Poems...

The Lure
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He turned and walked away.
Tables need cleaning
And his heart needed distance
From the lure of an easy life
Of things handed down and sympathy.
As he scrubbed the tables,
He scrubbed them harder when
Temptation grew,
And with each hard rub
He hoped that it would
Stifle the coolness of that call.
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Chandralekha
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Oh Chandralekha! Oh fairest one!
Does a lover’s heart need such pain?
For little did it know the vile life,
Of once loved and left in disdain.

The hand which lead a myriad spears
And chariots that shook this very earth
Lies in that bed of thousand nights
Of yours and his and an aching dearth

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Morning, Beggar to the Gods

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Morning beggar to the Gods,
Hides as beggars do-
Behind the tide of noon's great arms
Who takes his rags and lays
Forever dying Morning's light
Turning warmth to heat and vice
Slow death turn even, to dusk, to night
In seamless mirage ebb-
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