To Sivaramani

Tonight,
under the unforgiving sky-
the grave of protesting voices lost
in the dark commands of
ruthless engulfing black holes of history-,
the ashes of your bones
shall raise an army of a
 million phoenixes in rebellion,
the answers searched
with your death
shall be squeezed out of unyielding tongues,
the arms of power shall be bound
with curses of martyred dreams ,
a mutiny will be called
 with the words you burned,
and stars of remembrance shall shine

Alms of guilt

You approached amidst honks of impatience,
flittering from one to another to me,
your eyes scare me, floating slates of blank emotions,
your lips plead as of in a habit,
telling tales taught,
concealing pains worse,
your hands prod in anticipation,
and tug at my sleeves in impatience,
I looked the other way and
wished away as the auto sped,
your existence and the alms of my guilt.

ends of our past

If rain falling in careless emergency,
can return to enfolding clouds,
If wings could be grown back
 like lizard tails,
jettisoning failures mutilating,
I'll drift and drift,
and drown my tears, vanishing
in your impassive sea,
I'll fly and fly
to the ends of our past
and start again
from those retreating dreams

A poem of mine, a photographer's rendition.

By a dear friend of mine, who reminded me yet again that friendship has weird ways of finding you. All the pictures used are taken by Raju, I can only say thanks and know its hardly enough.