Friday, May 27, 2016
Winona...
Broken-hearted, lavender sky, drips
amethyst tears on her unstirred lake;
calm eyes, cold breath, unquivered lips,
a breast that love would soon forsake.
Blood-drenched waters, viscous spread,
lachrymose in lilac his half-sobbed sighs,
a heliotrope horizon which for her has bled,
that which trickled from his stilled skies.....
lachrymose in lilac his half-sobbed sighs,
a heliotrope horizon which for her has bled,
that which trickled from his stilled skies.....
SD 07 May
Monday, May 23, 2016
Incommunicado....
Her unforgiving silences, this ever-widening chasm
entrez nous now, an unfathomable abyss;
a mind annexed by her thoughts - heart in spasm.
And wordless lips quiver for her unfound kiss.
Broken bridge of banter, snapped synapse I rue,
absent the giggles, the warm fuzzy she would send;
lost enjambment, the ease with which she would segue
into a vacuous day; brighten, refurbish and mend.
Acrimonious slander, rancid rhetoric to spew,
after her imprecations curdle the ectoplasm,
false ecstasy, neither she nor I could subdue,
there is the unquiet peace of a failed orgasm....
....and this deafening silence anew.
Sunday, May 22, 2016
Billet Doux
Pre-dawn madrigal; tender ache tugs at
faint consciousness of her awakening
on another continental shelf - a dream away.
Awareness of her form stirring, responding to
the tinkle and clunk of the routine and mundane.
Only she could bestow such beauty to this hour.
Strands of auburn, scents of musk, rustle and
rush; the fumble of fingers, the urging, the fuss.
A love past rues in the quietness of its world....
but what better way to start the day?
for k. m.
blends mischief and harsh disdain,
unfeeling, rough-hewn Pygmalion;
she is seraphic in her comport.
Satin skin - her alabaster support,
on a slender frame would purport,
to present an integumentary report,
of all which will unreveal'd
SD 09 May
Saturday, March 14, 2015
for s.b.
undo your hair,
let the bare night embrace
her tchthonic creatures
in slender arms, despair...
unclasp your dress,
let your full breast splay
dark ambrosia to slake my
passion, cause unrest.
for k.p.
bister-haired, her cinnamon eyes
smile, as caramelized lips realize
the pensive pain of puce layered
on skin, shimmers, lambent pumice.
Friday, January 23, 2015
(i)
wood-fires stoke her hair, she is
autumn in every toss of head;
every sprightly patter of feet,
each embrace, every hug,
any delightful time we meet.
Friday, January 16, 2015
Gold ( for J.E. )
All that is stramineous,
runs in crooked, fine, veins
beneath the mantle;
All that is precious above
the vaults, of her daedal earth,
is less compared to the lustre
in her eyes when she smiles.
All that is auricomous,
gathered as ochroid dust,
by her minions, when she in
languid disgust tosses her mane;
sets worlds afire, with nonchalance....
Thursday, January 15, 2015
Lucubration:
Love -
"nights in white satin
( never reaching the end....)"
Faith -
"and you want to travel blind.
and you know that she will trust you,
for you've touched her perfect body
with your mind....."
Conflict -
rejection
and the silence beyond words.
'al di la....'
"nights in white satin
( never reaching the end....)"
Faith -
"and you want to travel blind.
and you know that she will trust you,
for you've touched her perfect body
with your mind....."
Conflict -
rejection
and the silence beyond words.
'al di la....'
Have you heard the mountains cry?
'Tis loaming and an ill-paced sigh
sobs adumbral patterns in gloom,
and rising from the crags on high
a heart-rending sepulchral cry,
as an echo, whimpers to its doom.
From the magma-ocean, mantle plume
rising to cool this febrile core,
as a surge of verse, parsed-pantoum,
like some drama enacted sans costume
wells up in eyes - rolls to the floor...
Labels: Evening, Tears and Echoes
red:
she could have in rufescent breath,
whispered to my world her wish,
let the blush of desire bequeath
to sanguine skin russet relish.
whispered to my world her wish,
let the blush of desire bequeath
to sanguine skin russet relish.
she could have said crimson, kiss'd
the bland waters with life to wine,
or in the throes of passion hissed,
her inflamed need in words carmine.
the bland waters with life to wine,
or in the throes of passion hissed,
her inflamed need in words carmine.
she gets my sanguine pulse to pound,
with rubescent gaze - such nonchalance!
yet like beauty that need not expound
it's suffused worth - feign eloquence
with rubescent gaze - such nonchalance!
yet like beauty that need not expound
it's suffused worth - feign eloquence
red, she says and red aflame, skies, skin
and smooth silk of igneous lips, red akin
to concupiscent end. red to anew begin.
and smooth silk of igneous lips, red akin
to concupiscent end. red to anew begin.
(i)
some alchemy,
in the silhouette and daguerreotype;
caressed by caliginous contours
of plumes,
all negativity turns to light!
(ii)
edge of darkness in
two caliginous corners of the world;
two caliginous corners of the world;
inky midnight - yours,
seductive pre-dawn, mine.
seductive pre-dawn, mine.
gathering desire in lonelier arms...
(iii)
her memories, the shiver of a breeze
on placid lakes where moonshine leaves
imprints, ever lambent, always coruscating.
on placid lakes where moonshine leaves
imprints, ever lambent, always coruscating.
her thoughts, the auburn in her hair,
silken, satin, downy-soft and sanguine;
smooth as wine one in her eye is prospecting
silken, satin, downy-soft and sanguine;
smooth as wine one in her eye is prospecting
Saturday, March 15, 2014
for e.s.s-b
bare-chested seraph,
modest apparel
of auburn curlicues,
on skin kissed by the aurora of
a blessed wind....
she is the aspect in
the eyes of a constellation
of stars, she is the
sensible toil of persecution
and canine commitment.
and all one can woo her for
is the inspiration to subsist....
.....the comity of an age lost.
Friday, January 03, 2014
Wednesday, January 01, 2014
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
new moon:
One image to chain-wheel and drag the day into the night...the quiescent and restful night.
Friday, December 27, 2013
Bar:
....
you never respond....and now these orphaned words will seek a
homeland....much like a troubadour's song, lost over misty dale and
valley...wandering, seeking, ricocheting --- and fading to a dull thump
in the heart of a stout oak...or consecrated to the dust....
....much like all of us will be too, some day.
( the trouble Buddha said was, that we thought we had time!)
....much like all of us will be too, some day.
( the trouble Buddha said was, that we thought we had time!)
Friday, December 20, 2013
nativity:
faith
is not about witnessing
big miracles....
but
about recognizing the
seemingly commonplace
and small ones.
Monday, December 09, 2013
Jewellery (III)....
( a )
Turks:
maroon heads,
fez atop....
her deft fingers set these loose
to maw on this world!
(b)
Chakra:
cinereous,
like the wheel of karma;
simple,
like the laughter in her smoke-filled eyes.
(c)
Dhuaan:
Grey,
gravid and pullulating;
trapped in crystal...
( she calls it light smoke!)
(d)
Mishga:
caked,
like a teardrop her kohl-lined eyes have shed.
...she is often lachrymose at nights.
(e)
Wrist-watch:
bejewelled time fleets
on a chiropteran saddle...
Sunday, December 08, 2013
Jewellery II.......
(1)
planet:
oblate links of polished peers...
(2)
drishti:
her cats-eye
suspended in
tenebrous, kohl-lined frames....
(3)
wine:
frozen burgundy,
welded to twisted chrome...
every addiction needs a fix.
(4)
lachrymose:
dew-drops transfixed in the frosts of time...
or did she again cry thinking of me last night?
Jewellery .....
(i)
thought process:
there was a steely bend
in the path,
just before the emerald teardrop
hung to the lachrymose
sighs in her ears....
(ii)
Unclasp'd:
broken link
in a series of precious events....
crack in a bradycardial heart
- that is where you left.
(iii)
Love kills:
unchained love kills
absolutely....
unconditional love takes a lifetime
to slay the soul.
(iv)
Steerage:
azure oars,
paddle your pinna on course.
Monday, October 07, 2013
six poems ( for n.v.)
(1)
scarlet from hearts that still bleed for her,
ensconced on crimson pouffe tucked
securely on feet that could trample on
hearts that still bleed for her.
if beauty were stern, indifferent, almost cruel,
it would be here on crimson pouffette,
with the fate of lovers, snugly tucked -
aware of the power that beauty can wield!
ensconced on crimson pouffe tucked
securely on feet that could trample on
hearts that still bleed for her.
if beauty were stern, indifferent, almost cruel,
it would be here on crimson pouffette,
with the fate of lovers, snugly tucked -
aware of the power that beauty can wield!
(2)
firm-postured goddess, stretched control,
strange chi breaths the air she is; libertine
suffers images of her - her smile his parole,
(her lips impart intoxication to the wine...)
(3)
A full-cheeked smile,
blooms in the wood-rose browns
of her crown...rappels down the
cream and rose of her skin;
steals quietly into each heart she
inadvertently ensnares....
.....imprisoned in the mysticism of her eyes,
some slave their lives - most in delirious
ecstasy verily survive!
(4)
bright-eyed seraph, auburn flicks on a bare-shouldered fantasy.
most days, elegance needs her smile for definition;
most nights, the stars sleep when she shuts her eyes....!
(5)
gold glitters in chrome and brass;
all that she surrounds with
her glistening smile, falls
ameliorated to the temptation of
congruent black....seduction
squats in skirt on stair - elegance
sighs in obeisance to aphrodites
manifestation
(6)
sassy and defiant,
as if style knows she is beauty,
and beauty bows
subjugated before the stilettoed
tattoos at her feet....
Friday, September 20, 2013
three short poems .... ( for d.d.)
(i)
erect postured goddess,
sequined back strapped and sequestered;
it is the vassal that stoops...
but it is she who will conquer tonight.
*****
(ii)
cummerbund!
the strap that binds,
the bonds that set free...!
*****
(iii)
she is ensconced,
post-box red on purse
and bench....
and her cerise smile ensnares
in mischievous delight!
for c.b. .... ( in life)!
and it seems you are more lost to me,
that having found you as a sentient,
live, breathing, living person,
I somehow lose you;
every hour, every moment -
ironically, to Life itself;
was this the only way we could have met?
divergent paths, askew like an incongruous theorem in Science
...I seem to drift farther from you,
the more I want to get closer....
perhaps we both need to be still for a bit,
hoodwink this passage of time,
pretend we are not.
....in that subterfuge and chicanery,
reach out to the other ---
and for the first time, and finally, be. just be.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
garden seat.....(for d.d.)
seduction basks on a bench
much like summer sunshine
cradled in the arms of autumnal allure....
she is an enchantress whenever she wills it!
impish smile, her gamin good-looks
belie the maturity her Art peaks,
each time her fingers flash more
than mere victory signs.
auburn-haired seraph,
lounges on a bench,
sorrel from the drip-dried magnificence of her hair;
moss gathers stone wall in it's arms
...there is the verdant summer embracing her.
the softness of her form,
the firmness of her throne;
and the beauty the season wears...
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
for d.d. ....(the mask)
hijab of papier-mâché in print;
modesty dons the mask of temptation at times
....she is kind to mortals who
suffer the pangs of separation from her eyes....
her looks are deliverance,
her looks could verily slay!...
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
p.k......much love
Half-moon dangles dangerously from the edge of the
skyscraper, threatening to fall. There is the half-notion that if it
were to slide and shimmy down the edge of the concrete edifice, one
could pick it off the pavement and pocket it like a coin - show it off
like one would a souvenir. There is the thought that if we had indeed
been together last night, her's not mine, ( mine stretches like an
interminable and tenebrous tunnel ahead of me yet ), this very moon
would have danced in her eyes reflected in coruscating whorls through
her bedroom window.
Then perhaps it rained in
her city - who knows. These details we have foregone to discuss and
share like so many other details strangers in an attempt to bridge the
distance do share and exchange with the other. But we do not feel the
need to I know, precisely for this reason. We've never been strangers
you see. I have known her all my life and hers and through each karmic
cycle of our souls. We've met. And though now we blindfolded grope for
the feel of the other, guess the texture and the hue of our form, we
have known each other from one edge of eternity. And, as we hurtle to
the next edge of time, we will continue to know the other completely.
It
is so easy to relate to her I think. It is so wonderful to be here she
admits - 'and whatever it is this thing between us.......'
" humney dekhi hai un aankhon kee mehakti khushboo"
(
I wish we had spent last night together making the tender love you
wanted us to. Cruel of life to disallow that somehow, unfair of Fate and
the Furies to not conjugate that to take place )
Monday, September 16, 2013
Mantra:
pink of the fingers,
rub off on telling obeisance
in beads;
and he in repeated chants,
rose and lunar pearl in succession,
prays for deliverance at her hands.
pink of her fingers....
old songs and nostalgia.....
"let's talk about me for a minute", she said.
so we did. and the minute turned to hours and the hours stretched - till there was nothing more left to say.
so we stopped talking.
and now there is a silence which is neither comfortable nor cumbersome.
like most other things in life, it just is.
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Qnar ....( for k.h.)
ՔՆԱՐ
Her ashough caresses her curves;
marmoreal surface limp in prone latitude
of a more laconic repose. Silent, waiting to sough
and sing, to his touch; peregrinating fingers,
probe and tease her supine, slender arms,
stretched heavenwards as if in supplication.
Eventually his digits will run through her taut strings
deftly, as if an aashiq gently his paramours unravelled
tresses coils - and uncoils, around the assiduous inches
of his nail, and bare-sweating skin.
Troubadour - and his exquisitely crafted lyre,
bewitching when quiescent, enchanting when stirred,
resonating with the tuning-forked vibration
which is still primordial to each universe....
and,
her curves, her caresses, her minstrel-love!
Phantasmagoria ......(3)
....
strangely the thought has been more, 'what did she eat, who with? and if she ate it alone, why would such a lovely person have to do that?' strangely that thread makes me want to be more with you, by your side, holding your hand, arms around your waist, walk besides you....
...or as you lie on the starched and aseptic sheets of your bed, besides you. looking into your eyes as you hold this tablet of connectivity in your hand, a palimpsest of thought mesmerizing the two of us through the haze of this illusion of distance. stare at your face as i am prone-positioned a little lower and on my elbows, admiring the prettiness in the contours of your face, that half-smile threatening to break into dimples - but only just, and the lips that stretch over the crooked-teeth jaw line which I yearn to reach out and awkwardly trace.
my fingers begin their peregrination from the temples, smooth the strands of hair away and stroke your head in soft movements of the hand. remember my hands I ask in the muted glance I glean your way. remember how they felt this afternoon when the hot sun was tanning the alabaster surface of your skin...the way they firmly moved over the small of your back, massaged your bare shoulders, swimsuit undone and hair gathered to one side...remember how they furtively reached lower towards you, threatening to reach over and full-handed grasp you, but some shyness, some bashful impulse merely coquettishly allowing them to linger close to the fleshy mounds of your pleasure...
...but now there is no one to watch, you are alone except for the interloper in your private sanctum you have allowed. i am there with you to keep vigil as you lose yourself to Morpheus' arms. let me reach over and hold the cuteness i see before my eyes all the time in the open-palmed sanctuary of my rough-hewed hands. let me, seduce the last kiss from your lips unhesitatingly offered to me, half-parted and moist, breathing a little rapid, somewhat hastened ...tongue licking the lower lip as i suck on them in turn, gently bite the lower lip first....and then full-mouthed kiss you, lashing your mouth and washing it completely with edacious impulse. groping and probing with my hands, massage you, cupped, full and teased to hardness...
live these fantasies with me if you can....
Thursday, September 12, 2013
for k.h ...( by the riverside )
soft -stepping gazelle,
in woods turning brown;
lambent eyes and
lustrous skin, she wears a diadem
of sorrel keratin.
mottled fingers caress
slender hands, soft like her name,
her lips - and the dulcet tone,
when she speaks in shy,
halting susurrations.
soft curve against the
teak and timber of a
bench, riparian setting;
for pulchritude clothed
in the purple of passion....
...and unclothed by a piercing gaze.
in woods turning brown;
lambent eyes and
lustrous skin, she wears a diadem
of sorrel keratin.
mottled fingers caress
slender hands, soft like her name,
her lips - and the dulcet tone,
when she speaks in shy,
halting susurrations.
soft curve against the
teak and timber of a
bench, riparian setting;
for pulchritude clothed
in the purple of passion....
...and unclothed by a piercing gaze.
To T.....(for mocking love)
What colours do I clothe you in?
pales of rose, sparkle of chartreuse,
fade in the iridescence that your skin
deflects; the pining glow of your blues,
cerulean dreams to weave on satin.
To dress my inamoratas it takes
the furious blush of each rainbow,
the barren winter trees, the lakes,
the brown iris of a bashful doe.
And pinks, that of passion partakes..
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
collar ( for a.g.)
if it were not hurtling at the pace of a comet towards the Shangri-La of intimacy, desire and prurient deliverance, it would be easier to hook one's finger in the metallic ring on the device and meld her existence to my baser needs.
as it stands, it is not and now will never be. it is too serendipitous, too laced with affection, too drawn and affixed to her obvious beauty, to be anything but that obvious and classic non-emotion.
...and now one does not even need a reason to explain to her why. one does not even need to use the crutch of anything but words. what one needs, lies in the dark-ember encased chambers of her eyes.
just her eyes...
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Phantasmagoria ....(2)
If there is any trepidation tonight, it is only that she is not here and that these hours will pass in vacuous venality till such time that her fingers text a message to let me know her intent and the state of her being.
I can only hope she has slept well and is not groggy or light-headed from the delay affecting her sleep pattern from last night. Will she wake with a smile on her lips, or will the heaviness that a lack of sleep can cause will coerce her towards insidious imprecation?
Apart from these there is a strange calm in the air tonight. A mysterious hush that perhaps the soul has missed for such a long time. Despite the passionate exchange of stimulus that she so naturally induces, she is the one who pacifies the aggressor and the wronged in any conflict situation. With me she has shown particular patience, otherwise who woos someone that is so obviously indifferent.
Stale-mouthed kisses in the pre-dawn cerulean-grey sky, the darkness clothing our naked forms. The bed-sheets are already crumpled from the excursions of the evening that has passed. It is as if these were banners to announce our successful and safe return to base. Now all that remains is the final thrust to the summit. Somewhere, not so far away there is the gentle breathing of the lover who cannot describe what it is between us, and rightly so, for the unconditional love we seek is not always describable in formulae or dissertation. As I explain to her, Love is an Absolute, like any other Absolute, it thrives on completeness - mind, body and soul.
I marvel at how well our curves fit, how snugly when we lie next to each other every cardioid pattern of her body and mine in harmonious expiation seeks its own shape. My hands hold her face up to mine, even as she protests being woken up so without warning and being asked to finish what an amateur had started. Stale-mouthed kisses at the very time the brahmmuhurat is passing, a gentle fondling in the dark to inveigle her into intimate incursions.
I cannot ignore the animal-like magnetism in her eyes, the come hither look that she flashes in parsimonious currency to the selected few who can satiate her - hers to chose whom to bestow upon the favours of an eternal paradise.
Stale-mouthed kisses.....the osculating of her lips, pressed and parted by the movement and the squirming under the onslaught of suggestion and devices of seduction. Licking her was always the best possible option she could have wrought. The lapping tongue neatly gathers the trails like a woodman gathers firewood in his hands before depositing it on another trestle.
And since this is what remains to be described, we will unveil the piece left us by the afternoon - till then the stale-mouthed kisses would have scrubbed and foregone their present condition and become a pared and parceled set for her smile to enhance.
Monday, September 09, 2013
When you start understanding what the other is saying ( a little more each day ),
does it not mean that they become less of strangers - a little lesser, each day?
for c.b. ( ...and unrequited love )
(1)
An aeolian enterprise;
perse-tinged zephyr,
the caliginous expanse
of night’s tresses pester;
coruscation in her eyes,
sculpt each venial qafir
to a penitent impasse;
as softness of lips whisper,
plot a subfusc surprise….
(2)
she is the effulgence in the
gathering gloom of loaming,
the scintilla of shooting stars
in the crepuscular and chthonic;
she is beauty, shimmering sylph
of a supernal arcadia…..
…..she is the dark, seductive night.
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