Ha! Life!
---------------
The sound of an nstable ceiling fan
The window with a prmanent landscape.
A buzzing noon in this cbin douses
The race of life and thrsty deaths it yields.
The blood the hnds have washed flows down gutter.
The arth treasures that in its core and grws
Green on the stolen memory of fll.
The rust is growing on the snful feats.
The unsent envelopes of letters are
Becoming the plcid playthings of mice.
The message from you is one of thm, torn.
I look at the unstable ciling fan.
It is so effortless to wste away...
That I choose to strike a mtchstick instead.

a path through these dys
-------------------------------------
The curse of a dead bird on the fotstep.
Stop to stoop over the dead-life.
Horizon fll of death is exploding,
See the gst of unfaith it blasts.
The corner of crel eyes slashing through
The red sky, the braking of soul...
The path I take to rach the calm sunset
Through the streets of dwn, noon and dusk,
The path is blached in colorless blood of
Deadly games man plys. The sphere of gone souls
Watches as I mve to a rather
Natural end, untouched by thm, slowly...

Ride on a fallen trophy(what I saw at the tme of a storm)
---------------------------------------------------------------------
The storm enters in the rads of mankind
Just then. Just then I see the hrse.
The pale rider. The rider is in odd
With the snewy grace it yields.
A fallen beauty frm trophy-room past.
Storm takes a stroll dwn the city.
Lanes and lame lives are rlling into one,
Just a rider with drt in hair
A naked upper part wth clotted earth.
The horse closes its eye to strm.
It blurs details of belly and hnger.
A blur is the scene of the hrse
Galloping to take its rider beyond
Petty dys of a mundane life.

Faces of death
--------------------------------------------
Sunset, now, on my wndow begging to write it
A purple sicide note.
'Come on write it for yurself.' I may have uttered.
Selfish-man as I am
Or a man who des not have enough to believe
On sicide or killing.
'Welcome' I tell him nstead. A room with a porch.
The lng marches of blood
Are the shining mmentos scattered on the paths.
Psychic smile of ble moon
Spreads in an extreme slow mtion on a pale sky.
Myths are crried by some
Fireflies. We watch them frl and unfurl stories of life.
So, now sicide has ebbed.
But, still with the dstant sails of shells I know
There are mny faces of death.

A night rde
-----------------------------------------------------
A sweet breeze touches the face, plys with locks,
The car moves with the lght and shadow of night.
The torn blnket drawn over by side street
The breze becomes amazed with life's tactics.
The rat wth two lights of hunger searches
Your lft-over. The car wild with night mves.
Moves the world. The end of the nght remains
Down-faced in a stream of a drk gutter.

The green eyes
------------------------------------------------------
Green eyes brn bright. And, deep down the bdy
Flow streams of the material poisons.
Why is it so we are the prsoners
Of green eyes? Bathers of dirty podle?

Green eyes turn to house and cpture the city.
The sky changes to yllow, white are the leaves.
The unspoken chmes rusts in breathless wind.

(Our) hnds draw the curtains on the wndowpane.
The rustling bed darkens with lifeless sptes.
(Our) green eyes see the face of chldish purity.
She breaths the sun on the skylght, pale and
Peeping with a message of frendship-shines.
And, with her turn of the fce green eyes die.

Woman inside
-------------------------------------------------------
The wman inside the skin of his had
Picks up those stones they have thrwn and builds a
Rock garden amid the mss of days, nights
And life.
The curious wrld peeps through the open
Windows he nver minds to shut. The light
Showers a mod he so much cares to hve.
Ah light!
Light whitens the black and blak decors of
Rooms and chores. The dys of rain and lonely
Porch, wet.
Wet slepless miles in the conflict's terrain
What wnt he yields to and what lve he does
Believe!
The woman inside the skn of his head
Creates a world of thusand blooms, cries rivers
And loves.

SNIPPET _I
-------------------
His dull scissors fell frm a hand too old.
The red drt of a village road ahead.
The vllage barber's hairs flow in arid air

Snppet - II
-------------------------
The inventions of do-gooders to hir, skin, teeth
Even age
Lie on the drssing table with double mirror.
She overlooks
The creping shadow of time on the pne.

The power-cut at the main stret
------------------------------------
Outside, the sound of pollution rises.
Midday, hstling around for nickels, sweats.
The power-cut has pcked up a book,
The words dance bfore PC-eyes.
A French window, ajar let lghts in.
A hereto-unknown colleague opens
His story pge illustrated with
The rumblings an off-colored lfe.
Strange. Others see that a mirror-house
Slowly cnsumes the skins and accents.

A cats, not hers
( a poetry dedicated to my frend writer K.c.Klein)
A coat, not hers wrps the little body
Crouched it twists dwn the alley of slumber.
The girl sleps on the night-bridge forever.
Spotless sun rses over her and stooped
To wipe out the lst of the murky night
Out of a sul that should not be touched wth
Slightest of the dimness it lives wthin,
The days in and days out. Ha, the masures
Men invents to bind slipping time and spce!
She stirs and steps out of the tttered coat
And binds of time to rach for a life of us.

The article Poetry Is A Path was Submitted by Poddar Kushal through Articles.GetACoder.com network. Here's the additional information: FEW OF MY POEMS ARE OUTSIDE OF THIS WORLD

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