I am a stone in these hills
I am a monument shrouded
myth encoded, in these hills
I am the rock of passion
cloud of vision, in these hills
I walk across summer, winter and spring in these time-blasted hills
I cut across deliriousness into winter-wounded songs
in these hills
I change colours of night
I change colours of day
in these hills
I am a chorus of voices
bird song of noises
in unwavering places, in these hills
their roads cannot escape their lies cannot lull me
into a gathering dusk of sleep.

Waking morning is tiredness of a day passing shadows of moments what happens in the day is effusiveness of the sun, the catcall of the wind, noisy talk on sidewalk and the half murmur of a child wanting a begging bowl to be replenished by coins people keep in back pockets. The day wakes up to realities of chatter, to discover if anything will be different, or if the closet will be empty. In the evenings when sun’s shadows invert the day draws lines on weary faces.

A tepid bite of winter
the sun vanishes and mists
take me into an universe rotating between hills, storm and mountains.
Planes swagger. Dust swathes the earth.
No birds flapping
no wings to fly on
only the clouds like needles point a huge finger, at the sky which has lost all hope.
Multi verse.

Today the news of another death, of someone so known
is no death, no news simply another gush of blood and the veins
rupture, head spins
heart is matter,the dead speak of abyss, dreams and recondite ghosts.
Spiking dreams is this news, the other day saw
her, laughedbothofuswiththeembattledwind
nowdeathisadream.

Am I as potent,
as perfect,
as the knight who holds me
in an ungenerous grip?

Or am I mere speck
worthy of disdain
worthy nonetheless,
of
defeating,
slaying
‘expiring’
lives
in never ending battles?

Or am I slick beauty,
nonchalantly
winning
days and nights,
skies and oceans,
curls and pearls,
for my palace royals?

What if I am,
an entity inanimate –
plain, but playing
slain, yet slaying
hearts
minds
souls?

Evilly shining,
in universal battlefields…

More at https://thewordcouch.wordpress.com/.

Snakes do not bite
water is tight
for man to decipher
the bite which is
ridden
with fallow hope
of escaping blood
and vague articulations
of death as, the hit back
is not poisonous
only somnolent.