No particular


Baby cry lets known it existed in 2nd floor
Along with drips of rain ,on the dark trees,
In a darkness dropping away from balcony,

The baby might not have known I existed
On 3rd floor, letting world know I existed.
Its cry was to let no one know in particular.

Rain fell on no particular balcony’s awning.
Computer fan fought with no specific dust
And a dark night fell on no particular trees.

Night poet, knight poet


Night poet came out for a piss
And saw the sad moon’s steps
Climbing slowly up  lonely sky
What Larkin to feel sad about.

Knight poet saw a paled moon,
Thought moon was love struck.
It is the same woman problem.
A lonely moon climbs sad steps.

Love or old age ,it is sad steps
From the little puttering about
By creeping child to creepy old.
The steps are sad and decrepit.

(referring to Philip Larkin’s poem Sad Steps and 16th century Sir Philip Sydney’s love sonnet With How Sad Steps,O Moon)

Lake homes


rain fell on midnight and a sleep,
on outer walls inside a basement,
by lakes where they build homes

the city lakes they had forgotten
they were waters of green moss,
like fish ponds in Bengal homes.

no paper boats in the street river,
we send boy -boy , houses down.
it is rubbish jars floating in cellar.

it is not beauty of a hill’s cascade
but stink from greedy stomachs
that make waters of our houses.

here are more motors whirring
to make a basement less of lake.
their sound is rain on midnight.

Power to country


We were looking for a keyword for night.
All we got is a few pylons in the country
For the villages suddenly bursting on us,

With mountains of stones around them
And roads crumbling like stones in sun,
As if they held the secrets of the stones.

And the mountains are of broken stone
Of ungainly teeth gaps, in stone bodies.
They hardly inspire  thinking sculpture.

(reading a poem The Pylons by Stephen Spender)



The room is abuzz with the stillness
Not of your liking but of eyes dried
Recently, when a nose forgot breath .

The fly is abuzz with king’s coming.
King follows stillness in the dry eyes
And a nose pausing to breath a buzz.

Outside ,wind is abuzz with rain flies
In midnight’s trees,a stillness heard
Ringing like death’s buzz in a room.

(After reading Emily Dickinson poem I heard a fly buzz- when I died)