unremembered memories
Home Kitchen1
oasis in memories
of the desert rhythm of the desert
sand is poetry
2
The man becomes a shadow
under the arches of rainbow trees
it’s the mist of the moon
3
my restlessness blooms
no thought but ulcer in the
stomach flow
shadows shape loss
my son in the photo room
i’ timeout
4
you hear pulses
of memory in the cemetery
she grows in her sleep
I look for my voice in
echoes that break silences
of the soul in space
5
The mirror is so small.
i can’t see the ocean
beyond my own gaze
6
Is your quietus?
that she roars
in herself
like a sea
waves upon waves
jumps on itself
7
He removes the petals from a rose
looking for seeds through
tangled fingers
in spiny uterus
is bleeding hopes
8
She collects black seeds
of some flowers and says: “Dad,
These are souls, let’s sow them here
tomorrow they will grow like ghosts.”
9
while snuggling her
we became a little rainbow
playing earth and sky
in the middle of a dream knitting
legends of love in moments
years without remembering
10
I leave my memories
in prayerful trance
floats on my body
until you hit your fingers
in my soul it breaks
the silence: “I have come
with my promised dreams
years ago. You will not do it?
once kiss you and melt into me?
eleven
Blessed be
the bedroom
the bathroom
The kitchen
the living room
the terrace
the grass
and every little
place and place
where we pray
gold sexed together
we glorify our house
and declared its mysteries
12
love is effluvium
of his body extending
all around parabolic pitch
illuminate the self
my being merged
in his shining presence
13
The dancing shadows devour
raising tensions for a moment
closed eyes dissolve
years of obstruction
within the four walls
the flame is released
of cloying flirtation
for a moment
Everything is calm
In its presence
14
when I wanted
change seats
my friend said
she can, only if
the door is closed
lights off
and his mommy in
another city
fifteen
she knocks on the door
get powdered
gold spray Eau de Toilette
in the strange bed
I just listen
the teapot sings
sixteen
while i sweatshirt
in mosquito net
waiting for a kiss
she’s going to sleep
loosening her breasts and
remove his feet and eyes
and covers them under the sheet
to keep it safe
17
If passion begets beads of sweat
in the winter night you reach the plateau
too much love can kill you
18
Through the corridors of the night
I see love dying
by chance vegetation
in sleepless dreams
19
between the white hairs
a lonely black
keep your hope alive
twenty
The layers of dust thicken
in the mirror water
makes obscenities prominent:
I clean and clean and yet
the stains remain like sin
twenty-one
My wife laughs when I say
man seldom loves beauty:
when he sees a woman
he only sees her busts and butts
and bone length in the mouth
understanding their itches
he years to sink in the mud
by the fig leaf color of the hair
22
When the oleander was drying up
i peed on its roots
three times a day
she laughed at me
but the bush survived
and bloomed all red
how beautiful she said
when i ripped them off for bid
this morning he yelled
“Do not parade my goddess
these flowers smell like pee”
23
her naked dance
not bad art
arouse passion:
with apple blossoms
they run
to find match
for erect nipples
under transparent blouse
24
The charm is the
beauty spirit
Divine
mysterious
honest
expression of self
Not seen
but i felt
25
far from me
I need a little breath
up straight
by a privacy spell
in my happy depth
the belly of december
and hear the first screams
i cried with the sun
in a pure moment
26
the quietest moment
when one is own
is in the bathroom or in the bathroom
reflecting inside out
through daily actions
listening to whispers that tear
gold simplicity cosmetics
divide the landscape into hands
when the force dodges
explosions in silent search
in the void leaving
a dazed mind in the crypt
27
the doors that sound
I will not continue with poems
between its jaws
I must stop the winds
to avoid throwing
in the empty void
28
Over time, the sun becomes opaque and not very refreshing.
as if my dreams become weaker than exhaustion now
In the desert of desires no cactus blooms
not a hand calls me back to a world of hope
here breathing fossils and watching meandering waves
let me take a moment for poetry and live:
I pity the mind that harbors ages of anguish
and drags consciousness through knots in wrinkles
29
poetry is not
simply functional
as a briefcase
is personal–
an extension
of my self
30
I live with
foods like
restless years
creating gospels that
support the world
and chop my days
with cold fictions
31
They say Jupiter
reveals the inner man
the invisible hidden within
and my horoscope lights
the direction of my destiny
the sanskar of my soul
well placed as a benefactor
but what is the spiritual progress
with a strong drink in hand
the sky visible in the present
the pitch that runs the races
The battles I fight for existence
in the world of Saturn without
energy, life or joy?
32
what is this life
like the sun rising and dying
someone starting and someone ending
without feeling the presence
without effect, surprising, ending
long waste rituals?
nothing saved except
years wasted in bed
pretending and not pretending
the blood runs but does not complain:
time seals the fight
born, married and died?
33
everyone fears
everyone is insecure
here everyone doubts
with clouds in mind
every house is a secret
bridges of silent arrogance
distance between hands
and what they need
they don’t speak but they search
your fate in coffee circles
yes bored of monotony
see the terror in your own urine
gold dig treason atoms in the walls
that make up the secret
and sleep their drugged nights
murmuring the bank balance
3. 4
His hands are sulfur
butcher’s strength
above the well they move
Like the shadow against the dying sun
longer than themselves
against the dome reflector
create new ‘glyphs
to feed the night to the sunken world
35
The withered flesh of morning
and the swollen skin of the day
by bloody nullah in smoke
tears shadow tomorrow
like today every day they cry
but no one hears groaning, nor sees
dark rashes on bare walls
that hide maps of bones
and piled up dream skins
next to the broken hearted hate
it is a luxury of impotence
they will not believe or accept
if there is a hell on earth
it’s here, it’s here Is here
36
boneless shadows
empty lawns
Moon through the ribs
of the arbor and tumult
from the crack of meat
bread shells:
whose hands are they
that weave nightmares
with rose ashes
and a woman’s face
37
the old rats
in the gap of nature
design new rooms
negotiate misfortune
and belief beyond choice
with plastic sense
enrich your substance
drinking, voting, smiling
38
A horse-headed thief
bullied bearded man
like the mythical demon
who disappeared with the Vedas
but no fish appeared
to rescue him
39
every face
it’s a finger
take off
skin like banana
erect or twisted
40
Men
with head
twisted like a
the manager’s tail on the chair
before the boss with
pen-in
blood
41
My bones have holes for the eyes
I look for my teeth in the mud
the leeches have sucked my blood
Where is the lout who ate my meat?
42
The beard grows like mist.
on her cheeks
in half dead streets
the night slips like a yoke
to free them
in glass chambers
mummies don’t need sun
43
Sheep grazing the rainy green
after sunny days
crouching I stir from hibernation
looking for a handful of belonging
in the solitude of wild growth
bypassing the mossy entrance and
patterns of walls, sheep and sun
44
suddenly through the spring
the wind blows hot
circulating summer colors
roads and houses in poor condition
dust inside outside
melt the silence like tar
golden bleach skulls what they thought
once, now fossil like rocks
in eternal hibernation
my search ends or stirs
lewd rituals trampling
about a little cool in thongs
I do not know what it is
the cheek of terror or the sweat of the skin
or the wind clings to the breath?
Four. Five
They take away the flower of the day
I keep the shell for tomorrow
no one knows what thieves may look for
46
what i write shows
my past though fragile
like leaves of years:
I love the wind yes
makes the city flutter
47
harmony in duality
is unit of languages
to sculpt new dreams
made of living rock.
we are not different
in our same land:
our poems are woven
of the same skin of language
worn by time and nature
48
the lonely bird
like uninspired track moves
alien homecoming
49
the whispers of the forest
inside of me
it will be quiet tomorrow
and no tree will weave
nobody knows
How was the weather
in the heart
negotiation of ideas and images