poems

[K K Srivastava]

Leaning back,
let us feel
the image of life,
another extension
of death.

*

The image and it’s
extended image
meet and cling,
brittle, dry mirror
breaks.

*

Once, a
reason,
now, a confluence
of several illusions,
fed on silence of oneness.

*

We hear the
inconsequential muse,
antique noises, numberless,
emptied, visionless eyes,
the wave decides: divides.

*

The despotic innocence,
clouds come near and go far,
the inexplicable mystery,
not a mere accident:
nor life nor it’s image.

[K K Srivastava]

From within
stretches out a numbed belief,
dormant calm resurfaces;
the frail visage of merciless
faith,
sways gently in the wind.

From within
we are led nowhere
all signs obliterated;
faded babbling utterances
reach the other side of
meaning.

From within
lazy contours scream
as if a tiny boat vying
with itself, unsuccessfully,
on a howling, furious
sea.

From within
the dim twilight thickens
full and mighty dawn shrinks;
the anguish of separation
the defenses of voiceless pangs
wasted away.

From within
the pageant of pagan glory
enduring it’s torments;
nothing else would be lost
struggling waits yearn for
the lip’s first touch.

From within
waves of forgotten horizons
look for invisible anchors;
spilling moments, languid eternity,
yet another wet world of dreams
melts away.