At the end of the day

I was floating with the wind
He captured my wings
I was lying on the ground
He crushed me beneath
I was waiting at the door
He locked me in
I was basking in the sun
He burned my skin
I was singing with the cuckoos
He killed them for meal
But when I was sleeping on the bed
He kissed my cheeks
So I bought some time
To sleep at dusk
To hold him close
To wait in silence
That he will love me
At least at the end of the day.

Just like every night

Just like every night
I sit tonight
with no idea
but a feeling
overwhelming.

Object of obscure desire

Now I have hugged you a million times
that every hair on my hands
knows your touch
each pore exudes your scent.
I have swallowed your tongue, it lays inside
that I taste the melting sugar
in your mouth
your yawns and sleep are mine.
The space besides me holds your body
that I keep you neat
and you neatly shine
that I see you but you're free.

The blanket

There is a room
and there is a blanket
on the bed
waiting.
There is a faint
memory of warmth
on the fur
fading.
Every dark
before and after the sun
shadows the blanket
which remains
still.

My heart weeps

My heart weeps
but the cheeks smile.
Mind is in conflict.
Is it happiness
of weeping heart?
Or sadness
Of smiling cheeks?

The becoming

There's a steady defined growth on the tree in my backyard.
I'm seeing it since the days of my childhood
I play around with it, soak in it's shadow,
Decorate it, treat it, test it.
I find new leaves are fresh with juices.
I crumple the older ones beneath my feet.
Till they disappear. The ground has been strong.
The weather has been changing. The air deteriorating!
But the tree survives. All the changes.
The steady growth on it remains unchanged.  
It grows every day. Inch by inch. When I touch,
It's absorbed in my pores. I feel it now inside me.
Growing everyday. Inch by inch. It tastes sour.
Sometimes bitter. The polyploidy has entered my spine!
Latent in the lysogeny. It surfaces like flu.
Reddens  my skin with rashes.
Bubbles the dust in urticaria.
I become ostrich faced. Tiny little head
Trying to find a hiding. Then.
It disappears. In the ocean of million such particles.
I mirror him. My plasmodesmata carry him from my toe tips.
Towards the bud on my face. And when it falls off,
It starts a new life. Just besides the old tree.
The sun becomes comforting. I hold the soil and stand.
My arms lifted to receive the 680 and 700.
My thylakoids fill up. The xylem and phloem bring up to me
The sweet milk from the earth's bosom.
And I stand. Motionless. For years to come.