You always keep things at wrong places
screw driver in kitchen cabinet
remote beneath your pillow
shoes inside unlatched bird cage
and banana dangling from robe hook
you ask sometimes who decided
apt places for things
it seems you are war with the universe
for the quite ache it never forgets
to leave on your consciousness
and your reflexes do nothing
but continue this shadowboxing
you are calm like the dust
that warps the loud time
these actions are your complaint
letters to celestial spheres against
nameless demons who invaded
and stole obtuse parts of you
hurled them into vastness from where
nothing returns in same size and face
despite thousand prayers with texts
of tear and numbness abbreviated along
like a wrong symmetry of your childhood
origami fracturing each fold of your innocence

robin hops beneath summer noon drizzle
holds oil reflection of faceless hungry demons
inside bodies of unnailed bombs
how it took concrete time dissolving
everything around you to sad abstraction
what is the meaning you search for
in fossils of your old belongings
a torn scarf before the air turned vague
incomplete slipping to courtyard of void
I think of elidings how you trowel the hole
expanding from your scarlines
of learnt philosophies :an overheated stove
laid at awning of your grief you desire
cooling these days counting numbers
shoveled out of meditation school, sittings
this is what comes to me
as you carry my stares on your spine
all that has remained untouched
alone in you
shapes into silence
language scalded some eons ago
breathing short at weird arrangements of things


From all that remains unspoken, isolated
like sediment of words eclipsed at footnotes
we imagine plucking mid-syllables
at sunset offing: the odd meaning of longings
identifying no signs of excavations
of emptiness colonised between us
like rugged reefs of nameless islands
we stumbled on our dreamwalk
i learn it as chlorophylls of forevers
channelizing beauty from abstraction
much like rubicon-algorithm of our shadows
but wind of stunted time lost frills
in yawn of autumn river
and language of lawn stars silt unpronounceable
how to measure yards of pain
lichened on invisible complexities
of voice inside our mouths reshaped
as dim lantern , sentencing translations
of hours to something found like streets
to profound stillness
we reap from waters of last song
the slated smoke of loss


I want to dough a poem having raw sounds
of universe for instance: galaxies swirl
butterflies blaring it’s cocoon rescue
earthworms upturning soil, not to say
about the five elements:
ancestral skies, uncanny horizon, proud fire, oblivious waters, trackless wind
like some kind of presence with physical absence
scattered shadows of memories adjusted to transparency
it has been ages i rake meaning from decibels
i hear or imagine exist at my ossified audibility
how can one feel loss for something one never possessed primarily
like syntax where alphabets doused in untranslations of silence
hurled from you like coins of practicalities
elseways quarks of paradigm shifts folds daydreams of stilllife
like the lake cloned sans kinetics
something like pages of mystery on street display

here i am holding the unmoulded clay
who can chisel art from something unexplored
like diagram of blank wrongly conceptualised