Sinking the sun will drown in its own blood
Touching
With last conscience its oozed out blood
Fingering
Bine stemmed branches of oak tree
Evil
Stormed by good twin present everlasting
Companioned
On high pinnioned seas.

Shrunk shriveled the heart
Shudders in tentacles of willow trees
Touching not the fervourless spirit
Resting unwearied for nothingness
Plumed and ruffled
By bird songs of no avail.

The death lament winded not
In wilded plains
Stormed downwards the reddish glow
Shining
With all the despaired
Brained and eyed
Ever felt by the human touch.

_________________

TO MELANCHOLY.

Dog footed deep rooted fist and fouled
Cankerous flea infested unglorified scowled
Floating above the four walled space
Drowning not thyself but every chequered face.

Wing wilted uninhibited web footed guest
Seeking not short lived stay but being adept
Burying your nailed claws in every nook
And the floor space
Even deeper steadier stiffer
For your imperished stage.

I can see your monstrous form when I wake
It hovers over me in sleep and shakes
Every deep rooted breath with lizard and snake.

I wishing the fisted strength to drive you & trod
Over the dunes unsung unrapturous over beaten sod.
Dog footed deep rooted melancholy be not amazed
If I throw myself and you out in the maze.

________________

THE MUSEUM.

Where mummies gloat and pyramids fly
And curators sleep tightly in middle of night
Where marbled halls smirch with plundered loot
Amid coffins all decoyed amid some Grecian root.

In darkened chambers of the prophesised promises
No room here left now for the doubting thomases
Iron clad statues and saints of demonology
Lampoons of histories arranged in neat chronology.

Scholars children guards and aliens abide
In murky corridors where the bored breaths hide
No room catered for the soul to find inner liberty
Everything is sealed stamped by approval of authority.

__________________

TOUCHING AGAIN

Having touched that skies were gold
Having touched wanton winds carrying knives
Having touched that wandering eyes were sweet
And having touched the bitter taste of each smile.

Having touched the brindled blossoms
That speared the wings of each firefly
Having touched the gateways leading nowhere
And having touched vicarious verse which defies.

Having touched the meadowy slips of dew
Having touched the chaste hungers of bereft
Having touched the springs that kept murmuring
In adoration of cool waters in the mountain clefts.