abstract painting
life, Love, Nature, poetry

Self-Love

Why crave that random

love, when we have

this Self-Love.

Is there not a dignity, in

claiming the love which

is ours and belongs

to us.

countdown
Literature, Nature, poetry

Countdown For The Day

Morning sun shone
in its full glory. 
Coffee quarrels 
and stiff body.

Artificial catnap, 
guess sleep-aid pills;
again did it’s wonder.

Neighbor’s black poodle, 
Vanity lazing on mosaic porch
Lusting a blooming orchid
licking edges of master’s fingers…

Spray roses with no
fragrance hung neatly 
in cheap Edwardian vase
on a yellowish marble mantle

Incoherent gibberish bla bla
of quirky Morning shows 
incredulous laughter
delinquent  sarcasms

Countdown begins 
midst sips of sooty coffee.
Quality of life measured by
barrage  of human folly…

life, Literature, Love, poetry

The Black Art by Anne Saxton

A woman who writes feels too much,
those trances and portents!
As if cycles and children and islands
weren’t enough; as if mourners and gossips
and vegetables were never enough.
She thinks she can warn the stars.
A writer is essentially a spy.
Dear love, I am that girl.

A man who writes knows too much,
such spells and fetiches!
As if erections and congresses and products
weren’t enough; as if machines and galleons
and wars were never enough.
With used furniture he makes a tree.
A writer is essentially a crook.
Dear love, you are that man.

Never loving ourselves,
hating even our shoes and our hats,
we love each other, precious, precious.
Our hands are light blue and gentle.
Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.
But when we marry,
the children leave in disgust.
There is too much food and no one left over
to eat up all the weird abundance.

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, 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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harp's Nylon Strings
Books, Love, poetry

Words Never Fail

I’ve filled the voids of my soul with

slants of words, the curvatures of

alphabets to gratify the endless

nights of effervescent

passions.

 

In the deepest abyss of malevolent

nights, I’ve implored the meanings

of your desertion through the

arches of letters.

 

The denied kisses through the

strokes of symbols, the dearth

of touch with caresses of

half-formed letters on crisp

blank papers.

 

At times I am riding on scripts

while others overwhelmed

under their weighty connotations,

you see my love words 

never fail!

 

For they can fill up empty papers,

hinge together differing

borders, like the elastic  

ropes you can stretch

them to suit bleak

realities of life.

 

 

feminine, Humour, life, Love, Nature

Miss That Girl

I miss that girl who,

would run wild, and

was always ready to

smile without  breaks.

She loved without care

When the things 

got tougher simply

cried her heart out.

and life would get 

straight again, ideals

were lofty , heels

higher and memories

ran sharper, food

was always warm 

and drinks forever

bubbling…

Now many springs

later that girl

seek reasons to 

laugh, tears don’t

descend to heart’s

desire, lovers have

gone senile, running

requires plastic knee-

caps and heels are

trimmed to two inches

mark ,forgetfulness is

the way of busy life,

while food requires

a careful watch, the

bubbling drinks be

better left off…

Life might never be

straight again ….

I miss that girl!

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?