Mysterious melody
poetry, satire, sensual, woman

Madam Neverhurry’s Mysterious Malady

Madame Neverhurry cousin

of  Gustav Flaubert’s

Mrs Bovary,awoke at past 12

Suffering from a malady

Known as melancholy,

Casts her glance on the

Day’s chore, bored puts

The blinds back on, deciding

To have some high tea,

Summons, mischievous elves

On fire wings impatient

Yells “to get lost and bring

Forth aromatic mint tea with

Hazel nuts three or four”

On first command the elves

Disappeared, conjuring

A mysterious tea in glasses

Of crystal while the Madame

Put powders and billows,

adorning her buffet with

One Exquisite Ostrich feather

competing with the slopes

of Alps, all while thinking of

day’s chores and bitchy gossips

to be done which caviar to

be served with what exotic wine

at customary evening suppers

while discussing a mysterious

malady  possessing modern ladies

known  something as depression

so much work to do all 

in a day, madam fainted

at 1 while still in satin beds

Personal elves hurried worried

Bellowing some wind trying

to revive with peacock

fans, “oh poor madam,

suffering pangs of

melancholy once again”

 

( Dedicated to all my beautiful women who loves to get up past noon)

 

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born again
life, Love, woman

No Land For Women

Yes my right boob is bigger than the left and

there is something going between my thighs

You see Mr. I breath from there…

But then don’t you breath from hole too?

 

I’ve been scared walking on the ancient silk

routes, always  covered in dark veil stalked by

the hawk eyes, conscious of my timid  moves.

 

But terrified to come home for I’ll pay the lofty

price of loitering after the dark…

 

In The Land for No Women I am known as a

harlot, well you see Mr. I am those women who

always wear matching sandals ,paint their lips

scarlet and plant kisses with ease while

matching steps with you.

 

But I am no bitter Mr. because I see no

difference between you and me…

you see we both breath from the holes

 

Ecstasy
Love, Nature, poetry, woman

Transformation

I’ve lived multiple lives,

surviving to live

as a man,

 

Million little moments

sabotaged to feel as

grandiose as

a man.

 

Countless nights sacrificing 

cotton fluff like yearnings to

please what became of 

that man. 

 

Marring those ardent desires

in whose rustic Earthen

wombs  human hope 

is conceived. 

 

Patiently waiting, ogling at you

to live as me a woman

only for a passing 

moment. 

 

 

 

 

bagpipers
feminine, Love, Nature, poetry, woman

Swaying To Notes of Thousand

Swaying to the 

notes of thousand 

bagpipers…

dropping all shames

twirling round round,

like darvesh in 

wild wild forest.

Whatever happens 

will happen!

It’s all god’s will

why interfere

why despair?

Some days are bad

like today,

I am rollin rollin

going spiral down 

free falling..

Thought to bounce

swaying just pounce

dropping shames…

Whatever happens

will happen.

It’s all God’s will

why interfere?

why despair? 

All I can do

is to just brew

drink or flew

some champagne

bubbles …

You can hold

my hands behold

catch me when I am

free-falling..

kiss me or

miss me…

When swaying

with me swaying

to the notes of

thousand bagpipers

look at my face
feminine, Love, Nature, poetry, woman

Behold darling & just look at my face

Behold darling and just look at my face,
do I need more ruby on the lips?
or need to walk alluring with sweeping hips?

Maybe I should too get bulbous bones fixed!
But love my darling is not a spectacle
No! Love is no rosy cheeks or her
dimpled face.

Poets of past who sighed deep and longed
for the fairer beings all turned blind!
Beauty doesn’t rest under your heels
Lures are not in bosoms but in depths of souls

I can arch my brows high if you feel
but you see you will again run up the hill
to find some jawbones are missing still!

Mistake not my tenderness for frailty
Or mark my words for random triviality!
Let’s not avoid me today as always in haste
Behold darling and just look at my face!

Rose Flower
Love, Nature, poetry, woman

Not Every Floret Is A Rose

To tell you the truth my humble folks

No one ever sang melodies nor I evoke

sighs of love, nor were woven any aching

hymns, no blind poet was ever penning,

 

ballads of mine love, while young lovers

were busy making love under thick covers

I was simply trying to stand my ground

Only trying to nurse some old wound

 

I did have few dry kisses to my share

Enough to call them some sort of affair

To keep the sluggish heart-beating,

And the crimson thin blood gushing

 

For I knew that true love is a luxury

A privilege reserved for not the many

I had vowed my entire life to a service

And all I ever did was the same service

 

Knowing that not every floret is a rose

Some of us are condemned only to compose

Verses of love in the long endless nights

While thinking of kisses in our imaginary flights

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sinful Dips
Love, Nature, poetry, sensual, woman

Sinful Dips

I took sinful dips in vast seas of love embracing

you tightly, with a terror of drowning in the

deep waters of desires, wines from your

lips did wonders for I went and came back

from the hell fires, back and forth taking

sinful dips in the waters of love.

 

Shedding all vestiges of shame, clothed only

in translucent moon-light while holding

you tightly, trying to sooth the amber

of my flesh with your cigar breaths.

 

I performed holy ablutions to wash off any

lingering doubts of cravings, let raven

hair loose to sway in directions unknown,

only to clasp a caress in my nets in the

deepest pits of desires.

 

While softly twirling on the rubenesque flutes

of thirsts, closed my eyes and swam to the

farthest corners of desire to discover a

dated relic of yours resting in the

sea-beds of my whims.

 

Knowing that magical things might happen,

I allowed myself to completely penetrate

in the realms of darkest fantasies to,

accomplish once a flawless rapture of bodies.

 

While you played your wicked games

I let lose more shames just to capture a

whiff of your perfume, to break an ancient

spell of absence while taking sinful

dips in vast seas of love.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

feminine, Love, poetry, sensual, woman

Neat Satin Silhouettes

Neat satin silhouettes
narrates a mundane tale
of tireless nights filled
with loops and knits

Days make sense
doing dirty chores
frantic zig-zag
of mood swings

Mischievous curves
embraces salty sweat
carnal desires rebuked
suffered a psychosis

Psychedelic talks
in realms of fantasy
burden of one ruby
ceases any chance

Refuged in verses
of random erotica
eerie silence
possesses sheets

Gaunt couch
joint residuals

Stale stench 
hovers ceilings 
echoes denial!!

 

 

 

 

absence
feminine, Love, Nature, poetry, woman

Your Absence

My heart aches as

It bleeds drops of

crimson desires while

longing ,a decayed sepia

picture is preserved

in the cris-cross

chambers echoing

a comfort of your

lack, a cold warmth

in your stillness,

neat bed-sheets 

narrate a tale of

extinguished fire,of

broken vows , no

” I love you’‘ or

ever “miss you’

may be it is a

curse that you

only exist in your

absence.

 

desire mightier
feminine, Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Inspiration, Literature, Love, Nature, poetry, Self-Help, woman

No Desire Is Mightier

I know not…

Was it a dream or a drowsy opiate slumber?

As I stood on a tortured sea-shore

and cast my eye on the swollen waves

passionately  kissing my naked feet

making love to me with a brutish force

taking me in its azure vinyl embrace

slowly grasping my flaming flesh with

a fiery I’ve never known before,

an uproar a stir in my fragile body

exhausted since centuries of decay

the foamy saline waters entering in me

through all nook and corners, fissures and holes

mixing in all the violent blues with the

crimson reds, crawling stealthily like million

serpents, wriggling gushing upwards

Oh! a sensation a loud roar within

a rapture somewhere, an euphoric elation

an electric jolt worth thousands bolts!

My enslaved body in an act of consummation

so strong, my heart-ached, soul-shuddered

at the violation so brutal, like a hapless bird

caught in a nib of a savage Falcon from the

far-east, I let it happen without any contest

Why? Because I possessed it too and let loose

the cinders of  ancient fire burning in me

for I didn’t surrender, and let it go on without

a single doubt or shame nor did I curse

the gods above, knowing that no desire is

mightier than the other, for yearnings

have the same frenzy everywhere.

But I know not…

Was it a dream or a drowsy opiate slumber?