My Auspicious Princess

I feel your skin
in a sense
of soft, soothing touch
that takes me in
a journey of youthful
voyage and places me in
the unique world of
desire, urge and love.

I draw your picture
on the stone, on the
sand, on the crystal
lime, on the mosaic
surface, on the clay,
on the wall of the cave
with my blood that will
never fade—come years,
come decades, come centuries—
and I will visit all
of those places again
and again—for
millennia to come—
to see your picture.

I touch your limbs
to feel the softness
that stretches the
finesse of blossoming
flowers—with the
spring bloom spreading
the aroma of love for
my auspicious princess—
beyond the grasp
of sensual understanding.

Coffee

It stimulates
my intellect,
forces to think
through the
maze of wonders,
prods me to grasp
the complexities,
keeps me brewing
with new ideas.

AIDS: Eerie Appearance of a Ghost

The disease,
as devastating as debilitating,
overwhelms the mankind,
just like cluster bombs
spew a burst of
ash clouds and
suffocate the population
in an open gas chamber,
and wipes out human
lives and scarce resources
like a flood that
sweeps away villages
after villages, towns
after towns with the
fury of an apocalypse.

The disease is an
epidemic—nay, a
social curse—the mankind
is facing with no win
in sight—not because
of lack of tools or
technology at our
disposal, because of
dereliction of moral
responsibility and respect
for the people in
need—and, is poised to
obliterate and obviate
the glitz and glitter—
irrespective of how bright,
how shining, and how
sparkling they are—
of aristocracy and
affluence—just like
a major hurricane
ravages the shiny beach
that boasts of high-rise
hotels, glamorous tourists,
gorgeous views of sea
surfs, and leaves it
in tatters and shambles
resembling the skeleton
of a primitive civilization—
and, is determined to bring
to fore the deformed
face of humanity with
the ugliness of the eerie
appearance of a ghost.

The Janitor, Ms. Clean

Who is that disheveled lady?
I know who she is—
she enters the corporate
office as every other
professional leaves.

She is tired from
her day job, nonetheless
happy—happy to have
her cleaning job, happy
to have opportunity
to provide food on
the table for her family,
happy to have another
day of dream for
better life, happy to
have meager means
to help her husband
in drug rehabilitation
program, happy to have
big dreams for her kids
so that their worst days
are still better than her
best day, happy to have
few moments to
rededicate herself to
the merciful God.

She cleans the litters
of professionals, she
flushes the toilets,
she wipes the dust
off the windows, she
unloads hundreds of
trash bins, she sweeps
the floor.

She has smile on
her face to greet
the professionals,
even though she
receives only grimace
from them.
I know who she is—
she is the Janitor,
Ms. Clean.

My Beautiful Mysterious Girl

Long before I forget you,
my beautiful mysterious girl,
I like to write a poem for you.
a poem nobody will ever write,
a poem nobody will ever think of,
a poem that uniquely describes you.

You thrive in my dream
to sow the seeds of
serene love in my
fleeting, wandering mind,
and create waves of
emotion that incessantly
hurtle through all my
veins and vestibules with
the force of Seismic ripples
transcending the space and time.

Your smile, as effusive as the water
flowing through the river that
snakes through the slopes and
stones of the mountain, keeps my
blood flowing and vital senses
pulsating as if a maverick, lost
in a rugged trail, finds the hope
of life from a feeble ray of
light illuminating
from a distant place.

You live beyond my reach,
still you are so close,
like the ever-elusive
desert mirage,
asking me to come closer,
to feel your perfume-smell
breath, to relish your
intoxicating laughter,
to glare at your majestic beauty.

Your aura glows
like the marvel
of pleasant feeling
of the morning sun,
intensifying the beauty
of the clear sky with a
stroke of azure touch,
and makes my survival
instincts work in tandem
with the spontaneity of
the impulse of love.

You spread your aroma,
just like the smell of
blooming rose that pervades
and permeates the air with
the charm of divine feeling,
with the luminous display of
sophistication and lustrous
disposition of savory taste.

You sail solo in the turbulent
ocean, with the recalcitrant
waves and restive winds vying
with each other to touch you,
to feel you, to savor you, and
I wait forever on the beach for
a momentary glimpse of you.

I look at the full-moon sky,
glittered with thousands
of twinkling stars embracing
the universe and beyond with
the wavy froth of illumination
and spectral hallucination
of antediluvian love, and
discover you emerging from
the surface of the moon and
rolling out the wings with the
chastened beauty of the queen
of the sky, and regale my
beautiful mysterious girl
dancing with the sparkling
stars and incandescing
the vast expanse with
ever brighter illumination.

Reborn Man

The teenage girl wrecked
my modest car in
the busy intersection, lucky
enough for both of us
standing unscathed
at the corner of
the pedestrian walk.

She broke down, and
began to cry profusely,
with the angst and fear
filling her heart,
just like the black
clouds that cover
the afternoon sky
and turn it dark.

I got little closer
to urge her to relax
and cool down, and
remind her that glass
is half full,
not half empty.
Her luxurious sedan
laid bare the egomaniac
fickleness of
the middle class,
and I stood under the
graying sky with the
breath of a reborn man.

Potency of Diversity and Tolerance

My little river
town of Barrackpore—
heaven to me,
not because that it
is beautiful—yes, it
is—not because
it is peaceful—yes, it
is—not because that it
has embraced me like
an adoptive mother—in deed,
it has cuddled me
with thousands
loving hands—because it
has opened my eyes,
just like a queen
would help her
prince to come
to terms with
the heavenly splendor
of a dreamy wonderland,
to the sparkling universe
of riches full of
enduring and endearing
charm of diversity that
transcends the boundaries
of language, religion, gender
and incomes—has propelled
me into the tumult of rough
seas of life armed with the
most effective tool—potency
of diversity and tolerance—a
sailor needs to navigate
the maze of
contradictions and conflicts
of the world.

The Sky Turns Brighter

A bright star
on the moon-lit sky,
with glowing ray
of hope
and charm,
wants to
illuminate the mankind
with her kindred spirit.

The tranquil star,
like an angel in the sky,
removes the darkness,
and brightens those
despair faces,
like no other stars
have done before.

The rose petals,
long ago abandoned,
upon receiving
the ever growing
glow from the star,
respond with a full blossom.

The constant twinkles
of the distant star
add luster to the
nightly sky, and her
heavenly beauty adorns
the universe now
and forever.

As the darkness sets in,
the sky turns brighter
with the illumination
from the star—
MOTHER TERESA.

Tender Softness of Love

Your eyes, yes your
crystal eyes,
keep me glued to
the world of rose,
and the myth of
sensual passion and
the aura of volcanic
geyser of love.

Your smile, yes your
lovely smile, spews the
fountain of gushing flow
of emotion, and deluges
my all vital organs with
the overwhelming temblors
of passionate love.

Your few moments with me,
notwithstanding just few moments,
never seem only few moments—
instead, in my mind, they
cross the boundaries
of eternity as I can not
fathom you to part
away from me.

You stay young in my heart,
blinking your eyes just
like little waves of
crystal clear water
reflecting the moonlight with
the tender softness of love.

Tender Softness of Love

Your eyes, yes your
crystal eyes,
keep me glued to
the world of rose,
and the myth of
sensual passion and
the aura of volcanic
geyser of love.

Your smile, yes your
lovely smile, spews the
fountain of gushing flow
of emotion, and deluges
my all vital organs with
the overwhelming temblors
of passionate love.

Your few moments with me,
notwithstanding just few moments,
never seem only few moments—
instead, in my mind, they
cross the boundaries
of eternity as I can not
fathom you to part
away from me.

You stay young in my heart,
blinking your eyes just
like little waves of
crystal clear water
reflecting the moonlight with
the tender softness of love.

A Better Poet

Beautiful sunrise,
soft dews on the grass,
mild cool morning breeze,
oscillating rows of bluebonnet,
sweet chimes of church bells,
picturesque rolling Hill Country,
may make myself,
if I am thoughtful and
creative enough, a poet.

Your inspiration,
your few words of encouragement,
your succinct complements,
your occasional prodding,
your little attention,
your frolicsome attitude,
your motivational guidance,
may make myself,
even I lack talent and
creativity, a better poet.

Tornado that Tore My Heart

Suddenly the sky is covered
by dark cloud as if
there will be a tornado touching down.
I am standing in the pasture,
looking at the funnel of cloud,
thinking about you.

I see you coming, accompanying
the imminent tornado,
with your electrifying beauty
and elegant air,
and creating havoc in
my heart and mind.

Just like tornado, I know,
you will leave moments
after you touch down in my heart,
leaving behind a soul
shattered and devastated
as bad as a demolished village.

Still, I want to embrace you,
even for few moments,
with grace and bravery,
and imbue myself with
the delicate veneer of your love—
ever fleeting, ever eluding,
ever slipping—and
relish the rest of my life
recollecting the tornado
that tore my heart.

Waiting in the Desert for You

Desert sand and vast horizon:
eternal call of mankind
reverberates with your
melodious voice of inspiration
that strikes the chords
of million minds.

Desert storm and blinding gale:
my ever-lasting cry for
little empathy has echo
traversing miles in the
vast expanse of rugged land.

I stand atop the
sand dune,
waiting with unwavering,
unshaken belief that
you will come someday—
yes, you will, to instill
confidence in me.

Frigid winter of the desert,
and the melancholic whisper
of wind-blown sand
reinforces my faith in
you with the delicate
touch of ubiquitous
charm and charisma.

Moon-lit sky full
of bright stars
illuminates the desert sand,
and my restive soul
with relentless waves
of passion
would like to call
for you to come,
and hold my hands once—
just only for once-
to lead me to the world
tranquility and eternal joy.

Message of Love

The meandering river,
and the surrounding rocky hills,
and the spread-out pebble stone,
murmur with a whisper
to convey your message.

Yes, your message of love
and love, and love,
that stays alive with
the eternal joy of heaven,
and shines the world with
the illumination of a bright star.

The world will hear
your message
for centuries to come,
and savor the sweetness
of love and luster.

Your message will
ring the bell of
harmony and honor,
and raise all the boats
in the river with
the rising tide of love.

The Poet

The poet is the tell-tale
of inner feelings;
someone who may define
the emotional trajectory.

The poet is the face
of the emotive expression
and the societal shift
In culture and tradition.

The poet calms
the ebbs and flow
of emotion in
a rhythmic way,
and brings a degree of
structure to convey
the waves of thought
to this beautiful world.

The poet is the harbinger
of peace and tranquility,
and plays the role of a
soother and a healer
amidst turbulence and uncertainty.

Wish Rain Would Never Stop

Wish you could be here tonight
to give me
a little soothing touch.

Wish you could be here tonight
to place your soft hand
On my shoulder.
I feel like a loner,
like a lost nomad
on this rainy Friday night.

Sat at a corner,
and keep looking outside
With a forlorn stare.
Seeping coffee slowly,
keep relishing those few
memorable moments with you.

I am reminded,
it is time to close;
I need to get off.
Wish I could stay in
my dream world forever.
Wish it would be
Beautiful forever,
wish rain would never stop.