Voleur

It’s heat.

Water standing with its fired up feat,

It’s far from warm

Harmless waves eager to charm.

Sky looks empty

Without clouds

For nothing, woos the water bodies

Loud thunder.

Sudden hollowness

Of the sky and the earth

Freezes the wind, silence

Breaks in the heart.

A writer was trying to write;

That which is already written

Painter trying to paint,

The painted.

In the middle of black and white

Of the vast blues,

The stealing of clouds and waters

Appears and withers, continues.

dead bird

dead bird's blood
red carpet

Noisy

Feathers reign

Their beauty, strength

Unsightliness

Gives wings,

Alongside polish and elegance

fluttering deafens

Flesh bedazzles.

Organs, nearly all

Create an invincible wall,

The dysfunctional innocence

With ignorance, arrogance

Enjoys and celebrates

Noise in silence.

Cleanliness continues

Ceaseless

Garden of words

Beautiful letters

Aesthetic expressions

Charm comforts

Senses out of the hide

In broad daylight

Still, moving lives suicide

Humming weapons inside

Feathers fall as feathers

From outside to outside.

Clean or muddy

Weak or sturdy

Feathers are feathers

Farther from the flyer

Nesting at ease

In hearts that buzz

Beyond letters and words

Spotless, clear

Silence that speaks.

Blindness

I was driving at sixty-five

Going for a picnic, with family;

Old Hindi songs,

Homemade sandwiches, drinks

Affectionate, caring words

Floating around

Dancing inside out

Laughing, giggling,

The air, so embracing.

I saw another family driving

The car I wanted to buy

Brushed past,

Anger painted my face

With sharp eyes, I was engaged in the race,

Hopping to hundred and twenty;

Leaving my family, happiness

Importing unwanted stress

Racing and racing.

Neighbors of the world

You are out on a picnic journey;

Songs, foods, warm words

Ignored on the way,

Thoughts to beat, compete, and overtake

Your comfort so rich, fleeting away

Putting innocent lives at stake

Chasing poor thoughts of agony

Driving and driving.