He never participated in my life,
I did not participate in his death.

We have come a full circle.
No more debts.

-

Every time you feel the breeze. I shudder.
Every time you feel the scorching sun. I sweat.
Every time your anger consumes you. I curse.
Every time you are insanely happy. I laugh.
Every time you fall in love with another. I blush.
Every time you make love to another. I glow.
Every time you miss me. I feel the pain.
Every time you look at the sky. I count the stars.
Every time you make money. I feel rich.
Every time you jump the signal. I pay the cops.
Every time your 'heart breaks'. I almost die.

Your existence is my celebration.
Live.

~ Jael Varma

-

"Thoughts, diligently crafted into words.
Words,draped in the velvet softness of sound.
Sound - thin slices and floating waves.
Waves,in harmony to sing this sage like emotion I feel,
Me now a consequence of you!"

Until I meet you again and let you change
the dynamics of my DNA and life.

Stardust forever.

~ Jael Varma

-

In the mayhem, in the chaos ,
in the existential crisis, in the love/hate,
in the tears, laughter, in the nonchalance,
aching for death yet living like it’s going to last forever!

In his arms, In ifs and buts,
in his sighs and moans,
In my volatile mood swings, In my secrets,
In my make believe world, in the parallel universe.
In my words filled with silence……

…..I almost die yet I live. I live. I live.

~Jael Varma

-

Shall I wrap my apology on my skin peeling it inch
by inch without anesthesia?
Shall I sell my soul, my hopes,my body,
my dreams, my dignity to buy you an apology?
Shall I travel across the world making murals as my apology in London, Tasmania, Oslo,
in every damn corner.
Shall I metamorphosis into that art you create like a maniac, to burn away at your hand.

Shall I rent every house in your locality and paint
'I am sorry' on each house?


……..read the caption for the rest of the poem.

-

His rejection
doesn't dim my light,
doesn't make me unworthy,
doesn't make me ugly,
doesn't make me seek leftover,
doesn't make me a footrug,
doesn't make me less a woman,
doesn't make me kill myself,
doesn't make me fragile,
doesn't make all men Assholes.

-

Let's go back to the day when we met as strangers.

I will introduce myself differently,maybe with a different
tone, maybe I will smile a little less, talk calmly,
maybe look into your eyes a lot longer, smell more of you.

The day I wrote my first love letter, I should have filled it
with just my kisses,tears, sighs,moans, that ache,
my loudest silence. Maybe, I made a mistake with words, silence would never ever fail.

Oh my psychedelic' let's go back to the time we met as strangers.
And, change the narrative.

~ Jael Varma

-

My poetry for you ;
is a backdrop of luminous glory of scars,
gory and chocolate cake on your spine.

It has the magic of utopian illusion and as trivial as sweat stains on your faded tee shirt with Mozart descending from heaven to play his best music while you sip morning coffee after eating leftover food which tasted a bit like my melancholia.

How can anything be average about you? Even
the way you tie your shoelace is poetry. Your anger is a perfect storm, your smile a shooting star. How can I ask my loins to behave?

The veins which run through you have the grandeur of stardust.
You are the universe in ecstasy.
You are an art in itself, an artist who demands sunsets in a woman's tresses and battleground on her thighs.

~ Jael Varma

-

Afternoon sun peeped through green curtains,
sun rays made my bronze skin glow where you
left trails of love juices.

I lived only where you touched, you seeped
into every corner of my being where we traded
each other's scents permanently.

Time stood frozen until the world curled back into nonexistence. In those moments, I inhaled
your soul from your mouth.

If you want your soul back,
you know where to find it
and how!

~ Jael Varma

-

Give me a man who knocks on my door
at 3 am, dragging me out for a wild kiss, while my mother call the cops!

Give me a man who doesn't smile or laugh, who carries anger as his birthright. As his souvenir. Plots his revenge. The only pure motive of Mankind.

Give me a man who will be cold-hearted enough to hermit to the Scandinavian country to add effect to his mood. A true merciless Viking. A Sadist. Maybe a hopeless Romantic.

-