Poetry

Endurance

 

“But could you promise to come back?”

I wanted to ask, but didn’t.

Deep down, Perhaps I figured

some answers are your worst nightmare.

 

 

“I will hold on till am able, till I can hold on no longer

A day, a month, a year. Centuries, even.”

I say it again and again, as if my saying

Be his reason for his staying

 

Taken captive by the poetry in his fingers

And days of endless passion,

unending conversations,

And boundless longings..

 

now, once again our lives are a whirlwind,

hanging on indecisions

The hours and lies and people and morals

Everything takes a toll on a young girls heart

 

But I’m holding on, with him in me,

With hopes and dreams of all that we left halfway..

Hands still clutching his shirt

Tip of my nose nestled against his chest

 

 

As I begin to weep,

He foddles me tighter plays with my hair,

Kisses my forehead, looks out of the window

And says nothing.. nothing…

Experiance, Poetry

AN HONEST LIAR

 

I met a certain man yesterday.

Who spoke for hours along,

With no pretense.

About poets,their verses.

And paintings and artists,

And singers and their lives.

 

Of strange obsessions,

And compelling addictions,

Of his little crush,

On the lady death,

And of all the urges he cannot tame.

 

He meets you in the lines you pen,

And tells you he gets it,

The empty longings,

The emotional rollercoasters,

The love for forbidden,

And all that you feared to tell the world.

 

 

He kept me awake with the tales of his wounds,

The tales that make him a human,

Of an exquisite kind.

A fine departure from all the others,

An honest liar,

Shouting words of truth and penance,

At the infinite moments of darkness.

 

 

A certain delusional young man,

Who suffers from the wrath of his own conscience,

Who grieves in silence,

For all the friends who travelled far,

And families that fell apart,

And women who gave up,

And places that wore him out.

 

 

He whispers into my ears,

“You scare me!

For you believe in no atonement,

For you seek to murder murderers,

You deny, that all the men, You wish to hang at marketplace,

Deep, deep, deep, down hold a heart that beats.”

 

 

But I, “I know”, He says,

“For, I walked with them too,

For, I was one of them too.

But my dear, how I wish I hadn’t begun all that I began!

I’m left with little, so little, if you had known all that I had.

I have been a weak man,

of the strongest kind.

And all of it has taken a toll,

On all that I had.”

 

 

As he sits there alone,

and waiting for his little crush

To come looking for him in depths,

How I wish to tell him to hold onto his self,

That the world outside is beautiful,

And that bigger love will happen,

And severed ties shall mend,

And that second chances, third chances,

And infinite chances are allowed,

For men who sin, and yet repent.

And that all you ever wanted,

will come looking for you 🙂

Literature, Poetry

The end.

Your lethal concoction,
Is sweeping through my veins
In unfathomable surges.
With every passive plunge, the ones
I betray,
are growing in numbers.
And from where I stand now,
I cannot,
Even seem to think of the drearier tomorrow’s
Where you and me,
Well,
There won’t be a ‘me and you’ spelled together.

Poetry

My first lousy poem.

My leaves withering,
rot away smiling,
Sometimes in vain,
Sometimes in efforts,
to paint your  life
with the colors I bear,
in red, saffron and yellow,
with cells cut off my veins!

You come to me,
not, but often
when the numbers allowed,
to sprinkle a shallow lifeline
in just the right measure
over my browning leaves,
to keep from souring!

The weeds,
that erupt off my hungry roots,
They steal-
Everything that was yours,
Everything that was mine,
Even the only remains,
of an ancient manure I forced off you once,
with a shameless display
of my youthful unrest.

When you’re gone again,
Across a narrow aisle,
I live in a shrewd silence,
Both dead and alive,
Both patient and needy,
I stoop, as if I’m falling,
Towards the earthly being,
Till again, one morning,
your familiar shadow falls over my skin

I wriggle alive as you run your fingers,
along my tender leaves, enjoying its sweetness,
And its subtle tenderness.
Your light kisses on the flowers I bear,
and the shivers my fragrance passes down your spine,
tells me volumes,
Of all I ever wanted
Which is only a little of you.

🙂

Fiction, Literature

A dive into the Unknown.

I was always telling him things, taking him places – pouring my soul out for him, almost torturing him time and again with my bitter-sweet impulsive emotional outbursts. All I asked of him was for him to be angry, or shocked or worried or guilty about the things I said or thought. I meant for him to be able to tell the things he felt, or feel the way I felt. I meant for him to feel something for me – just anything at all. No, his lucid insensitivity did not intimidate me one bit,not even for a second, for I was in love with his coldness too. His sheer lack of emotions infuriated my brimming youthful soul, for I perpetually carried hundreds of impalpable precipitations feelings inside me. But, despite his apparent indifference or his obvious lack of ability to look through my soul, he was breaking me into pieces. 

With him, I knew I was content. But to him, I was also loosing a little bit of myself, every day. I could spend hours with him and not speak one word, deep down, silently preparing myself to melt into his layers one day without warning. In my silence, he tamed me with his ferociousness. He would sway past my frame coarsely, taunting me, almost provoking me into an awkward smile. When I lost it, he disciplined me with his infuriating indifference. I, enraged and annoyed, threw stones at him, spit at him, crushed his trunk, and when I was done, I fell to his feet, in pieces. He would just let me be, let me bleed and wail, all he had to do was to to send his arms to pet around my skin for a while, or hum a feeble tune.In seconds, I forgave him and went back to being in the kind of literate, passionate, unconditional love again.

For he himself was nothing short of an enigma, an embellishment of contrasts, crafted in a mysteriously juicy method. He was the most free-spirited, insolent, angry, impatient thing I had ever known. And I, only I saw that beneath the layers of mischief and mystery, there was a layer no one knew about. A layer of emptiness – an insatiable void. That was the catch, that I knew too much. Or I thought I did, from all that I heard and imagined – I just knew that he submerged his deepest of deepest desires into a tiny cave hidden somewhere deep underneath his bodily layers.

I wanted to get there. There, right there, was the home I wanted to live in.  I wanted to excavate – excavate as further as I can  to understand him more- to make sense of longings and despairs and pleasures. That had become my only obsession and my deepest fascination. I alone wanted to be the one who understands his being, the one who reads his mind, the one who he came back to after an ugly fight. 

But he had been in love before, millions of times before, but that did not upset me. There was no way I could give him any of the earthly pleasures, I wasn’t even worth all of it. Yet, it upset me so much, that he returned to every woman who crawled back to him. He sheltered them too, even at odd hours of the day. I was foolish to imagine that he could be exclusively my very own. I had to start thinking of ways to push him away from my memory.

And somewhere along the way, I fell out of place, I fell out of my mind, I fell way from him. And being young and caught up in my own lecherous ways, I distanced myself with what I was made of. I missed out on our visits, on our intimacy, on our yearning.I was lost and I strayed further away, feeding my soul of all it craved for. But it did upset me that you did not come for me, or send for me or watch out for me. Some strangers I met, told me stories of you, brought me the scent of your being and sought me guilty for letting you go.

Some nights, I stayed awake. Thinking of you,of the way your moved around,  of your warmth, of your smell and of all those lives who fell for your charm. They were the only things that I knew and I realized how much in awe I was, that in the process of rejuvenating my love for him, I was setting fire to myself.

I knew I had failed him. I had failed him in more ways than one. I failed myself and my only conscience. I had been running away from him, I was running away from the only place I could call home. I was running away from all that I ever wanted. Indeed, I thought I was better off without him, better off without the eccentricities and vulnerabilities, without the pain and passion. But, deep down, I knew that if there was a place I would return to – It had to be always inside you.

I could not wait any longer. I stood up and walked. Walked for hours and days, and now I am there, at his mercy. I had come back to him, wounded, sobbing and weak begging him to take me back. I had come back.

I was talking to him now, pleading, begging for a chance at redemption.

“Now you could throw me out or take me in, but know that I will always come back.” I started.

“Have pity, my sea, have me back.” 

I was speaking these words and without waiting for him, I started walking into his depths , into the moist depths I had always dreamed of.  I couldn’t make out if his overpowering waves were trying to push me aside or pull me along to the culmination. I did not know if he was happy about my forceful advancement into his layers. It was not painful for I was ecstatic, creeping down into his depths in awe ,waiting for the moment we would become one. I knew it would take a long time, and I might not even remember how it felt, but this was a moment. This was the moment I had longed for in years, this was the ultimate high I needed, my final orgasm.

Tell me now, all of you. I knew you were watching us in our final  moments of intricate intimacy? Some of you, crying for help,calling out for me, wailing, sending troops in search of me. But, didn’t you see my love, and his, what did you miss? Do you not see that this place, where I am now, floating and drifting with the undercurrents of his enormous being, is the only place I can be happy and content?

Literature

The mystery Man!

Those nights were sinfully cold and windy, when I sat there on the stone bench picturing the arrival of my mystery man. My mystery man who had made a slave out of the blowing wind. Around him, the wind, took its submissive being, and followed along his orders with a sense of urgency and fear. I imagined my man, his face- pale and wrinkled, yet helplessly charming, emerging from a distance smoking a thick puff of smoke around him . The wind, his partner in crime, promptly carried the pungent odour away from him in a matter of seconds and brought them  to me declaring his arrival. He looks several years younger than his age, thanks to his lean frame and impeccable taste in stacking the wardrobe with the right clothes. The aura around him was devastatingly unreal and he kept me on the edge every single time we met .This man, who I knew nothing about was effortlessly driving me insane and intrigued, inch by inch. I watched the kids around me play with their battered yet colored balls of red, white and blue.The honking and beeps of vehicles at a distance reached my ears as subtle tunes of a soft, mystical symphony.

Several nights had passed now, where me and him, would just walk along dusty empty walkways and argue on our takes on the world’s most pointless matters. Every night after on our return, we promise to never take another road together again. But, he would just turn up every next day as if this had become one of his habits. And I waited here day after day, as if this was my only reason for living. I wish I could romanticize the whole situation some more with descriptions of birds and tress and flowers which didnt exist to picture things perfect. But even in the obvious absence of any natural or unnatural hyperbole, the night couldn’t have been any less beautiful. The stone seats in the park I sat on, absorbed every bit of degree celcius’s it could  from me, in return spreading its chill unevenly throughout the length of my body. In a few minutes I had my legs curled up under my skirt and my hands had found a safe place in the deep pockets of my sweatshirt. I didn’t cover my face, I let the wind have its way, blowing past my hair,and slowly, sabotaging my minutes of effort to make them line the contours of my face exactly the way I wanted him to see it. My eyelids hugged each other for a split second or a little longer, but before I knew it, I was falling slowly, but steadily into the surreal world which worked in strange ways. My wind, mischievously crawled into my dreams and continued to blow in there as well.

“He is here!”, announced the wind forcing a stint of his manly odour into my nose as if to bring me back to reality.

I was grinding my teeth tightly now, no more able to bypass the intensity of the moment. The wind – flowing past me in an urgency to welcome its master, was touching and teasing me in more ways than one. This man, whose very thought triggers my wildest fantasy, whose presence makes me aware of the blood gushing through my veins was finally here. I do not know if it was the night or the wind or just the thought of his usual being, I was strangely aroused, so much that I gulped down my growing urge to run back to my house, away from his haunt. I felt a small tap on my shoulder. My shoulder almost entirely covered by the grey pullover and the black tee inside it. But I am certain that I felt a tip of his index finger touch the thin lining of the exposed skin in the valley down my neck towards my arms.I stood up and smiled at his empty face trying to pacify my heart beat which had began to rise to a palpable rhythm.

He didn’t smile back at me.

Or maybe he did.

It had always been difficult to read his face. In the years, he had mastered the art of deception pretty well. He concealed his deepest desires and fears locked up in some remote chamber of his heart, away from my  probing eyes. I knew that it was ages before he would actually let me into his lonely red island. The wind still blowing, caressing me and him together now, pulling the ends of my hair to catch upto his bearded face. He didn’t push them away, the strands of my messy hair now struggling its way to reach for his neck and then sliding their way higher up.

“My wind! Playing naughty games with me again, are you?”, I think.

My eyes were stuck on him – wandering deep into his thoughts , trying to make sense of this man who always made me a restless, impatient and curious woman.  He joined my gaze for a few seconds, reading my apparent turmoil before he convineantly looked back to the road ahead of us. I resisted my urge to cup his face in my hands to not let him escape my gaze anymore.

“Shall we go for a walk?”, he said finally standing up and shaking off our extremely dangerous and potentially risky eye contact.

I nodded.

“This way”, he pointed. “Against the blowing wind”, he added.

“He walks not by you, but against you! And yet, you seem to be in favour of his evil charm, my wind?”, I think.

I suppressed a smile inside to look at my mystery man – ever the unflinching rebel. His messy hair, wanton nature and gentle words. He was a strange strange combination, of morning sunshine and midnight black. It was his very native rebellious being, that draws me to it fiercly day by day. Every part of his being, intrigued me, excited me, fascinated me, aroused me furthur. He was so much like my wind. Gentle, yet brutal. Powerful yet weak. Humble yet defiant. I didn’t make an effort to hide my desires from him.While I was making these mental notes, his eyes came wandering back to mine.

Cautious.

Silent.

Helpless.

We start to walk. We took short measured steps forward through the pebbled pathway. My wind, flowing gently against me in caution, as if trying to stop me, warn me . I see him light his cigar again. I pull it out of his mouth and throw it down in the trash. He is angry now, he grabs the top my arm in a quick movement, then lets me go before turning back to walk again.But he did not light another one. I smile. I steal his hand and wrap it with mine to ease his temper. The kids in the park were throwing tiny smiles at us. Even the uncles hurrying on their way resolute in burning every bit of extra calourie they didnt need, shot mischievous glances at us.

” What must they be thinking? Do they take us for lovers? “

What do they see when they look at him, the uncles and the kids ?

What do I see when I look at him?

I see PAIN. Nothing but pain in his eyes and the void in his heart .

While my mind cruised along the horizons of possibilities of facts and figments around him, I felt his hands shake my shoulders again.My wind had started to follow us back , now blowing unevenly- smooth and hoarse, over and over. I was cold now, and hot, and my muscles started to tense. I feared the tips of my fairly concealed assets starting to peak out to give him a show of my wandering mind. I pulled the sweatshirt closer to me, still determined to walk forward against my wind and its wrath today.

With him, I was shades of multiple beings. I had alters, the shy one, the shameless one, the needy one and the childish one. As if in realization, he started speaking to me. My brain refused to keep records of his blunt revelations. He didn’t need a companion. He wanted to be the lonely man in the maddening crowd. He just didn’t need me. But I knew I was determined to give him everything he didn’t want. I didn’t dream of an exquisite wedding or of having two notorious masterminds to inherit his name. In my dreams there were no mansions or churches. There were roads, long and narrow and unpredictable. All I ever wanted was to walk with you. And to lay awake in the nights , not naked yet spent , of our intense undying conversations. My wind was growing hoarse and wild now, angry that I ignored its insistent premonitions. My mystery man, for once, held me close to him tight and wrapped his hands around me before my wind altered into his thirsty cousin-the storm.