Multitudinous micro-
oscillations manifest
misleadingly,
Quarks quintessentially
quantify questionable
quantum- permanence,
Subatomic structures subtly
simulate substantial
superficies
Macroscopic mutability,
Fleeting fluctuations
fabricated from formless
frequency- fields,
Intricate interfaces interlock
intersecting illusory imagery,
Disintegrating dimensions
deceive dedicated density-
seekers,
Evanescent energies
effortlessly evade external
examination,
Architectural absolutes
automatically atomize along
apertures,
Vaporous voids vividly veil
vast vacuousness.
Fleeting matter masks
quantum voids.
An emerald behemoth starts
to ride
From dark, abyssal,
labyrinthine caves,
To cut across the pale,
autumnal skies
And rule the undulating
realm of waves.
It bears the heavy, multi-
layered weight
Of architectural and sunken
ships,
A powerful, predetermined
fate
That seals the coast in cold,
metallic grips.
It curves into a cavernous
design,
A translucent, iridescent ring,
A temporary, fluid, silver
shrine
Without an earthly palace or
a king.
The sudden architecture
starts to fall,
To leave a flat, geometric
hall.
I gently washed my breakthrough.
Blood drained out. Colour faded.
Every single cell dissolved away, becoming
the architectural skeleton of a heart.
Every single cell dissolved away—
put up no fight, no rejection,
no more life of drugs needed.
Perfect.
Every single cell
waiting, waiting, waiting to become
“the most important medical breakthrough of our lifetime”:
the architectural skeleton of a heart.
Beating with no fight.
Silence is never singular,
it has dialects,
territories,
weather systems of its own.
The silence before dawn is porous,
still learning its edges,
a word in the mouth
before the tongue decides.
The silence after loss is architectural
rooms rearranged by absence,
the specific gravity of an unmade chair,
a name that hangs in the throat
like a bell no one has struck.
The silence between old lovers has its own syntax:
a glance that carries forty years of freight,
the palm resting on a wrist saying everything grammar cannot hold.
And the silence I court here
the white space between intention and word
is the most dangerous:
it asks me to trust the not-yet,
to let the poem remain water before it learns the shape of whatever vessel I am.
These silences do not speak the same language.
They share only the name the way all thresholds share the name door,
and yet each one opens onto a different dark.
will this matter in one year?
the backdrop of a full life
i watch the movements of the conductor
as he weaves between the instruments
and the house lights struggle to follow him
he knocks into a french horn
and there is a moment of giddiness
a moment of anger
there is an exchange of words, beyond banter
and luckily, they are not overheard
over the optimal acoustics and architectural splendor
the jacket needs to be readjusted
and a handkerchief is revealed from the inside pocket
as he wipes his brow and continues
continues to stare at the horn player
and the battle ends with the conductor
finding his way to the podium
the bloke playing the triangle whispers to the horn bloke,
"simply disengage, don't make eye contact,
and remove yourself from the situation."
the conductor turns, under the stage overhang
and mouths to the horn, "let's dance."
he smiles, then returns and his bow is made
put 'that's all folks' on his gravestone
The streetlights cast a yellow glow against the darkening evening. I pull my collar higher against the bite of the wind, the kind of cold that promises change. Overhead, the sky is a heavy, bruised violet, ready to burst. And then, it begins—not a downpour, but a tentative, silent drift. Individual crystals, each a fleeting architectural miracle, unique from one another, begin their slow descent from the sky to the frozen ground. The world around me starts to soften, hard edges blurring under a gentle, accumulating lace. My breath forms tiny clouds in the crisp air as I catch a single, perfect star on the tip of my glove, a transient visitor from the heavens, a small piece of silent magic.
sky slips first snowflake
like frosting on a cupcake
liquid world keepsake
Degenerate house filled with ancestry
one short hand stretches from statues to shame
pervading loose boundedness within the same
or toward less classical geometry
on this continuous interplay to show
how apotheosis may interchange the crow
this desire between rough designs, I try
to withstand its whirlwind and real rephaim
into flexible modules overclaim
terrain through the abundant baptistery
we have dispersed vital functions for coe
by distinctive architectural doe
we provide few clues from dictionary
this situation contracts markedly beldame
Architectural and Dogs
A large house on one floor with a multi-shaped roof
a myriad of inside doors fit for slamming when
House guests occupy all seven toilets
The owner of this house is a semi-retired person
Who, after creating a human, fails like
Elon Musk with his exploding rockets
The gorillas were such an attempt, but he was
kind and let his mishaps live in the deep jungle
Well, his foray into the architectural business failed
He took retirement but kept an eye on his dogs
Dogs? Yes, he created dogs for humans who
might find loving another human, not wanting
to kill the other, find ample time for many hugs
and cry proper tears at funerals
Quiet porch and a lazy chair,
sitting for a while is a song.
A blue collar stereotype.
Highlights visible from the air,
bold italics will show up strong.
Iconic, working that pinstripe.
Dusk saunters in devil may care,
sizzling whatever could go wrong?
Tipple a taste of this peace pipe.
Like a view of the county fair,
the big girl rides go all night long.
Such fine architectural hype.
I have built my diorama,
a caricature of drama.
A marvel of architectural grace
Needle-ended arches touching the space
Vaults that look imposed and superimposed
Ribbed ends that kiss the corners, hawk-nosed
Ornate spires like jewel fabrication
Fine flecks and fancies with fascination
Each segment shines with mystic touches.
Fusing faiths of temples, mosques, and churches
Serpents slither here. Scorpions hide beneath our bed spreads.
Spiders, bugs, sticks, ants, and centipedes occupy our beds.
We have coasts. But what use of these? They burn with sultry heat.
Pirates sail to our harbours with their armour-filled fleet.
Predators of all kinds have filled our once lovely islands.
Where, once, flora and fauna flourished, wattles and burrs shake hands.
Our architectural castles seem to crack and collapse.
Dilapidated sanctums of temples reveal time's lapse.
Archaeologists try to explore our mausoleums.
They find noxious inland Taipans in murky museums.
Dogs bite their masters; cats, like tigers, cull their lords with claws.
Cows, bulls, and goats butt, stamp, and pin their herders for no cause.
Arrogance and aggression emblazoned by humankind
Their hearts and minds by evil thoughts, words, and deeds are maligned.
This place too is made by God, I know, like other places.
But, to cut the heads of others, here, each one runs races.
He took me sightseeing
Hand in hand
Smiling bright
Eyes for each other
To the city of his dreams
Navigating the twists and turns of the streets
Awed by the sights and sounds
The majestic buildings
Their architectural splendour
Where history whispers
And echoes through its corridors
We stopped by a quaint cafe
Enriched by the experience of it all
Little fires put out here or there with ease
There's a big blaze over there with high wind
Contained only by some people you send
Can big blazes be stopped destroying trees
Time, effort with loss of lives and much more
Blazes are definitely not asked for
_Ole days gone with architectural frieze
Little fires, big blazes slowly take hold
World being lost to evil, hearts turned cold
Seems world overtaken by swarm of bees
Is there a solution to all questions
Let's make a reasonable suggestion
When Jesus comes, tempter's power broken
And humanity will be awoken
The Mesopotamians,
The birthplace of writing, building the ziggurats and palaces.
The Greeks,
Warriors and philosophers, diverse in their ways of thinking.
The Romans,
Masters of conquests and destruction.
The Egyptians,
With creative minds and architectural prowess.
All are different and diverse.
But they still all believe that they are the one.
They believe that they are the protagonists of our world.
Portraying their stories in their own immaculate light,
Shining in their versions of stories mixed with lies,
As the centre and hero of the story.
I had been feeling
In my childhood
Though I enjoyed their chirp
Of these little birds
How much they disturbed
During my time of studies…
They made their nests
As the best of builders
With architectural perfection
And pristine beauty
Within each window
Of my house those days
Dark brown-black bib male
Light brown, no black bib, female
Chirping and chattering
Like lovers
Romantic
Is it not?
They spread plant seeds.
The scientists say
They make
Climates around us flourish.
Weather professionals say
They are eco-friendly.
Of late -
I found them decreasing in number.
They said:
It's owing radiations.
I felt sad.
Though I understood everything
Lately -
I found one struggling to fly.
Amidst a gigantic dust storm
Wings broken
Struggle for existence
It could not feel fittest
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