Save whole being tangledIn his last ragsAll else dissolved-A vase dripping awayHolding time’s fingerRattling his soulAs a broken alms bowl,Unable to knock openA deaf world’s doorTo go out of this life-Conscious how immenseIs oneself without walls.

Or who you are, you experienceAs if life dreams of itself,Content to keep happy, immortalityBehind the curtain of sleep.It’s a world you have no word forAnd though it was real at the moment,You call it a dream,Which is lost as…

To land blood wet, martyrs fed,A water melon still conceivesWhat alone bears peace-a sweetheart,Summer’s blood, timber scent-Each slice for life time sweet,Munch you as you would grapes or kisses.Her only hope, wish for nothing on earthSave eternal be her internal…

So short its distanceBe it of blood or two souls,To reverence awareness,Sweetest though unspokenUnderstood by any tongueWhose affection natural as sighTastes like nothing on earth,Links to states no man thinks,Itself raises as a momentIn time’s memory,Love so sublimeWhose sound silentYet…

Whose sole deed isTo disclose us to ourselves,To whom next to AlmightyAll owe their lifeAnd who makes it worth having,Although in the veil of desireIs but lust made beauty,Nature’s agreeable blundersIn the magnifying glass of spite,Yet no man is whole…

from so much kneelingon the splinter strewnordeal of existence,with shoulders yoked between shaftsof dream and realityand hoofs time boundI lumber, plod, draggingthe waterlogged life-load of desireacross traceless tracksof the vast desert of eternity.

Eternal silence of infinite space.Unknown what is it holding when it falls, yetBlessed from above despite unclear sky,As if immensity taps at our lifeEither as celestial shower of mercyOr world wide waterfalls of existenceEmptying itself on what the world survives-Failed…

As the beauty of the loveArrested in its architecture-Starry white dome in starry spaceRay lit clouds set aglowFairer than the sky, akin to third eyeVisitors’ mind illumine with cosmic blissAs night snuffs asleep.What’s bricked up looking glassDawn sunpolishesTill Jamuna’s surface…

is but a benevolent gardenand what matterspurely honey furnished interior,swarm hive in fragrant peasant treeor even in fetid city refuge.like rain,bees make no distinction andbrew for anyone.seeing darts as opportunityof silent service, theybuzz wing far inside the brewery of the…

But loftier the craftmanshipMore congruent in symmetryThan ever are our warring senses-All in silent watch -martyr.Not your lustof martyrdom but the sculptor’s chiselcarves a living name, world wonder made.Sad,Time and with it, centuries fail to seeNot light of fulfilment in…

makes them dream to be me,is but my image at sale, a staron the cat-walkthat denies me a life-I am he who is not I whoenters the stagebefore I seem to enter;an echo with a real voicelike the truth of…

the adolescent I sawyesterday? has it drowned in youfor good? this onetoo despite a beardis not my original me.in which formwill you show me to menext time? have I the rightto see my entire being.

the earth becomeslike someone’s kite-trees, clouds and skyclash against each other-the obscure torchessilence breaks platesempty space pours downthat presupposesthe advent of something unseenwhich takes shape for somethingelse unseenas grapes manifestfrom blossomsheavy with wine unseenin which you look for what is…

the quintessence of sweetness,of which man has its human counterpartthat could however be sapped bitterby desire. we are both caged alikein eternal boundsalbeit he in the vastnessof space stern decree and Iin the shutness of cane -case,whence we each draw…

to winter in the wharf of fleshwhich breathes with peoplewho breed each other.through openingin my life of which I know nothingI blood sipwhile the dreaming real I’sfeatures are moulded from a handfulof earth making hard to tellwhich I is Iand…

hard the time I endure in but harder the hurtof cleansing of my negative selves, thoughsoothingis the growth of the wingsof consciousness, yet strange isthe resurrection of my self essencefrom the dark cocoon, but stranger stillmy transformation into a winged…

hinging with dove cots, cooingunder a sensual night’s coverwhere all that seemed becomes realwhen awaken that is just metries in vain to coax backmy thoughtdriven by its own thirst,wanders for wonder beyond starry foldsto the thrallof as if my eyes’…

and along the bank of night and dayferries in freight of foreign dustwhich is not the mesuch as I am now.the streamcannot migrate me across yearsto my source but as I sledgeslope-driven I bid my timeto sneak out of this…

the peace prize promoting citythe vacuum cleaner, dustsbetter than any guest of dustbut unscavengedis the world’s body seeping sorewith carnage, genocide, terrorismwhere rain runs redon the leftover humanitywhose suffering is hard to touchand harder still to be buriedin man’s consciencewhose…

is a desire wanting morsel.unless a slice, millet size, let notthe ignorance of your sensual selfchild-like bite its fingersexcitedly in its greed to gobbleon trust of taste. what seemsmanifest is but your lustfor the illusory flavour.hiddenis the fire, calmly smoking…