Why must you taunt me so?
Standing there, shrouded in
moonlit silence that streams
through the window.
Cool winds carry a sweaty smell
delicately twirling like cream in
morning coffee; a taste
I know so well.
I can see the hems of nubile skin
lining the robe of floating lace
alive as her master alike,
ah! my beloved's djinn.
I can feel the fingers, lying
wanton on the window sill; Oh what a waste!
Caresses that could awaken the dead
quiver in doubt, shying.
That smouldering gaze of gentle eyes
bathe me in desire so cool,
The fiery beast freezes in hell
tormented by stifled sighs.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Soon
Soon it will be that time again. When the leaves of my life turn a bright flaming yellow and wither away. They will litter the road like the unwanted urchins from the nearby slum. Have you seen them smile? I wish I could smile like them.
Soon it will be that day again. When a new color flowed into my painting. A transparent color. A salty color. A heavy color of freedom and lightness. It washed my life in hues unknown before. Have you seen this color? I wish I could make it flow back to where it came from.
Soon it will be that moment again. A moment frozen eternally in time, with clarity par excellence. A moment that vanquished the rebellion in my heart. A moment of eternal peace. Have you felt such peace? I wish I could say no to that.
Soon it will be those sounds again. Sounds of hushed whispers and strangled cries. Sounds of silence mercilessly cutting down the sound of the mob. Sounds whose tone I cannot remember. Have you ever tried to remember a forgotten voice? I wish I could remember it once more.
Soon it will be that reason again. A reason to live life beyond any other reason. A reason that makes me breathe, without question, every second of the day. A reason that I surrender to, unconditionally. Have you ever encountered such a reason? I wish I could be unreasonable with this reason.
Soon it will be that place again. That room, those walls, that floor, that tubelight, that refrigerator, that doorbell. A place, I love, for every grain of weak cement that plasters those walls. A place with the happiness that makes courage change into dreams. Have you ever been in such a place? I wish I could return to that place.
Soon. Too soon. It is always too soon. I wish it would cease to be so, some day.
Soon it will be that day again. When a new color flowed into my painting. A transparent color. A salty color. A heavy color of freedom and lightness. It washed my life in hues unknown before. Have you seen this color? I wish I could make it flow back to where it came from.
Soon it will be that moment again. A moment frozen eternally in time, with clarity par excellence. A moment that vanquished the rebellion in my heart. A moment of eternal peace. Have you felt such peace? I wish I could say no to that.
Soon it will be those sounds again. Sounds of hushed whispers and strangled cries. Sounds of silence mercilessly cutting down the sound of the mob. Sounds whose tone I cannot remember. Have you ever tried to remember a forgotten voice? I wish I could remember it once more.
Soon it will be that reason again. A reason to live life beyond any other reason. A reason that makes me breathe, without question, every second of the day. A reason that I surrender to, unconditionally. Have you ever encountered such a reason? I wish I could be unreasonable with this reason.
Soon it will be that place again. That room, those walls, that floor, that tubelight, that refrigerator, that doorbell. A place, I love, for every grain of weak cement that plasters those walls. A place with the happiness that makes courage change into dreams. Have you ever been in such a place? I wish I could return to that place.
Soon. Too soon. It is always too soon. I wish it would cease to be so, some day.
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Mind Blowing Mahiya
One thirty-eight ante meridian. I just finished eating a bowl of cornflakes in chilled milk. Now, I am ready for this.
Any one who has been reading this blog long enough has probably read my ode to why I am not getting any. Well that summed up my life then. Things have changed. A bit.
I say just a bit, because when I try to write erotic poetry I am asked, "Have you been watching porn? Again!" So I have obviously not transmogrified into a suave Casanova overnight.
Apparently, my vocabulary on the subject of the lustful art practiced between satin sheet is not delicate enough. Even though it may run with the efficiency of a well oiled pump, well oiled pumps can be big turn-offs for the genteel sex, who are apparently looking for some finesse in the matter. For so much that is apparent, you may think I am blind to not see the obvious. In my defense I'd like to say that it is very hard to keep one's eyes focused on such things when other more engrossing sights are in view.
Speaking of viewing, ever since "Desperate Housewives" had it's TRPs eaten away by "The L Word" I knew my time had come. After all, one can only be so "Lost" at the ripe old age of twenty-eight. But as I careened around delicate curves (yea I've been taking ski and roller skate lessons), avoiding accidental slips on wet surfaces due to rash driving, it seems like nature handed me a raw deal.
Square pegs do not fit into circular holes (no.. no puns are intended with pegs and holes). It seems the feminine primal urge has some sort of genetic selection algorithm that is biased toward the tall-thin variety of my species. Obviously, my marked deviation from this model serves some higher purpose, but it spells "bad luck" for many of my lower purposes.
So even though I may debate how nonsensical the idea of one-night stands seem to me or why I am very liable to be dumped after the first time I break the bed, I have only progressed a little bit in my quest for Nirvana (suggestion to all spirited teens: If you have to have better luck than mine, do be safe).
Before I leave you, in case you have still have not figured out what the title has to do this with post, your Mahiya1 has obviously not paid enough attention to blowing your mind to smithereens. If that is true, then accept my congratulations and condolences; if not, then you know exactly what I am talking about.
1. Mahiya is a term used to refer to the 'dear one' in Hindi/Punjabi. It derives from the word mahin, meaning cattle. Figuratively, it means the lover, deriving from the popular romance of Sohni and Mahiwal in which the hero, Mahiwal, was a cowherd. The name of the post is taken from a song by the same name from the Hindi movie, Cash.
Any one who has been reading this blog long enough has probably read my ode to why I am not getting any. Well that summed up my life then. Things have changed. A bit.
I say just a bit, because when I try to write erotic poetry I am asked, "Have you been watching porn? Again!" So I have obviously not transmogrified into a suave Casanova overnight.
Apparently, my vocabulary on the subject of the lustful art practiced between satin sheet is not delicate enough. Even though it may run with the efficiency of a well oiled pump, well oiled pumps can be big turn-offs for the genteel sex, who are apparently looking for some finesse in the matter. For so much that is apparent, you may think I am blind to not see the obvious. In my defense I'd like to say that it is very hard to keep one's eyes focused on such things when other more engrossing sights are in view.
Speaking of viewing, ever since "Desperate Housewives" had it's TRPs eaten away by "The L Word" I knew my time had come. After all, one can only be so "Lost" at the ripe old age of twenty-eight. But as I careened around delicate curves (yea I've been taking ski and roller skate lessons), avoiding accidental slips on wet surfaces due to rash driving, it seems like nature handed me a raw deal.
Square pegs do not fit into circular holes (no.. no puns are intended with pegs and holes). It seems the feminine primal urge has some sort of genetic selection algorithm that is biased toward the tall-thin variety of my species. Obviously, my marked deviation from this model serves some higher purpose, but it spells "bad luck" for many of my lower purposes.
So even though I may debate how nonsensical the idea of one-night stands seem to me or why I am very liable to be dumped after the first time I break the bed, I have only progressed a little bit in my quest for Nirvana (suggestion to all spirited teens: If you have to have better luck than mine, do be safe).
Before I leave you, in case you have still have not figured out what the title has to do this with post, your Mahiya1 has obviously not paid enough attention to blowing your mind to smithereens. If that is true, then accept my congratulations and condolences; if not, then you know exactly what I am talking about.
1. Mahiya is a term used to refer to the 'dear one' in Hindi/Punjabi. It derives from the word mahin, meaning cattle. Figuratively, it means the lover, deriving from the popular romance of Sohni and Mahiwal in which the hero, Mahiwal, was a cowherd. The name of the post is taken from a song by the same name from the Hindi movie, Cash.
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