In June

In June, the night proceeds apace.
In June , a sky burns blue and hot.

Landscape lies dug up in the park.
It is now your morning of indoors .

You see no maroon leaves falling.
A gardener gestures at no leaves.

Wind is loose on  string like bird,
That ties the indoors to outdoors

When  sky is indoors to balcony
Falling through glass of window.

An almond sheds maroon leaves
In indoors of a dug up landscape,

The sea lives outdoors of a park
Beyond  wall ,with washer men

As washer men beat the clothes,
To indoor rhythm of  a wet beat

As if in the indoors of orchestra.
They beat their daily lives at sea.


Time’s hustle

You hear Time’s hustling sound.
(On the other ,a blue mountain

Stands sentry at  sea’s eternity)
Here moss grows like our years

On the rocks of previous nights.
Sun sprouts like plastic tea cup.

As if sipping tea at the horizon,
The sea hurls cup ,when done.

Life and death

Mom lies washed up on beach
And think only of turtle babies

Careening towards sea waters.
The carcass is of one of moms.

Putrid smell of a mom’s death
Is the one to think away from

Not to think of crow’s gluttony
But only red crabs from holes

Blooming as flowers on beach
But not to think of their death

In swooping beak of an eagle
In its morning’s sorties in sky.

Let us goe a Maying

“But my Corinna, come, let’s goe a Maying.
-Robert Herrick

In our May’s middle we fish out
All -May poetry from book shelf

While we fret in sea’s salty tears
After April’s cruelty to the tuna.

Butterfly boats head to horizon
To wring wriggles of a big catch

To shout their loudest of prices
For night’s sparkling possibility.

Playful May sea plays its prank
With the mongrels in its waves

And the fishermen are Maying
With elixir in palm-leafed huts.


After a window’s glass shattered,
We would stutter on white roses

Budded, flowered and shattered
To a characteristic sniff of noses.

Petals were strewn on the earth
And no one took them for roses.

A dew enriched them with drops
That looked a night’s fallen tears.

The petals lie sprinkled as stars,
Scattered to new morning wind

From sky garden by a gardener,
Who shatters our glass as petals.