A fine line

The fine, naughty
smile on her open lips,
the jest in her
naughty eyes which
always light up at sunset...
A proud glimmer
in 'em all tonight,
for she has two guests...

... Lovers, poles apart,
but lovers... lovers...

The man, a loner from the
north, from the highlands
where warriors hide behind
the masks of bards;
his muse tonight has gems
from the morning star,
strewn on her evening gown;
they held hands at the beach.

... At the front courtyard
of their host, 
basking in her pure
white affection,
they danced...
While their emcee,
she spread out a dinner
on a silver platter.

- The Pole Star, Venus and the Crescent Moon were aligned this evening. A union of lovers!

Tone deaf!

These familiar roads
make me fear n brace,
the lanes are marked 
in white footprints
of infants and school kids...
I ride without lane discipline.

A warm night, the wind from the
seven seas comes funnelled 
between the dreams of
sleeping, hard-working men;
into the vents of my helmet,
they bring a song...

I've forgotten its lyrics;
I left behind all the tones
for a grammar school
and now a drummers role sans music.
Just left to herald the darkness I’ll find,
a little beyond the next right.

Crisscross

I cross this strait,
once a day now.
Once upon... a life time ago;
it seemed like life, twice over,
the rush to find my space,
but the calling 
was never heard,
now or even then.

Morning, it was then,
the push for a young heart;
it is in repeat now,
but just half a tread at a time
for this another man in me,
noon it is now.

None to watch my back,
the burn spreads there;
sweat trickle and tickle
down the neck till it
becomes an itch
that drives me further,
a li'l farther, down that path
of no return...
Where I will lose the 
original sin in me to age;
and the will in me 
to the measured
words of an editor,
out of control, out at large!

The word is out!

If it is a word,
be it a slip from
the lips I adore,
or a tip to lull me away;
is a pearl I cherish,
it's a dream in my heart
I wish to fulfil,
it's a promise I wake up to...

Even if it's just a word,
the raindrops it forms
make my day gay,
for they screen rainbows
o'er the highways I take
to keep my mind sharp
and away from the
realities of a lone rider.

The bike saddle keeps
my joints supple enough for
those feature scenes which try
to bog my life into submission,
in a lock-n-choke hold...
Even the Newaza from college
or the wily rolls and vaults I picked
from a market can't save me from it.

Strasbourg!

Wine red and white, a dinner spread
above the brows of mankind;
came before the toss and turn,
a bid to get comfy in 
the bed I'm strapped in
by a tight noose tonight.

The wine kicks in, 
not yet tipsy or sleepy, 
not by a mile for Caffeine stands up
near a smiling renaissance Monsieur, 
who broke a barrier, while I emptied
a bank vault for a White Christmas.

A promise...
That marked time blinking with 
the random turbulence;
the low definition screen 
flickers too, unknown faces
keeping me awake.

Pipe dreams knock though,
for Santa's date isn't due.
Ho Ho, I wake up
to the Boss blurting out
orders in a tone marinated
in courtesy, his training.

Then comes reality, 
a slow and steady crawl
miles above sea and land,
my reference beacon blinks green
o'er the clouds in stratosphere,
Strasbourg it is, the crossroads.

Strasbourg again, and again,
I've never seen her before,
but tonight I'm in bed with 
her free will, on her bosom
lay the Press cards
she chose for us, some years back.

The tag I flash in pride
to keep coppers at bay,
to keep gates open, coffers decent,
began its journey from her womb,
from the first flong to
a morning fix for all.

Strasbourg! Her cathedral rings a bell,
one too many times it chimes,
the vision printed in black, on white;
for she kept me on hold
for hours in an unknown charm
within an alloy tube.

- A vision, multiple vision in fact

Added Dimension

The heart's held in
suspended animation.
In a cryo state
by the variable from
the x-axis;
the frozen, spicy chicken
pieces left for me,
and not for my soul.

While its lively cells,
the red in its frame is kept
safe from a deadly grey,
with burnt fresh coats
by the changing mood
of the sun's smile over me
in Chennai, the Y-axis... Why axis?
I stay put for my time.

All's well, well the third front?
The Z-axis is lined against
a concrete thick smog hedge
which blocks my view
of the green world
beyond the suburbs
of an office made of edited words,
graphical news and cut-out designs.

The fourth dimension…
I need the papers, ‘I do’ need one
to catch the next wormhole from this
known space, this stint within infinity;
to catch hyperspace and beyond.
But the equation is yet to
graduate out of the set quadratic doctrines
forged by these stubborn, mortal variables.

Radio Silence

It saved lives many, it did...
When Blitz ruled the air ways,
London did shake,
its deep veins frozen,
but still a warm haven
from the rage dropped at random;
the heavens opened,
not for hail or rain
but for cold metal
and its will to rule the world.

It kills now, it does...
For it is the only open
window left for the
weary soldier in urban camouflage,
smoke too thick for even
his bloodshot infra eyes.
He gropes to find the beacon,
dials through the familiar tones,
Radio Silence! 
Bang!

The point-blank shot
knocks him out cold;
he lives, in pain,
wound not fatal.

It's the age of non-lethal bullets
and Quad-core androids;
but his core is still soft n mushy,
in need for that paid-app called love.

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