Like a goddess
In the altar of unrestraint love
I wait for your impassioned prayer
O my darlin' devotee !

Offer everything at my radiant lotus feet
Crave for a single touch of my dainty fingers
Wish with your whole hankering heart that
I let you embrace the most ethereal me

I'm a goddess
Descended from the welkin of fantasmic urges
Only to accept blue-grey waterlilies of your desire
And in return, I'll rain on you inflammable pleasure

Until carnations of crystalline caim bloom all over you
Having anointed your burning limbs with the salve of satiation
Let me disappear back into the starlight of untamed flames
While you fall into a senseless slumber in post-coital bliss

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Things by myself
Strictly, at my own pace


.




That doesn't mean
I should be left alone

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Sensibilities don't rush away like those sceneries. Once felt, it burgeons into scars, both visible n' invisible to the naked eyes. Unlike this view that speeds away in a flash,
moments have made a graveyard inside this frore-wed heart.

She leaned on to the window seat, blind to the nuances dragged off by the rushing space and bound to the hallucinogenic memories. Neither time nor the zephyr
could recreate the sensation of some wild caresses.

Wild in the sense, unbounded. Hence, untouchable in real time. What is tangible, but the bumbs on the cover-ups ? She has buried years under the rug of the present.
She keeps accumulating the dust of the future on it.

Senses don't get tamed by instruments of physical world, when one is lost in the past. In the pages of purgatory, if it is the last thread of custody, one does not wish for heaven. There's no past, present or future. She is alive only where it hurts, no 'when' exists.
Because it is a timeless void.

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Screams and shouts that replaced laughters
and giggles now yearn to die down into quietus.
Their eyes don't meet to smile, lips don't curve
to kiss. White painted walls have become
prison-like. Grey tears leak the
roof of togetherness.

Two hearts missed a beat somewhere between
the song of love. Either can't place their voice
in tempo. Stubbornly keeping parallel, when
all they wanted to do was crash and
fall onto each other.

Then one day, the storm gave way to flooding.
Red eyes and trembling lips confessed every
mistake and misunderstanding. Till apologies
surfaced, wanting love to rain once again.

Today, in the silence of understanding, they
whispered prayers into each other's lips.

-

Noon sun is a saffron ball of fire
Licking up every bloom in me towards a pyre
Once upon a time, my petals were ivory pure
Now they're vermillion-wounded, without a cure

-

Blossom marigolds of magnanimity
In this beating heat n' burning sweat

Unfurl poppy petals of peace in the
Path of self exploration n' destiny

Offer mayflowers of wisdom at the
Foot of my wandering thoughts

And be another spring of poetry
To my barren heart of hankering

-

Friday wears the anklets of fun
To dance to the groovy beats
Of the ensuing weekend

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Birthday candles were her childhood craze. Blowing the lighted candles on the cream cake after a secret wish was the most fascinating thing ever. She waited for that special moment every year and reserved a wish for the same. 

Her grandma, who is used to the traditional ways of life, at times expressed her disagreement with this celebration.
" Ours isn't a tradition of blowing out the light. We light up a lamp and recite a prayer instead. You can have the cake after that too." 

As a kid, she didn't give it much thought. But as she grew up and life kept falling into darker pits, she found it absurd to wipe out any light at all. T'was on a birthday after her grandma's demise that she decided to follow her way. 

And it felt incredible to experience a change that has roots in her past. Every birthday since then has been a silent promise to cherish her roots. And along with that a loud promise of love towards a precious bond that stays strong even after death.

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"I'm the blush of sin and the blood of the sane."
Echoed a velvety voice from my dining room. I scanned around but couldn't find the culprit. I was home alone and my mind voice was telling me to have some much-needed sleep.

"I'm the aurora of enlightening thoughts and the twilight of all doubts."
Again the voice echoed. From the periphery of my vision, I noticed a slight movement in the fruit basket. An apple was slowly rolling down from the top of it to the edge of the table.

"I'm the saviour of fragile sensibilities and the annihilator of self-loathing."
The apple voiced staring into my eyes, tilting a side up as if it had a face. Now I'm beyond shocked. Why is an apple talking to me and how is it able to, in the first place ?


Continued in Caption...

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My story starts with a song that echoes the singularity of my being. Aurora sings enchanting hymns and paints a picture of saffron serenity on a slumbering welkin. From its cover of silver clouds and vermillion gulmohar, a lazy sun wakes up to greet the wishful world. My wistful heart jumps up with a startle to the rooster's call and hurries to peel the day into deeds. Today, like every day, the cascade of pearl drops is scarce. And I only have my kitty, the obsidian void with eyes of thunder and brains of powerhouse, to complain to. Summer's fry pan is hot as hell and twittering sparrows await an interval of rain. From consumption to utility, I've been pushing days from dawn to dusk, counting every drop as an ocean. In the hope that today will be the last of struggles. Tomorrow might be the lucky day that would elevate my story with the endearing offer of an unexpected monsoon. So my story continues, the red of caution buzzing as close to me as my bucket of blessings.

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