I have yet to know.

I have yet to know
what is love
when I saw the mountains
dust didnt get me any where

I was lost
flying leaves
loving dust
still flying

I thought may be
dust is love

I have yet to know
what is love

I saw drops
coming sharp
sometimes slow
kissing dust to smile
fragrance free of colour
I thought falling drops
may be its love

I have yet to know
what is love

I ask my cross roads.

I ask my cross roads
when a spring
shall be
attire I feel at my moments

I have seen insane
lost at verbatim
is it
insane is my wish

I find reply
I cant say what its like

I ask my cross roads.

when it was not.

winter had come
its spring now
today I put back
some quilts
some phenyl tablets
insects silver fish
may it
intact next winter

I was thinking
and wrote
you may come

night has come
another test
as day

I remember
may be

its good

without

then I see
desolate lanes
it haunt me
out of blue

I ask myself

when it was not. 

till day.

when I was small
I saw a person
aged
tired
relentless of oblivions

he often abused
sometime s in morning
evening
nights as well

my heart often wondered
there is no one
whom he is addressing

some told me
bio logy is a good subject

I was at DAV college Chandigarh
smart profusely handsome with hi fi persona
a small copy and a pen
the principal an old man
but he did not abuse

he wondered how I am that intelligent

I have not understood
till

day

abuses 

but you see.

I have a daughter
a son as well
I made even a prostitute the blessed female on earth

but probably hatred has no ends

I was having four vacations
my military counterpart was receiving
whether the hell a cab word can tell my heart

he boasts infront of his wife
you see we are bengali
Tagore was from bengal
he spoke very good bengali
he was awarded with Nobel Laureate

four days have gone

your snap did tried

but
you see 

sandy is the soil.

I was standing
huge cache of your snaps
some stupids stoic nonsense
without a sense at all
the shores of torrential river

safe calm clean thickly planted
multi culture of thee

some bushes were shivering

sandy is the soil
waters of a mighty river
when it sips down

thinking its an adage
donkeys take to often

sitting
idling
working
what not

toilets
of unforseen
cleanliness

once I saw sukhna lake dried up
some played cricket to make a sense

a small room
entitlement of some yrs

never knew

sandy is the soil 

a real joke.

I have practically nothing to write your snaps are again practically meaningless rather a nuisance as of now. I am writing a poem but it has no meaning at all.

whilst strolling
sometimes sitting on bench
evenings of mine

lost purpose
retired soul

I have asked
how to pull on

as age catches
I find more
nuances
negotiations
equations

your purpose of
coming here

it has become

a real joke .