuggle inside the blanket,
and let me let my jaws
hang free, just the right way.

as i shiver,
the molars chatter with a bass note;
the other teeth have different notes,
according to the make in each case.

each breath turns into a celebration.
two beats now, three beats next,
then a rumble beat as the drumsticks fly.

and in the background,
a voilin's soulful music,
over the aching strings of my body...

i didn't want the dawn to come.

*****

letter to a young poet friend

You should keep on reading and writing. There is poetry in your mind.
Somehow the prose influence casts a shadow. By prose, I also mean gross. Once you get to know the idiom of poetry, these five pieces will look altogether different.

Don't say much. Allow the reader to participate. You should give only
the key. Let the reader open the door and enter. Poetry opens the door
to a higher level of understanding of the world around us. I have noticed that poetry blooms in a state of 'let-go,' when one does not exert, but keeps the mind empty of thoughts and listens. Don't make the process laboured. Fly as light as a bird.

Listen to this for simplicity, a poem by Basho, 17th century Japanese poet:

Mad with poetry,
I stride like Chikusai
into the wind...

Chikusai was another poet much admired by Basho.

Stride into the wind, feel it, and write. Walk into the rain and get
drenched when you write of rain. Taste the sweet tang of the plum to
know the poetry of plum. It is an exciting journey when you truly get
into it. All the best.

*****

playtime

he takes a thrust with his sword
through and out through my heart
we hug, laugh and hug;
the blade
had pierced sheer void

*****

pause

woodpecker
stop pecking...listen--
temple bell !'.!'.

***

she

she keeps this me
of drifting non-attachment
anchored.

this morning she made me
scrape the bird droppings from the window sill,
dust the cobwebs
and wash my cloths,

grabbing me by the scruff
out of the precipitous depths of a poem
about two butterflies
falling in and out,
in and out,
with one another.

*****

hide and seek

squeak, squeak, squeak...
the squirrel's tail bounds--
my heart pounds--
where, in hiding, its mate?

*****

night breeze

night breeze
over the moonlit valley--
a bat wheels, spread-winged!

*****

haiku streak

moon-gazing still night
jasmins all abloom...my love's
tresses silver-streaked

***