My new poems

Mud and Water

Will water forget
mud ?
Gleaming water
on the surface
cannot hide
scraggy mud
lying beneath.

Submerged mud
in grostesque look
propels
water in its vigil .

Mud and water
or water and mud
configurate
a set of eternity
beyond
water's liquidity
and mud's such ugly countenance.


Budding
Blue and red butterflies
wrap
the budding flowers
sticking their legs
fluttering wings.

After exalting suck
crouched buds
seem
wailing

but balmy sun light soon
turns them
vigilant and profuse
with renewed vigor
in lurid assurance.


Silence
Silence has meaning.

It breaks silence of another realm.
Every cooroding noise
ends in the silence
And every silence claps
thousand of noises that lurk aside.

A silence heart
is ready for thousand noises
of love and pangs.

Silence gives refuse
to all the truculent voices.


That this tiny heart is meager and silent.
It palpitates titillating throb.
But it may burst into anyclamor.

Silence can baffle you:
so try to listen
before it is as violent
as any typhoon.

Try to fondle silence.
Before it goes to extreme
beyond your capacity of claomour.

Silence waits you to act,
and it accompanies
for your judicious choice.
Silence beckons you to hear the loud voice.

Listen to silence
it behoves you a mening!

Your Fancy
You say women are water
with full of liquidity
but you nver wants to flow her.

Any mobile mirth of her
will be kind of flirt.

In your family parade
when she lags behind
you will think she is modest.

When she makes a morning stride
you will talk about kitchen sink.
When she talks of grandmother
you will remind her of morning scedules.

When she goes to the public park
sitting on the grassy land
extending her body lazily
you will inform of quirk eyes.


Even in the moistened bed
you will ask her to swing in jolt
as you know
she has to be liquid
giving all the cozy volt
you need.

Have you ever let her
to be solid ?

Can't she have bones of passion
enough to be solid?

In the Chilly Garden
In the chilly garden
the maid collects withering flowers
beneath the awry roses
that sprawl on the misty grounds
like the maid's apron
that has vigorously soaked dews
in the morning vigil.

Grasshoppers and ants
would begin to scurry
beside her legs
and the woman would stomp
her feets as if
they were facing the end of the world.

The morning dew ruffles the leaves
of the squizzing marygold
as she rubs the ground
and her stiffened hands turn numb
letting her sigh in whimper.

The basket is full
all petals and sepals are squizeed
yeterdays beuty turns todays wiltering pose.

That is the matter
the maind would be there
until there are roses
and would face evening drizzle and morning clouds .

The grasshoppers would scurry
in their alrming pass
and the bucket would bear all it can.


In this doing for not doing
maids and grashoppers
and even rose plants
are calculus of big mathmatics
which cannot solve
a puzzle for doing ro not doing.

Will the garden know either?

Dreams
Dreams areeasy to desert.
They assault none,
Neither do they mimicry.
They are minutae
seeking an entrance through
impervious wall
in laughter, delight, whims and agonies.

They are not shadows that haunt us.
Dreams are steady companions
which pat our backs.

Hadnot been dreams,
there would have been merely
tear in our eyes
trickling and trickling
in this sagacious world.


The Hills of Yongin
Innocent trees
cajol with wind
fluttering their fluffy leaves
and,
twittering birds
hearald days' maze
with the sunny gleam.

Many white and plump- looking guys
pass--
in trimmed hairs
and polished shoes
carefreely puffing cigrettes smoke
talking in Hanguel words
beyond my wit.

Immaculate hills gaze
from the distance
murmuring:
"Dont feel lonely
We are your company."

I perhaps understand
their gazing look
with myriad of meanings
more than the words of Hanguel
even if the wind and clouds wrap them.

I sense Yongin in me
bidding the wind
through the horizons
as wantonous as clouds
loitering through haze.

April days
April days
ensue with
sprinkling shower
to wrap
tulip greeneries.

Humming butterflies
thurst through
bushy holes.

In the wheat field there,
a boulder stands:
for songs
of those briskly maids
singing:
"Hopes collide
with ligament of the sky
and then fall."

Startling
Stealing
silence of the blue sky
horizons masquerade
and dream of
walking along the sun.

Blue sky
so vigilant,
watches
the horizons
fling through.

In the rush of
catching the sun,
the horizons are left far away
as the sun is soon an another
realm .
The horizons just startle.
Witness
Take some dew drops
on your palm
and see them
how they turn
mist and water.

You can make some conjectures
to contemplate
over them
in your sense of numbness.

You may even intend to hold them
a bit longer.
But you can not hold
as long as you wish.
For dew drops turn to
water
faster than your
conjectures.

Sure, one thing, though.
You can be an illusive
witness of
how dew drops turn to water.

Mazy motion

The wind and cherry tree
stand still
as if
they were no for riot.

The tree
fond of of triffling,
cajoles with the wind
and bids a challenge.

How could the wind,
in such a flirting mood
shirk
to swirl
in mazy motion!

Both of them triffle.
The sky watches them.

Bam Dev Sharma