Words

My words fall out 
like thousand ants 
spilling from an anthill. 
A volcano
erupting from the decayed trunk; 
soldiers eating upon
the dead branch
hoping to make 
the tree
alive.


I hold the full moon
in my cup.
It completes a cycle
when i pour the water
on my knees.
The scars don't blurr;
the half moon makes it darker
like a shovel
deepening
the 
grave.


Shadows dance
on white paper
like toothpicks
scattered
in
darkness.
My speech
curdles like milk;
a spider gets trapped
in its own web.
My veins burst forth 
forming words,
but you 
only see 
question 
marks.

Sunrise

The only difference

between sunrise and sunset

is what follows

Echo

Raindrop falls;
crumbled leaves
flutter
like chapped lips 
quivering
at the drop of tear,
wetting the cleave
of words unsaid.


The sound
of a caterpillar
crossing the stalk.
An evening 
contained
in the darkness 
of its 
shadows


The echo of 
a distant song 
lingers on.
No words, no harmony, no beat;
it resonates in the silence 
of nothingness. 

DIVINITY

A faded
carving

of a swan

feeding its children 

below

the chiseled

sculpture

of 

the Lord

                                         
                                          (Pictures taken at "Somnathpur" temple in Mysore, Karnataka)

The Paradox of Being

A newspaper

lying

unaware

of the grit

on a table 

which 

reoccurs

with every

attempt at

dusting.

The paradox

of being.