“Because in the right eyes, you will always be art” — beyond the chaos (S.V)

A fist of open sky 

Diamonds studded evening with ivory pearls 

Beholds Botticelli his iconic paint brush 

Grey shades of Rajasthan painted faith into hearts of weary 

There smiled my Krishna from the womb of clouds—

The Kauravas painted Krishnaa cynical with absolute disgrace

The birds flew high and the window remained stained 

There life smiled again and again!

And Krishnaa stood emblazoned in the portrait of righteousness! 

Life, an art— a fist of open sky 

In right eyes life not just —

Its larger than life 

A chiseled craft with divine purpose.

The Sky Still Sings 

The sky still sings the mortuary of juvenile latch— 

Where embryo sprouted amidst sheets of snow, 

Where the tenderly green stood brown and straight, 

Neglected orphans of Jurassic Park. 

Yet silence dwells there, as a suppressed ghost; 

It speaks of the last autumn fall. 

Truly Porus wasn’t defeated—

Robinhood lies there gently with a soft smile.

The cold wind no longer makes him uncomfortable;

The air quirks strangely within its bewilderness;

And the olive fell off.

Let this air glitch gently,

Let the breath breathe off.