//Signature –II//

Before the sunrise
I might not get up to prove myself potent
spraying a few rays of light
upon the sands or a paper
that would contrast my image
as a man.

I am aware of my petering from life
after the sketch is done
in a mathematical equation
in a musical note
musing to look at the light
that took away my song
one day.

I am aware of my resuscitating
from a song
whispered to my ears
sickening me of an
awkward pleasure
horrors tapping
before and after a day break
from a silence around.

It is natural that a man
runs a horse everyday,
inside him,
as a proof of his existence,
like me, petite and shrunk.
like an everyday man
towards his office or wage.


I run for manhood,
out of an impotent face,
a few studs is what I search,
to let a man exist in me
as the cabman pants
to reach at the day ends at dawn.

I have slept many last nights
thoughtfully
rolled in night’s darkness,
painfully,
for a sleep,

at the sunrise
and before a full stop
a signature.



[ Written time: 20 March 2010, 1.20 A.M.]

// Signature//

I am simply imbedded in a time now!

Beyond everything

the fingers of time

as a woman combs my hair

tying me with her only future

or

like a stranger with an umbrella

with a wrap and a spectacle

a smote on my door

of past, past and past.

despite the world changing in an obvious way,

I always remained in a womb

curtained that

folds and unfolds a story

as lullaby does

make me yawn for a blanket

a fear.

despite the world disinclined to its orbit

I have my slumber inside a womb

that hit me at the brain

dorsally, I dose off

before the story ends

as granny’s, as demon’s

and time blankets a slumber on me

thus the story ends.

Why does a slumber hit my cortex?

always at my door step?

hit me like a parable!

Why do I sleep upon the atlas,

spread like a woman!!

I meet my time bracketed

at a ticket counter or in a queue

enveloped like a letter

that scribbled an old love.

Well dear its me,

another picture in a magazine

a daily return to home at night

a signature hunchback

a sleep at the bookshelf ,unread.

I am a man slept

for a time unknown to him!

.