Giving way

Lie a corpse on  sea shore
Like its sea-snake washed

Ashore for crows of dawn
Or  a sea turtle lying dead.

Give way to a sea at large.
Give away a life and body.

Give way to the obscurity,
A submarine darkly dead.

Give away aircraft model
For a bird grounded dead.

Give way to a belly despair
Give away a body in mind.


One fine sea

Near the inky blue of the sea
We wake to crows come alive

At dead turtle, washed ashore.
Snails get busy making holes.

Nearer we have a red dragon
Wearing a new kitschy paint.

It had a gaping hole while ago
In its stone cemetery stomach.

Mason has filled  belly’s hole
Painting body as if new born.

Dragon continues with smile
Through its long drawn face.

Everything digs

A way to one’s grave of future,
Everyone digs, to lie , to sleep,
Rest pill or two to dig a throat.

Like old man Seamus’ old man
Dug a potato under a window,
And old poet with a squat pen.

We dig our poems deep inside
As the sea , digging dark night
Brings up our frothy mortality.

Many times, the sea comes up
With a vagabond moon or two
That digs its grave in its waves.

(remembering Seamus Heaney’s poem Digging)

Man is a city

Besides glitzy shop malls
With endless traffic jams,
We are deep dark drains
With our municipal men
On strike, off duty smell.

We are now city moving
With inhospitable clinics
Men open with leg sores
And contractors in belly
In the city blind to men.

We are city with the sea
Taking our filth,our men
Rolling faceless crowds
Playing with golden sun
Like a newest fish catch.

We are our city we carry
To the bluest of our seas
In its breathless infinity,
Before we stop a breath
And sun sets on our sea.

The sea is calm

The sea is calm and stone statues
Still , pointing  fingers eastwards.

The old poet writes thanks poems
A dad is out picking son’s stones.

Stones are right there in his belly,
As Jews do , piles them on a tomb.

The sea piles stones upon stones
Of several sons through the ages.

Stone statues went still long ago.
They never tire of pointing ships.

Sea mourns a  son all night long
While  statues stand still as ever.


You watch autumn in window
And the leaves falling as used
Words falling from old bodies.

You now watch out a window
Where you hear leaves falling
Like creeping noise of winter.

The fall falls like rain on roof
Seldom heard ,as one danced
One’s shimmy on dance floor.

Winter falls as old knee-caps.
They dance as autumn leaves
To yellow breath of old body.


Future trees

We like to put trees by  road
To talk and walk and live by.

Let live statues stare beyond,
At friendly ships in high seas.

Let stone hands point future,
With a past petrified in them.

Let stone breath future trees
On the eve of this  sea’s night

And join a music of the trees
Against  sea’s midnight hum

Let trees hasten future wind
And statues turn future trees.


The selfie man expands a frame,
Moving on the footpath at dawn

Excludes a turquoise sea far off
With crows shouting on a beach

Excludes the stone of the statue
Of a leader petrified in his hand.

Stone hand points a new politics
Where people are raised hands

And they are his hand statistics
In percentages, living and dead.

Selfie is frame holding his body
Other bodies are  coincidental.