Fill in the blank(s)

Somewhere in contrast our bodies soar
Journey that had its day made
Available in wishful contention
Another one to the right, forced call
Had been weary of slumber forgotten
Where I refuse to be sane
Your judgements of mushy frame
This picture has a name
In that forest, as intimacy loomed
A textual being in words resume
Of worship and strong purpose
Spatial your breath always consume
Mists and finer curtains
Behind which our formed eyes close
Best kept secrets in darker dwellings
Dancers made of smoke
And angels in water spring
Where lone my griffon hankers
The night in wings made of fire
Screech certain a sound once
Over your ears that escaped
Borrowed again from tradition
What we call religion of shame
Force then to dissolve
As my eyes fixed tremble
In faith that had been
To your echoes, I bend
For night you had contained
In contamination of your will
To pronounce matters as just
I depart the resounding veil
Dry as ever could have been
For that beast you had mentioned
Stung as if from medicine needle
Promising chapters and chapters of health
But beneath strong purpose as taught
Saw seated comfortably again
How smokes to heights expand
Then tired rains welcome doom
Figments of smoke in whole
To the ground desperately thrash
As if prophesying a bright sunny day
If that is how it is meant to be
I don’t see to what decree
Then matters, beyond the frame we choose
Uncomprehended and delightfully new
Wishes our bodies in shape curtail
Rectangles and finer squares
To roots then define
Every step in yonder direction
Spelled out in lustful names
Forget not the griffon soars
Eyeing your worship and prey
To settle its hunger another day.





Behind yourself the season fades,
As winter in comforts raids,
Blissful mere forgotten
Blues in spring and Sunday homes,
Surmising decorum again,
Some fancy chapels in parade,
Festival aimed to secure trades,
Jarred homes to stay,
Comforts of nailing supremacy.

Picture sudden rocks and greens
Imagine mountains and valleys,
What does it bring about?
Seasonal change, secure legions.

If anything, ‘tis us,
To see in all a tiny drop,
The mountain evening sun.
And God’s my inflated echo,
When I look down and build.

There must be a time in fantasy,
Mine to meet honesty,
Times you lied or said,
Charging useless air,
Fighting beats us in the game.

Perspective! Yes! Why not?
My life in collection abandons,
Photographs of formal shades,
Corner to corner, center in trade,
Gathered images at the death bed,
All of them real…

Envy the pleasures seek,
Empty kindness, but you,
Heavens or paradise fail,
Arising aids many, but falter every day,
As much as the friend had to stay.


Gone Solo


Gone solo are the leaves in mist,
Liquid joys in eyes delight,
Becoming fervent each day
Seeping cheeks in steam,
Somewhat fresh the vision speaks.

Asunder the shades to speak,
Tongues silver and gold fancy
Perilous escape yonder words,
Ride in current, O! The served odyssey!

Mumbling pastures green,
Where sheep their stake lay,
The shepherd hedgehog calls,
Empty quills in feverish lock.

Mine and mine, rivers in decay,
Producing food to foster,
Delivered in lipping fantasy,
The chamber of midnight hatchery.

Confronted are the shadows as whisky slips,
The walls in mastery of legions surmounted,
And tradition holding the heart at bay,
My mistress, she runs about in hurried display.

Give her some wine, feed her some trust,
Then you see a piece virgin of forest,
Falls of water and currents of cream,
Notions of a newborn dream.

Sickle and suckle, beasty talents
As winter in her highest ease
Ships away a mournful song,
Champions a maze in words away.

Enough the scary pangs,
Merciless junctures aptly at tangent,
Adjoining mirrors, as you hope, realities!
Perhaps IVR tawny in pleasures seek,
A rhythmless venture to please
Happiest murders and wars in history
Wished upon a crescent beam
Welcomes home the smoky Queen.