Friday, July 29, 2005


Daylights and moonlights
  Conglomerate my existence
But wouldn’t devour me whole
  Black under incandescence
And gray for the night
  In between them
Lies my illuminated landscape
  That separates realms
Of dark and of light.
  My innocence
Seeks light but he recedes
  And the night, she, chase
Along the lines of shadows
  A trap set labyrinth,
A creator’s spell
  In the width of straw..
Unseen and unnoticed
  Here I am

  ..The penumbra..

Inspired by bendatha..thanks to you

Thursday, July 07, 2005


Reborn out of
 relations and fallacies
We are what
 Odds and evens are
Some whole, some rational
 Numbered days
On an exponential space
 Infinitum and voids
Completing existence
 Everyday, a result
Of certain yesterdays
 Which series amongst them
Am I - that nobody counts on
 in this god's sacred



Yes I profess, color does
  means different things to
me and you
  you, soiled , an aberrance from the rest
In your words colors brought to light
  You, beholder, the kindered soul
shalt see colors not known to eyes
  hear and feel empty moans
Some parchment of color you are
  I do not know
that can fill inadequacies
  in us fallibles, in our rainbows
relieve us from our shadows
  relieve us from the haze
lifeless pictures we are or so we act
  dismiss certain vibes 'fore
and some patterns we miss
  reveal ye, the color, to us
for revelations we seek..
  Whos blind I do not know
you who lacks sight
  or our deprived insight
May be blind we are
  Me and the rest of us
from the day born to day dead
  wake us from this dream
tell us more, nocturnal guide
  what color is it and where to see..

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Amongst stars and quasars..

Gargantuan facades
ostensibly shrunk
From here, clouds, above
But amongst those many
somewhere a sweet home
with small portio
that smells of blooms
from garden below
there, like a stranger
she stands staring
at vast expanse
of million star-lit home
like pixel on paper
small and little
In those eyes I see them glow
Epoch many, I wait
Amid cosmic shelves
to streak past
dark loomed skies
hers, someday
to be wished upon..
the wish of
a dying star..

Molotov cocktail

  Her eyes serenade
as she inch forward
  Heart beats ebb
to eternal still
  mere presence
to tarnished self
  a glistening floss
she leans
  across my temples
to whisper
  those words
that makes men frail
  in her utterance
i dissolute
  from flesh to ashes
where i stood
  she still stands


"Amore..amore..per sempre.."

Monday, July 04, 2005

Mothman Prophecies

Dirty old rags;
   Soiled skin
Canines showing
In his eternal grin
   In my nights everyday
He comes
Speak not words
   But of wisdom
Things so many
He utters
   Then walks away
Leaving new dawn behind
Nights pass by this life
   - A remnant of dreams
Rumination of thoughts
To seek answer
   From him, the mothman
The mothman of my dreams
So hath come
   And speakth
In language I don't speak
"Th elo ve yo u seek
   Is ha rdt ofind"
cruciverbalist you are
if you reveal them best
   but when you would
this prediction be late
and you be left behind..

.. Ichthys..

Norman's Creek..

Oscillating transitions
 I become anything but me
like ghost from my dreams
 to the shapes you've ever seen
quest that never completes
 recoiled self as senses retreat
Heart and mind at odd ends that never meet
 Real and surreal like
Phantom silhouette converge
 and diverge as weak atoms
quantum self dissolute
 in all axes
where I stood is jus an empty space
 genesis sail with Noah's ark
with roots leading to this seed
 and that dissolves to molecular warp
lost deep in this thinking - I stand
 under autumn touched stem
towards sun-set end of Norman's Creek.

A scape from my dream...

Some Season..

Some wild the crisp morning of a spring weekend from my boulevard. Its the first week of the spring, yes I could smell some mild orchid and damp soil. Dews that encumber leaves are fast drying up so on the grasses and from bushes. The warmth and the heat under the sun was unusually good, I’ve been under the same sun my entire life but never felt this way. There is something different about this spring. May be its the first spring after my cold winters, inside and out. Something is reborn, but season looks good and I'll keep this scribbling closer to that. If you feel the same about this spring probably we are in the same place, passed each other a few hundred times, down the alley near La Terrace, garden side of Cinquintannire or even at the jubel park..somewhere or nowhere..when surrounding is full and filled, I will be almost invisible and may be you were invisible as well. Good to feel non-existence.

Dads with sons and daughters, teaching cycle or football a common sight with the spring so is people running around with lesser clothes..we know what it is to get wrapped up under heavy fleece and jackets. I see fewer clouds in the skies, the haze is there though. A royal orange fabricating the edge of the inverted azure bowl, the aura is breath taking..leaves me at loss of words and alone on my sixth floor balcony facing the garden..some color, some smell and some sight….me, fathomable phantom sharing this with my ubiquitous self.. slip of thoughts amid all this in search of something..and back to the gripping reality..

I run down to the park carrying some stuff along..spread out garden under pale blue sky with ash streak haze scattered ..I stretch my self on the mat, am pampered yes and i deserve to not answerable to anybdy..I feel the satin blades beneath and the smell of orchids and tulips..head phones whisper Johann Sebastian's A minor (Triple Concerto), a 1730 creation, but its jus so mild enough to let chirping and noises to reach my ears. I am an ardent newtonian..I lay under the peach tree (no fruits yet), imagining it would sprout, bloom and ripen and fall closer to my am not lazy..its respecting nature against abysmal time. Hands search for something in my bag and feels the fullness of the apple..bought that tasty ..Yes sinful indeed. Something far and above catches my eyes, straining, I raise my sights further into the hollow skies..streaks of gray lines splitting up the skies..clouds of dust like scars appear..hydrocarbon fuel and soot with oxides of nitrogen and carbon monoxides..or probably kerosene based fuel types like Jet-A1..whatever it was, it holds the same science of looking good and bad for everything no time my skies weren’t one..they were two.. book beside with marker.. pages flutter with untamed breeze.."Treatise of great minds" by Leonardo da vinci..borrowed paper back, unread yet. The reality is too good to be true, so colorful as in caravaggio's works, realism or naturalism that can be felt by deceived eyes. Thoughts like vagabonds, has left me long back..mustave crossed stratos and feeling buoyant in the thermosphere..

Orange spectrum is brighter and closer now..Sebastian still playing..way down below with the body, Sins beside, pages still flip..reminding of a state different than dream..

Une ode au Amblève

A sensuous touch on the nakedness
    Drenched in sweat
And we are wet
The heat in me as sin it flows
    As I plunge in you
This flesh of life is soaked
Bodies become solemnly one
    The cold dampness and mounds felt
Take us beyond this very step
Bodies quiver with cold embrace
    Under grasp of teasing finger’s rake
Sound of love
Heard yards away from woods
    Whispers of ecstasy
Like gyration of life from cosmic sea
Little aroused to be just a dream
    This spring bath in l'Ambleve stream

The Ambleve is a tributary of the Ourthe River, wholly contained within the province of Liege. It rises in the Hautes Fagnes region, then flows westward until it joins the Ourthe at Comblain au Pont.(Amblève River). This is the place where I go for Cave Exploration..she looks beautiful this spring..unforgettable trip.

Scribbles of the dead...

A garden where no flower sprouts
   Strewn with withered and dead blossoms
Sanctuary of silence along these years
   Damp smell of dried up tears
Blue tungsten lit garden
   Gloomy, dull and scary
Pale, still and little life
   Creeps that entwine & devour
All those in its way like love
   Moon, she hides
In the leafless branches of the willows afar
   Dust carried by the west gale
Reach this mauve stone throne
   Upon that spiders cocoon
And four feet’s own
   The stones that speakth
Of him who lays beneath
   The flowers you left then,
Dried, intact and unique
   Below the English cross, moss green
Reminds of the time you came
   And for one last time seen..

A dream revived and written - Vinod 11 Apr 05

Mort Subite

Stains of venom slide down
 My chin and drip
Our lips depart as you drift
 We evade conscious
To embrace stupor
 Stares locked deep
Alluring souls inside
 From moment paused
To having breathed
 Eons slips into furrows
To vanish
 Venus glistens
Under incandescent moon
 In these arms, reveal
As buried faces retreat
 'Am transmorgifing carcass
With your growing distance
 Each step whispering
A different requiem
 Grim reaper pries life
In your absence and in
 seconds, delivering
sudden death..

....... Thin line of difference between life and death

One Last Time

Confessions made
Across the heart
But in no impulse

Is it what we share?
When we refuse
To speak

Words said
Moments undone
And expanse of growing voids

May someday be dust
To dust
As ourselves will be

Yet I shalt confess
For one last time 'fore
Finding deep solace in sleep.

..confessions straight from the heart....again and ....again..


A thousand dews and
 Few thousand more
Like death and plague
 Upon crestfallen you descend down
An adorable display
 Of Joy and life
Eurhythmy of beings
 In your rhythm divine
Footsteps heard on
 Streets and sheets
Drenching souls
 to salvation
That stands frozen
 With eyes closed
As you taste saline
 Flow of a million temples
Before reaching house of pain
 In every touch the touch of god
Felt in you, pouring rain..

Sound of Silence

In depths of your silence
  I find chaos pour inside
Unsettling thoughts about
  Things uttered
Separating souls in quay
  And souls sunk deep
Smothered by shadows
  Each in some mask unknown
Beseeching to free
  As myself beseech
Hell is where I am
  Standing amongst my many shadows
That pantomimes my story
  To all and to me - in silence
Let reckoning occur before
  I further dissolute and deform
By your mellifluous voice
  That devours silence
And your incandescence that
  Will resurrect me again
From the dark..
  Delivering from holds
Of ghastly devils
  To the arms of an


To your silence....

I (M/N) Complete

Like e_bodim_nt of sca_t_red
clo_ds and contin_nts
D_spairin_ly coupl_d

Ev_n my nam_ at o_d
ends where y_ur's

I kn_w not what
it is to f_el l_ke
to be fu_l...

In ev_ry you
I will

Nonethele_s wit_out
You I'm
Int_restin_ly _ncomplete.

Twin Devil

From deep slumber awakening.
  long silence, a silver voice
So a long pause-full stop..

Reckoning has happened
  across abysmal time
for me and for you

No different dreams we were
  but single solemn truth
In dark; In light

Words you breathe
  you will create
and so hath writ

In those, hides phenomenon
  And noumenons, eons ahead
of those works I did..

Your sanguine black eyes reflect
  that path of light - vision they call
Something I forever seek..

To bendatha... my sweet little devil..

Missing a Stranger

One by one
  They all leave
    Some known and
  Most uncanny
Now a stranger
  She leaves
    Whom I know
  Couldn’t remember
Whom I see &
  Couldn’t feel
    Whom I'd listen
  Couldn’t talk
Stranger she is
  And will be
    Under many names
  Lies, unblemished heart
Stranger, hers, that is
  In due time
    She’ll soon be forgotten
  Or so but let me lie
For truth so many
I possess - bout a stranger
    Belowth pile of clay

When I die..

Watchmaker dream

10 pm.

Present..Skies shed another skin. Day rests. Darkness fills everywhere..dark alone prevails. Vast and hollow..eternal.."the dark". Dizzy head and aching temples long for has been a carousel has been life. I need to sleep tonight. Permanently.

With weary eyes I seek and fall on the half made bed..sinfully your the willing cushion that takes me in, I surrender. For a moment before I dissolute into feeling nothing, I stare around..dark..retina filled with it and nothing else..long tresses that curtains my crestfallen face when am on your lap that is fades to a thin line in between the lids as my eyes seek solace under a skinny layer.......peace

...12 pm, Oberstrasse, busy as usual. Wet cobblestones echoing footsteps of passers by. Wind caress my neck..chill it is..a look right towards the crossing. School of Cadillac, Merz and Alfa Romeos. Engines still hustling and bustling. Rrrrrrrrm Rrrrrrrrm. Unsettling noises..Herrman Tags Zeitung, the news mart, hustles. Wind taking turns with the sheets of paper..sound of dry papers, distinctly heard from where I stand or may be, I hear them..Apotheek on my left and the Ruhe Cafe show little life.

I stare, stare at my reflection across the road at Uhrmans, the watch shop, 160 years old. Steiger, who looks too old for his age, from inside the shop waves. I walk towards the array of watches on the display. The Swiss made and few other vintages. The Audemars, Breitling, Bulgari, Rolex, Patek Philippe and so on.. Steiger, knows them all by their make history. I derive a sense of feeling that I am standing in the heart of Clockmakers Company, in UK. Oldest horological museum in the world. The shop smells old.Rusty. Stale smell of leather and sounds of thousand hands ticking. Some symmetrical.some synchronized. some mine

His wrinkles on the forehead and round reading glasses speaks alot about his age...stripe pressed cotton waist and double tweed coat. Cream shirt and bow. 75-year-old horologist, meticulous from his mere appearance. Steiger. “Kann Ich Du Helfen”..rusty voice of Steiger breaks my cold stares from the shelf. Even before he finishes, I place my steel base leather strapped analog on the desk. Hands 10 am. Victorinox, a Swiss made, white base & black dial. Frozen. Time frozen. Hands held tight. They don move anymore, its arrested, but not hand cuffed. No ticks. I continue staring at the shelf, while Steiger meddles with my watch under a watchcase wrench....

10 am on my watch, hands ticking as I jog towards the station. I need to catch the train. Another day. Missing a just zipped past rover. Am in hurry. So is everybody. Life no less ordinary..everywhere..shops, stalls, bus stops, cab stands, coffee shops jus everywhere. 10.12, it says, Victorinox. Time flies in the morning..does it rest later in the day..never.

Staring at the watch I miss another pole. Signpost reads ‘Oberstrasse’. The road I pass by everyday. Adjusting tie and jacket that has come off my shoulder to the quick morning sprint. I wait for the tram. Time doesn’t. Am Waiting.., those few minutes looks eternal. Am restless. Gazing and staring at familiar faces, armpit held newspapers, Starbucks cups and croissants. Far beyond behind the sweeper, it catches my eyes. The antique shop, with hand crafted wooden clock piece. Hung outside and above the entrance. The shop is closed. Name board has come off the rails and covers the clock, partially. Reads ‘Uhrmans’. Corrosive stains on the glass window & graffiti. Nothing is visible inside. Hmmm yes, read about this street, one of the towns oldest. Read it few days back on the Leuten Zeitung. Some place it must have been years back.

Some sense of belonging, may be am a regular wanderer in the morning. I claim nativity for those few moments I pass by.. Hmm but we don’t have time to repair watches these days. But some things are stuck to your skin and can be shredded. No not necessarily those inches deep. Hmmm some satisfaction. Some pride of being born in a different time. Superbia may be. Tram hasn't come yet. Uhrman board...rattatat tat..on the walls..hmmmm. What a pleasant morning breeze, I finger my hair from the forehead.

Brought it down before my eyes to read time... its not ticking.. 10.12 still.

Nail hitting thought about the dream I had last night..Hands frozen..this time mine..time flies. Am lost in world that separates real and surreal…….still.

..Rattatat tat.