As blood spills
Straining the long silence
In phrases of the twang
Of the bow hardly beating close
To the heart as the big sun
Blazes so coldly past
The deeper horizontal sky

Eyes of the blazing sun
Whitening the rushing moments
As the darkening shadows
Drop dead hardly on the streetfly
In twinkle of the little stars
Awestruck by the wrecking moon
As if to do last rites of the stillborn

When there will be a perspiring
The yellow summer will turn
The bootlegger's heel in sheer envy
And he will be on the run
To look for a shelter of rain
To save the stillborn
From the rule of the game

As the spilling blood stops
To pause for a moment's eternity
The uneasy calm relinquishes
The citadel of last right
And the amber green clouds
Just hasten in lapses of moments
To profess the coming of a messiah
With the nor’ westerly monsoon.

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Freedom of the sky
Laid siege to captive wasteland
By inglorious confusion of polythene gas
Crying moon dies in another quartet
Of all the universal colonies
Spewing in deadly viscous minerals
With the wily footsteps in synthetic centipedes
Of filthy agronomics of macabre harvest
That stains the infinite colour of turmerics all over
The expanse of the bountiful cherry orchard
In perennial violence of colonial conquest as ever
The cruelties of the deadly ghosts of yellow germs
Plaguing the basic pathos of thundering chill
Through the wasteland hidden over the leaves
Of polymorphous diaphragm of killing all
And ending all in bodylanguage of basic instincts
To sustain the colonial conquests in dire straits
To pursue the darker side of the eternal darkness
As the freedom of the sky is forfeited once and for all
And the wasteland dies in memory of captivity of all.

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Just for today
I will love you till another day
Just for today I will listen
To whatever you say in your every promise
As tears rain in whatever way you do to me
In whatever way you change me
To hard feelings of long grinding days and nights
Just for today you will sit closely by me
Under the shadow of yellow sunshine
At the summerville in whatever way you feel
The life's beginnings to endings
In a mighty bowl of blistering red wine.

Just for today
Till another day we will say
Goodbye as the wine of passion spills
Over the bowl of hearts’ content
In flames of silence we will be saying nothing
And we will be lying on long waiting
For the bay of our little gondola
And so long as the flames of silence burn
So long as it unfurls the passion of churn
The flotilla never goes swaying
The way you and me saying nothing
Till another day we meet at the summerville
Till another day we say goodbye
To whatever we do at the summerville.

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The little child cries
Over the long line of ringing telephone
His little cries smile aloud
On my little weary turmeric face
His little cries all along the long line
Keep on ringing in long tintinnabulation
Of lisping in spellings of his little cries
In my wide awake ears and eyes

As I listen to his little cries
The little hippety-hopping child
Looking for the blue heaven
In the warmth of his mother's breasts
I turn back to my twight hours
To see the long morning of the day
In the microcosm of his little angelic face
And to listen to his mother's lullaby
In his little cries on the telephone.

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Who owns the night
To unveil the rhythm of darkness?
Whose turn is it to to turn the heat
On the blazing sun disappearing in moonshine?
Whose turn is it to bear the Birth of Venus
As the virgin spring is wide awake
In the tilting shadows of standing darkness?

Who will be that woman
Who will bear the burden of night
To carry the lisping voice of the stillborn
To profess the deadly sin of beauty
Sinking in standing shadows of the blue darkness?
Whose turn will it be to be the midwife
To fly in the face of the angel's wings?

It will be turn of another woman
To bear the beauty sublimely supposed
To be the another Birth of Venus
In another woman's womb
of immaculate conception.

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I live by war, mayhem, killings
And maiming of my feared soul
I live by an uneasy calm
Eyewashing my diurnal tears
As morning deluge cuddles my blood
In frozen heat of merciless democracy
Brokering peace with violence
Of no exit way to the realm of senses
Shrewd hypocrisy of all ages
Blackening the funeral pyre to kill the world
In a long frenzy of conquest
Of power, pelf and colonial wasteland
In callous cash nexus of filthy lucres
As capital breeds more capital
I become too numbed to think aloud
Against the dragonfly of bewitching depression
That great depression chokes my fragile voice
In killing spree of the perennial laws
Of market economy of slash and burn
And I live by fear of dying by war, mayhem
Killing and maiming of my poor soul
As the age of reason stretches out of bound.

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