Words are things, just like the translucent sky

The flowers in my courtyard are the blue sky

With new insect-stars appearing in the twilight

These are just like words, thingy and palpable

When they freeze under the leaves they become icicles

And when they verily thaw, they tingle your skin

And feel on your tongue like December snow.

Poetry- words are splinters of the same vitreous sky

The long arms of the morning sun spread warm words

As though the evening to come promises pure happiness

The ugly caterpillar eats beauty-holes in garden leaves

Which are poetry- words scrawled in thick sticky leaves

And then they become fatter on the flanks with floral designs.

The stinking caterpillar then disappears beyond the fence

Leaving behind incandescent thingy poetry- words.

By the scruff to an undefined distance

The world then became upside down

The kitten raised no objections

The cat's maternal face glowed

Like radium in the pool of darkness

The kitten dissolved in mother-softness

The kitten felt  suddenly powerless

Resentful of the cat's allaround presence

Why these frequent unsettling changes

The mind-blowing illogic of movement,

Unprovoked,into strange territories 

Why this sense-benumbing abruptness

And an arrogant mother-knows-all attitude

The thinking kitten wanted to know

The logical basis of the mother's decisions

The cat did not even acknowledge in reply.

It picked up the baby by its looseness

And ran to an unspecified destination

The kitten closed its eyes and acquiesced

Into the  cat's unthinking mother-softness .

The soul craves reaching out

Fingers moving rhythmically

What did she actually look for,

Deep in her heart, touching,

Touched , experience comes in

Several glutinous colours

Colours break forth from vast silences;

Stillness reaches senses like mist

Touching the morning grass

Dripping from the hanging creeper.

Strikingly individualistic

Kicking up fuzzy thought

Stirring a beehive of memories

Against the rusted windows

Soft-purring, cuddlesome

The fog smothers passion-flames

And takes away the crackle

Of sun-drenched leaves

Leaving embers of once

In the crunching old bones

Striking the throbbing temple

Dramatic and pulsating

Presaging  a nasty day ahead

Breathing down vaporously

On our optimistic mornings.

She then lost her stark flesh

And phosphorous bones

Became uni-dimensional

She cannot move sideways

Nor look keenly skywards

She had said equivocal no to time

Persistently with bravado

When she spoke there were

No words floating in the ether

In fact they became ether

Started touching everyone

Like the icy breath of death

While her beauty streamed

In the overflow of colors.

In the last July the trees across the parapet of our balcony

Acted as canopies for hundreds of wet shivering birds

With hot springrolls we plonked into deep easy chairs

To watch waves after waves of silver rain

The night deepened and the fogs croaked in gusty unison

From shallow puddles on the edge of the street

She looked at me as though I was a slimy toad, in some way,

Connected to the throaty frogs from streetside puddles

The towel on her bunned hair came off suddenly

Releasing her silky hair into the pool of darkness

Between me and her was this inky curtain of darkness

Her lipsticked ruby lips twisted and curled in anger

Another time, another day, this slimy frog had entered her life

She snarled at me and looked through her spit-fire eyes

Where were the little flakes of snowy promises

That had glistened in the amber afternoon sun in my tousled hair

Then I was walking about in the woods with a halo of knowingness

These little flakes melted in thin streamlets of airy nothingness

Forming moist pearldrops on the frogback of my carnality

At the dead of the night the frogs stopped croaking readying to sleep

I dared not look at her luminescent forehead where lay my innermost secrets.

The hemline of her frock went up and down

As the mock-intensity of his gaze unsettled her

He now smelled of musty caves hiding heaps of bats

Then he had smelled of freshly bedewed grass

Enough were the chemical exchanges between them

A thousand doubts wracked his brains and hers too

Their summer-hot bodies intertwined meaninglessly

His hairy arms covered the down of her belly

Her glassy eyes pretended to half-close in rapture

The soft silky sheets of yesterday were there all over

The florals on the calico faded to a kitschy mixture

Then his throaty voice floated on rooftops and palmfronds

Like golden-winged butterflies drunk with viscous nectar

The ceiling fan whirred listlessly from the wooden ceiling

The lizard stuck its tongue out to catch the unwary moth

It is all over. She muttered softly under her breath.

I see an aura of death and the holes of his eyes were full of it.

I can even smell death in the folds of his clothes.