Wednesday, 9 April 2008

A Drop of Absinthe

Give me just a drop of absinthe
And the wind will swoop me away;
I shall enter into an abyss
And the music will play;
The stars will open their fiery bands
And their sparkles will shine today…

Just one drop of absinthe,
And I’ll promise you a smile-
A little drought of laughter
Escaping from my lips;
And I promise you won’t forget
The night that passes by.

Once more, I taste
The music of your wine,
And suddenly I laugh with joy
And feel myself smile-
Maybe you oughtn’t to feed me your alcohol-
‘Cause the stars are already playing
And I’m engulfed in the abyss;
I feel the wind about me swaying-
For I’m drunk in your smile.

Anonymous friend

Silent whispers across an orange-lit black lake
As she sat by the railway tracks,
Orange fire glowing on a finger-tip held cigarette,
And the dark clouds swept her tresses across her tears.

An abrupt halt of a speeding train.
He waited for it to fly again,
As he saw the orange city lights
Mingle with the black lake waters.

She turned her head with bruised sorrow
And saw mellow whiteness from a dark train.
She heard the heavy blows that her lover had dealt her, in her ear
And the tears flowed slowly again.

He watched from the light of the mellow-white train
And saw her weeping in her pain.
And as her eyes met his,
He gave her a smile and a wave.

He lit a cigarette anew
And shrugged with carefree quietness.
And then she saw the meaninglessness of living,
And the beauty of that lack of meaning.

She waved a fire-glow of a cigarette in return,
As a thank you note for letting a life live.
And the motionless train caught a flutter of joy
And began to fly with the wind.

Blossom of a Butterfly Wing

Upon a treetop
As the chimes of time sing,
As vivid cocoons swing…
A blossom
Of a butterfly wing.

The wind in the night
Blows past pools of yellow light
And the lone tree
With the blossom
Of a butterfly wing.

Roads of concrete buildings
Forget the stars are a-shining
And the moon is a-glowing
And somewhere, the blossom
Of a butterfly wing.

Amidst this insanity,
This mighty calamity,
Heights of sheer vanity,
The blossom
Of a butterfly wing.

Though we would not see it,
And the heart cannot hear it,
This world cannot steal it,
The blossom
Of a butterfly wing…

For upon that tree top,
The chimes of life sing,
And from the cocoon’s swing
Breaks out a blossom
Of a butterfly wing.


He opened his third eye-
A surge of radiant beam of light-heat
Courses through his dark skin,
Reaching his neela-kantam
And flows into the tips
Of the trisulam- wielding palm.
His thick, black matted locks
Grasp the great Ganga
And the quarter moon itself
As it unfolds about the nape of his neck.
His thundering feet are adorned
With the shining, gold thandai.
With one foot firmly holding the earth
He lifts the other in destruction.
Around his strong, gaunt shoulders
Curls the powerful serpent.
His fiery natyam
Breaks the mountains, raises the tides,
Quakes the very core of the earth,
Destroying deep-rooted evil.
Tiger-skin clad,
The guardian of earth, sea and sky
Releases pure, powerful, rhythmic, wrathful
From the centre of his palm
And from him emanates the sheer radianceOf destructive shakthi.
The heavens and earth
All hell breaks loose,
As the third eye burns
And the trident-lord unleashes