The Bath In Love .

The boy from his blossoming adolescence stepped in flooding youth and was little aware of the enemy that may drag his blood in guise of motherly care and affection . The widow cook in the hostel ,often shared the boy with all sorts of caresses as solace of loneliness and companion .She often hugged him and this grew into a strange fascination . The boy felt a sort of ignition in his dumb impulses . Sometimes he thought in his lonely hours how the embraces and kisses differed from those of his dead mother at his elderly childhood days . Then , he did not felt the storm in his body and mind , as now he is feeling .Perhaps the sleeping libido now has awakened ! Ajanta the widow ,-had lost her husband in her early girlish days when she had just shared the privilege of landing into the no man’s land and getting lost into ecstasy .As a Hindu woman ,she had to remain in fast ,from the age of 22 .The traditional austerity and imposed conventions proved bar to her blood thirsty tigress . There were eyes to eye her womanly allurement , there were secret winks to tease her wild volcano , there were occasional intruders to cause gratis assistance. But alas she was undone ! Her conservative Hindu-Brahmin family reduced her into a forlorn desert . With the waning of the family resources and gradual stopping of her widow allowances ,she was proposed to work as a cook and caretaker in a boys’ hostel .Her time passed in work and service .Her dormant mother hood though was deprived of the chemistry , yet she ever fostered the desired operation . Moloy ,-the 18-years boy since his arrival in the hostel was under the sole guardianship of Ajanta as the woman was a distant relative of his father and it was his father who managed her the job some ten years ago . Once Moloy feel ill , his fever continued an week , she nursed him , and sat by his bed till Moloy slept . One night ,she fell asleep while she was laying healing balm on Moloy’s fore-head .Moloy pretended to be in sleep ,as as she might come closer to his body . His conscious grew , he began to breathe heavy and warm , his hands came up ,his lips rose , and his man’s tool turned into an erected wine . He could not even feel how the tiger from his unconscious forest had it’s nature’s incarnation . Ajanta too ,in another way dreaming the dream of her first melting with her husband . Who knows how dreams often cause miracle ! She with stirring tidal set herself in the whirl wind of mutual alchemy .And when she came into awareness , then her fiery tigress was in the irresistible ride to the crescendo of climax .

The Wanton Circus .

Opens the vast play ground , Go and go merry go-rounds , The mischief hounds hound . The old children with new ones , Revolve round the oldest sun , The fire ignites the arranged hearths . The ghosts of the forefathers hang mantles , Some heads sprout ,some on pyre-bed , The wanton circus continues its tread .

I Have Nothing To Say

The Apparent Phantom . I have nothing to say , I have nothing to pay , For woman is beyond my poor range , She is mystic-divine , and beauty’s strange . She is home of illusion , She is the spindle of creation , And the miracle –mistake of love , No drinks of yours can fill her cup . She is the magic remote of senses’ turbine , Allured –azure unquenched wine .

The Romantic Cyclone .

The Willow winking of your of your maiden’s wink ,

Wizards the mystic of my green waiting ,

And took out my nowhere with maddening .

Time forgot to seal its impressions ,

And senses converged into the flux of your image ,

The fermented mind hang in restless guess .

The visual presence of all memory just got a standby ,

No measure but you , demanded my dream ,

Where vanished all barriers of low and high .

Whether the reddish arrow of Monalisa ,

Or drinks from Chalice or possession of Touch-stone ,

But I go a-haunted with your Romantic Cyclone .

The Sweet Sweetie .

In the ups and down of temptations’ profile ,

You Sweet wipe sorrow’s figure and beguile .

In the dreary ways of unknown miles ,

You Sweet peep and mitigate the weep ,

With your soul effusing smile .

In the hopeless desert  with empty heart ,

Melancholy takes possession on the will ,

You Sweet bloom breaking nature’s seal .

In clouded insecurity while plunge with no rope ,

You Sweet come by like a floating boat ,

And make me the monarch of impossible hope .

While the natural hunger with thirst starve ,

You Sweet repair the senses’ agony ,

And play your unasked love in my harp .

But For Your Presence . 12.2.13

But for your presence ,

How could I have survived .

But for your presence

How  I could have revived ,

The daily  slips and lapses ,

Of my haggard’s stumbling .

But for your presence ,

How could I seek remedy ,

Of my timeless drudgery,

 Cause born dilemma of reasons ,

And nowhere whirl winds of my passage .

But for your presence ,

How could I depend on unconditional love ,

Of a mother to her son or earth to her inmates ,

And how  could I have the passport to glide the gates ,

Of clumsy taxes and egos ,

How could I accept the worth to forgive and forgo .

But for your presence ,

How the vacant and dreary world could have a meaning ,

In my faith and resolution .

Where no concern but your wish prevails .

But for your presence ,

All loves were on give and take –rails ,

Blared and grayish in ghostly frails .