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Posts Tagged ‘Love’

Yes, I said, many times over
I know not what direction
My love will take
And in what ways it will express
Itself in time.

For love is a visitor
residing in us in many forms
fluidly traveling in directions
beyond our control.

What if –
What I feel for you is love
Not caged in the boundaries
Of our bodies?

At one time
We made love in darkness
Pulling the curtains over
So that only our bodies
Expressed what we felt in our hearts.

Then, we made out
In broad day light
When both of us could see
each other’s bodies and face
We had moved from darkness to light we said.

But now sitting in Silence
over distances
when we both can see
only the impression we made on camera
posted on Facebook…

What if
With our eyes closed
over distances
with neither our hands
or our legs intertwined
we still do what we used to do
In darkness and in light of day…

What if
As pure energy
we still meet
In spaces that defy
Boundaries and definitions …

Would our orgasm
be tremours that last forever
and eternity?
Or would our energies commune
In silence while we sit still
Grasping each other in our thoughts
And say,

We made love.

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The sun didn’t shine for me
Daddy the last three days
The wind was just too cold
I thought of you and I tried to cry
But tears didn’t come to me
Like frozen icicles
They hung in the window
Of my heart
She said no daddy
I thought of you once more.

I could have been wrapped up
In your tender arms
I could have waited
For her to say yes
But once a no
Shuts out the heart
The key is lost in time.

I could have waited for you
Daddy, to hold me tight
She said no
This wintry night
Its blazing winters
Inside my soul
Although I am told
The sun has just come out
Daddy, I am so cold.

And angry

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Rain drenched forests

And reasoned roads

Lead to anti-thesis of goals


It might have rained emotions

All night through

The rain drenched

Leaves of the mind look

Fresh and green

But reasoned roads

Colour the vision

To the hues of sunset

At early dawn

Alas! Rain drenched forests

And reasoned roads

Lead to anti-thesis of goals

*Sigh*

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Many years ago, the man who took me to do Copy at his agency, turned out to be a man of deep emotions. As much as he was his father’s pet and had spent a sizable amount of time, loafing around in different family businesses, he finally deserted it all to start out on his own. Together with a childhood friend he opened an agency which had ready clients from all segments. Naturally he did not have to do the licking arse kind of stunts because all our clients were in some way or the other related to his family.

Our agency was perpetually full of slender women with beautiful looks with high ambitions. Most of them were very professional too. Many of them found me their engagement outside the boss’s cabin and they sat and chatted with me forever. Among them were many who finally landed films and then forgot their small days as aspiring models in an advertising agency.

Among those of us who were working there, was one smart little lady, who knew how to get her way with the boss. She came in with a recommendation and quickly took up to habits that you wore to prove you were like ‘different’. She wore her sari low, exposing a milk white midriff and she wore her lips red, blazing red. And between her lips she always hung a Marlboro or a State Express, because the boss smoked 555. The aroma in the office was State Express, and our poor Five Square Kingsize took a real beating.

She hung around with the boss after hours while the Receptionist went off with clients. That dirty old Gupta of Meera Cookware was forever cooking up dates with her. In fact, he really cheated on us, because, he used all the ladies and took them to his pleasure chambers but returned with nothing for the agency.

One day the boss called me in. He said that the copy i wrote for Meera was great but the executive on the job killed it with her juices. I was aghast!

“I would have thrown her out,” he said, ‘had she not broken into tears and pleaded that, indeed, it is she who felt used, destroyed. I can’t bear to see women in tears.” He ended, looking at me seriously.

My mind went back to the tears my woman had shed, on the day we were leaving each other after nine months of loving each other. I remembered the tears remained like a patch on my white shirt of the school uniform and how, I never gave it for a wash, thereafter. How I would hold the shirt against my cheek as if I was holding her.

“I can’t bear to see women in tears, too.” I agreed.

My first boss and I shared a lot more between us. I was his kid – the cub copy writer in his first agency. It was my first job too.

 

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You can’t talk to a wall, for a long time, because, it does not talk back to you. To have communication, you need interaction. You need to give and receive, both.
There are however, times when things just become something you can call a shrouded rejection. It is like a moon, that is there in the sky but you can’t see it because it is covered by a cloud. It is not as if it is not there; the truth is it is there, but it is also a truth, that you can’t see it. No matter what the reason is, there is a wall between you and the other. And you can’t talk to the cloud, the shroud, the wall. It only absorbs and gives nothing in return.
There is a deception in place. The illusion of the moon, behind the cloud, is an illusion, so long as the moon does not show up in front of it. The existence of the moon, is a supposition, the reality in the face is the cloud. So which are we to assume, is real and which false?
There is one sure reality check. Get behind the cloud. Is there really a moon, or standing in front of the cloud, there is only the illusion of an existing moon?
Get real. If there is no moon, there is no rejection, not even a shrouded one. So don’t hang out there staring at what is not there. Instead, you have a whole world on the other side, the side you are not looking at, the side which is looking at you from behind and saying –
“You can’t talk to the wall, all your life. You brain will become hollow. Exchange is like two cups of tea standing next to each other – you pour some in one and then another and you drink of both.”
*sigh* What goes out comes around! Even rejection!

 

 

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I need a shower of poison
A shower of love
That blinds me
Binds me
Kills me
To my old self
I need a shower
Of yantras-mantras
A deep schism to fill
So deep
That it can pour out the hell –
The flesh burning
Passion licking the sky
Of my innards
I need the shower of poison
In my bones
To release me from purgatory
Of body yelling for
A release

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What is this power you require
to get out of yourself
in a relationship
with yourself, in the other?

 

What is the speed you require
to crash land in the aerodrome
within yourself, without hurting yourself?

 

What is the power you need
to unfasten your own belt
and dare to throw yourself
to gravity, from sky high?

What is the escape velocity
you need to leave behind the shackles
that you choose to bind yourself with?

 

She has not said yes, nor has she said no; she has not accepted, nor has she rejected; she has not been there, nor has she not ventured away from it; I wonder, why my patience is running low, my anger rising…

 

Love is, but a happening; it is not in our hands to decide whom and where. Why am I aching for her, when she has neither said yes, nor looked away, to indicate she does not care?

 

I saw the first shivers on the lace curtains on my door. I trembled in my heart. I waited. I stood on my toes, lest my heels make too much noise. I dared not look behind for fear that what I feel is only the appearance of my shadow self and not her, whom I want so deeply.

 

Not her, whom I want so deeply, so absolutely, so wholly; her, who sits on my eyelids when I sleep and watches me in my dream. Her, whom I desire so deeply, , I see her peeping through the crevice in the wall  – who is this other I seek, who is she, my alter ego, my shadow self, so silent, I fear she may hear my subdued breath ….and flee!

 

Hush, my little heart, stay quiet, even if you know, it is she, who I am waiting for, who has arrived.

 

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