Hardik Vaidya Poems

Because my love you chose.
To cut me off like the Buddha's of Baamiyaan.
Behead me because I fell in love with you.
You my known freedom.
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At times immense.
Because the Americans defined guilt in error.
We Indians defined Americans as Mexicans.
The Italians lost lust,
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Could not delete the moon,
Off the moonlight sky.
Failed to erase the mist of a kiss.
Did not succeed in banning love.
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Parched, not dry, cracked not broken.
Dripping, not oozing on an unknown planet.
But alive. Breathing, clawing into the soil.
Finding the dreams which once lived there.
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The IVR.
blabbering away.
Don't spit, it spreads Tuberculosis.
Don't touch un identified objects, inform police.
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When all doors are shut,
Or you can find no doors,
It's pitch black,
No windows,
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I found a tear in time.
In a fabric of mine.
I wormed in.
No trespassers.
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Questions are my secret lovers.
They keep me on the top of my cosmic self.
The climax never comes, just eludes.
And there in lies the beauty of solitude.
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24 deities in a corner.
An old woman, unable to carry the globe on her head,
Propping her head with her hand.
Badly painted pink roses with the backdrop of Chinese hand fans.
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Liking a poet is a loaded question.
It suffers from capability of immersion.
The poem is the poet. The poet is not the poem.
The unwritten poem is the Reader's sense of being kissed or mauled
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