So it happened after a fight,
Her anger was loudly alight,
I pushed a chocolate bar,
Spotting her mouth ajar,
She choked, her wrath soared,
As the petty words roared,
Zapping through her scary flips,
I leaned and kissed her unruly lips,
She was taken aback and so was I,
We got naked to let the fervor fly,
I grabbed, praised her in a wild exclaim,
She snogged, setting the urges aflame,
The utensils kept flying hither thither,
We magnetized, as our skins withered,
She had been refurbishing the house all day,
Now, she moaned, the house in disarray,
The kitchen, the bedroom and the halls,
Trashed away with our thrusting hauls,
The chocolate taste had melted away,
She stared at me in a distraught sway,
I picked her up and lowered near the tub,
Then bathed her with a pool scrub,
She awwed, tossed me aside and ran off,
Came back with chocolates, kisses kicked off,
Her warm mouth and chocolate trickles,
Marched them back, my sensual tickles,
It started again, our lust, our enthusiasm,
A fight, a kiss, a bath and a noisy orgasm.

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The night, fuelled with your gasp,
Your body, fondled in my clasp,
The leaves, rustled around you,
Your eyes, glittered the lunar blue,
The tight embraces elevated our senses,
As I swallowed your moaning dispenses,
Your hair swayed and swung and swirled,
My life trailed away from the world,
Our entwined lips kept withering away,
At the soaring zeal that the tears portray,
Your lustrous bites didn't sting at all,
As I hauled you up, the bedroom wall,
Your legs shiver and embrace with wild exclaims,
As I paint the wall, with you and our wild flames.

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Nostalgia; an alluring state of human sentimentality wherein
the thoughts of an individual are teleported back to the
extinct and ecstatic moments of the past. Something, as
small as a dusty pencil, left under the wardrobe, could
spiral you back to those days of timidness, when,
you refrained from approaching your childhood
crush. A clamoring child, a tricky teenager
and an evolved adult possess expanding
amplitudes of memories, while a shrinking
elder, drifting away from the niceties of life,
is bombarded with those forgotten
memories by a sentient scent
called

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Guilt; a delicate stigma of remorse that differentiates humans from animals. The phobia of guilt is hardwired in hospitable humans that they refrain from pursuing an immoral road. Relationships hoist the most relevant guilt. An elder, having treaded through all the music of life, gazing at a vintage photo of her deceased partner, feels the most intolerable guilt as she gulps down the possibility of that argument she could have avoided, his quiet patience all those years, her meaningless tantrums, his warm touch, her wrathful words and his kind eyes browsing through her sinful spirit. They become more susceptible to illness and death when they wander through the guilty lonesome corridors of their broken relationships.

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An unsolved absurdity of the prevalent cultural dogma drives some of the Indian parents to presume that interlocking rich men with their half educated daughters will automatically spawn love between the two.
Brothel owners cough at such a pitiful sight.

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Smile; a cordial way of transferring the inner ecstasy to the outside world. When a jolt of thoughts escalate the mood of a person, the facial muscles diverge involuntarily to finalize a grin. The only airborne, visually stimulating and audibly endearing feeling in this world is a smile. Females, madly in love, smile occasionally thus inducing a warmth in him. That's why, those romantic stories, written with a male perspective, always begin with her captivating smile.

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- Harish Satheesan

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Cradle; a rocking cushion bed for an infant, considered to be the most cherished piece of furniture in a home. It houses the pivotal moments of a baby's commencing months outside the mother's womb. The cribs of a cradle are often rattled by the babies in their hours of hostility. The tiny clawed portions inside the cradle remain hallmarks of memories for the parents. If the cradle had the inherent capacity to hold memories, then, the father's funny clatters, his whispers, his random talks about mommy, his safe pranks and the mother's concerning moans, their unkempt hair, their quiet stares and those ingenious smiles under sleepy sloppy eyes, would make the cradle the most emotional non-living thing out there.

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Gratefulness; a soaring step towards optimism, which governs the indisputable meaning of our existence. A hardcore pessimist, cowering under the maladies of life, will be whiplashed into an aura of perceptional assertion when an unexpected generosity is sprinkled upon the individual. The hospitality of the doer hails and wraps the pessimist into a cordial coziness. A grumpy elder, an energetic child and a malicious murderer will grin uniformly with gratitude at this friendly doer too. Take any amiable family, the father lunges himself into a pledged endeavor to earn a strong livelihood right after the first childbirth, why? An unwavering unfading gratefulness towards her.

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- Laboni Paul & Harish Satheesan

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