A bull and a parrot

Bull nods enormous head
Laterally under a blue sky.

Its master’s future is a sun.
Our coins shall be his sun.

That famished old parrot
Brings out a future’s card.

A bull is clothed and fed.
A parrot is caged and fed

Their own beastly futures
Are words shining in sun.

Sky goes blue with words.
A sky bristles with future.


Hare krishna

The butter he had on lips was a cloud.
You too would be cloud upon his flute

Its finger holes breathing your dance
Your eyes softly closed to the breeze.

You are not besotted woman by river,
Just a nut dancing to camphor flame,

No gender issues about the prankster
Who ate a muddy universe in mouth.

On a visit to the Arti ceremony in the Hare Krishna temple in Bangalore


Half lie

Looking away is amoral kind of a lie
Like the elephant death when spoke

Or mentioned in passing in epic war
Where cousins fight  half light’s end.

The half light is lie constantly spoke,
Blurred loose ends hanging in there

A pretension that tomorrow is hope.
Someone up there speaks a  full lie.

(In the Kurukshetra war a half lie spoken by Yudhistira about the death of an elephant named Aswathdhama leads to the death of an invincible Dronaacharya who lays down arms believing his son by the same name had been killed in the war)


Confusion about heads

We were confused in  single head
About Brahma’s number of heads

Including skull we saw in the hills
Loosely lying in the flowing  river.

Brahma had a fifth that looked up
In incest at a daughter of himself.

We were confused in single head
About heads – three, four or five

We have only a head that swivels
On the shoulders unidirectionally

With no view of what is up in sky.
We feed rice to our men up there.

Women at the water tanker

Ephemeral are waters formed
In snow hills melting by a sun

And the water in water tanker
Here over which fiery women

Fight in their diagonal throats.
Ephemeral things reach seas

From the hills and the tankers
And by women’s wet voices.

Their bodies thirst for waters
From mountains and tankers,

Their ephemeral voices break
The quiet of a morning walk.