My naked silent arm

My naked silent arm
Brushes away the bare tendrils
Of the shivering Gul -mohur flowers
From the damp haunted arches
Of the hall of a thousand labyrinthine corridors
And sullenly picks up
The pale watery flames
From their multi million abodes
In the vacant passages
Of my domed dreams
My slowly shifting sights
Jumps into the dark dingy cesspools
To taste the elusive royal velvet
Of the floating jasmine leaves
And tires to find out
The patches of coolness
Under the crushing rakes
Of the frowning sun
Sorting out the subdues ragas
From the Monday din

My tongue sticks out
To taste the tapid dust
Of zillions old records
Silently buried together
With a dash of slovenly turmeric
In a freshly decadent chamber
I try to make out
In the steady drone of leaden smoke
The humming of unrequited love songs
From the orgasmic vehicular traffic
With faded memories
Of hand embroidered Muslim,one thread thick
Barely hiding the taut nipples
Of perfumed ,transparent courtesans
Whose only shame hides under
A veil of thick incense
I wrap my indigo dreams
In the frosted glass panes
Of my half open eyes
And gurgling out a mouthful of rose sherbet
Reach my flowers covered hand
For a sip of Scotch

To rise from the crisp chilled darkness

To rise from the crisp chilled darkness
The crushing morning still grasps
The tendrils of midnight revelries
From beads of frothy beer
And crushed flowers of sultry lust
The heathen fingering air
Sucks in the sweaty pearls
And sucks the musky teardrops
As the shameless stripped tree
Waves its curling voluptuous arms
And shouts “it’s here !its here”
In forty five degrees plus mid morning
Roam debonair knights in their maruti chariot
Sorting out a pair of dusky eyes from ray bans
Drinking in the red vapors of the scented ghost
With painted lips and painted faces
The ghost smile in their blue lips
And with Coca-Cola offerings of gathering dusk
Play out their stealthy games again
Abandoning their veils
For their birthday suits

Make clear the offending trails

Make clear the offending trails
Where domed caps make love
With three rocks on a finger of scotch
And sometimes crows sing pantomime
Of Ghalib’s whispered love melodies
Blaring on the soar throated loud speakers
Mixing the peacock chants of Ramayana and Mahabharata
Wreathed into the tunes of latest Bollywood blockbuster
Push and prod the baked ways
Watered by broiled and brewed tears
And steamed dreams of yore
Chew a bit of buttered chapathi
With Kentucky fried chicken
And dip your curry in hamburger
Bit by bit and thread by thread
Unravel the tapestry
Of love MTV and lust
To walk with a bottle of rose scented vodka
In the crook of your hand
Make indecipherable patterns in the old taped dust
And sew the fifty colors to today
Into two of tomorrow