To tell about you

I know that my hands are not yours:

And your arms are not mine.

But you see, every time I held your hand,

I had and heard stories.
Every time you spat words,

I failed to pay attention to your lips;

I listened to your heart.

I am not a psychic.

There is a connection when you are around.

I get linked to you through chatting.

I get close to you when I hold you:

Greetings, pats and good-byes.

Even in quietness you call me:

In quietness you tell me your dreams

Because in quietness you speak hunks.

To tell about you-I heard from you.

Dear, you are not the slave,

I am the slave.

I am not reading you,

But time told about you to me:

All your likes and dislikes:

They were whispered to my soul by time.

Don’t be alarmed, I will not make you nailed,

But I will always tell about your taste buds.

No reason

I abhor reasons;
I do not want to labour them:
My sound captors too are tired.
Some footsteps are just hired to tell.
Every season has got reasons:
Reasons can be cooked.
Maybe every reason is a purpose.
Some will sweep the board;
Others will leave bare-handed.

If you tell me positive reasons:
Reasons of birds flying higher
Than others of flipping wings in formation
Like the wise geese.
Oh! Then it’s sweet.
Winners haven’t heard ‘why questions’
Because ‘why questions’ befell
The indolent palms.
Reasons can make one blue.

If we listened to reasons,
The clock wasn’t going to be steady.
We need to lose compassion for
Us to move and make responsible humanity.
We need to say, ‘no! you failed’.
We have to grant spines to ‘because’.
Reasons are cloying to the tongue
That so releases them.
Oh! Nicotine to failure.

How are you?

I have got words of love to tell:
I do cry to your parching and blues.
I came to support you so you could not fall.
I have got words of love to tell:
Greenish looks is the next sequel.
Those are not beautiful hues.
I have got words of love to tell:
I do cry to your parching and blues.

Loved you so

I have loved all plants,

Even those that I haven’t known.

They fill my entrails,

So it is that I fell for them.

So it is that a belly-filler

May fall into my garden without my knowledge

I don’t hoe it

Mistaking it for a demon.

Dear, I did my weeding,

But I couldn’t shear you off:

I will not mistake you for that.

I have watched weeds bloom,

I gave them time- to observe them

And come to know their behaviour.

You stagnated the growth of my herbs

And I have nothing to burn.

I loved you so.

You took off to the wrong route.

No! You were not wrong:

It was your route.

I wanted to give you time:

Give us time to grow and love.

But you took me for a fool.

I am crestfallen right now

A lover’s anthem

I love you with every bit of me:

Enamoured to love from my every portion.

My love is just like that of a hen

When it encloses its chicks into

Its wings to shield them from foes.

My arms are your aegis:

Your castle at all times.

The air I breathe, it is the one

That is meant to bring you laughter

And let you live longer.

It is to me: me and you

That we are entwined like pieces of a basket.

I am your herald of love.

We sit on the outside- love-seat.

I love you so and I melt into you;

You smile and grin.

Oh! She is into someone’s arms.

It is like we are on a picnic.

Oh! Damn! Why did I explore the

Other side of the world?

Good-bye my lover-I loved you dearly.

Lies

The economy develops new buds.

It is a time and again issue.

When pits called economies grow,

They tend to bury their people.

What’s so perfect in economic growth?

He who works is visible from the skin:

But though blankets of nationality shine,

Their inhabitants are grey donkeys.

Monkeys are better,

They can climb high in hard times.

Gross Domestic Product,

It is a hallucination:

Gross Domestic Product- it is dismal.

Inequality is not great bread:

It is not bread at all.

But the man at the top smiles.

The proletarians sweat.

It is a sweat of naught.

Infinite heights of growth of nations,

They are egregious:

There is nothing precious.

Economies are menace to their people.

Don’t applaud lies of figures:

They are cooked in lying pots.