A question from the future

Text

Oak caress.
Cutlery slides riverside. Tree felling
burns shards of heart
Mirrored, the hidden twists and turns.
Door lock heavy, open plan, and doors hanged.
Lover on the sofa, soft.
Breaking expressions, observing encoded
Stranger.
White emulsion thermostat
Doorknob metal hook rounded,
The tin front demonstration,
Media art.
Close by small conversation
And see-through smiles.
What does it mean, the content and touches
Sound and slides of hand.
Spirits dance outside
The open field of fairy circles and blades
Or meadow brown crop moss
Winged and pointed ears sing church bell haunt
Soul to soul, true kisses and butterfly touches
Rhythmic and drumming
Pulling me in, a cry of tingles inside
She waits for our shadows
Handheld to the singular leaf moving. Whispers of
Lovers entwined.

An adaptation. just fables upon lid roofs
And memorized cables.
Human breath blowing lounge dust, rinsed of magic
And kissing dreams.
Pillowcase awaits falling of hair,
Grips and weight.
Measured in here and now,
Short stares and empty gasps.
A partner glances with open face,
Generous style, important as oxygen
Or inhalation, smokey euphoria
Calming years of fear shaky as another, please.
Arm Bones rattle back and forth
Like a phone alarm blaring,
Another Thank you rears the calm
And jump stop.

Consequences flood. Bodies bodiless –
Kisses diseased, just a graveyard
Bleeding arrangements.
Aura swirling heart senses
And happily ever after.
Meadow fences like barge intensity,
Naturally bowed,
Decor applied by brush or countryside.
Emptiness looms an error collected
Like the cutting of cocaine
Chemical in the cupboard kept quiet.
Addict hell, stripped to tears.
Street value or thick gratitude
Legs and knees.
Temple ride across the room
Selective static a friend
At work, shooting sparks
Gender reverse.
Vodka top tumble
Spin by the window,
Cozy motor flip and lift
Missing another hit.

Fence slit masquerade
Holding a shaded
Back garden ballet.
Bluebell bomb, splashes
Stretched into lengthy sheets.
The meadow palette
A love to remember
Song quiet against this dell.
You talk in lace pirouettes
Hidden in the shadows.
Hide and seek,
High space peek
Empty soak
bleached by an earthy spectrum
Green upon harmonics
Natural. A run of notes
Upon stepped echoes, shuddering
The scene hit and bounce
Heart to heart and
Lingering smile as if that scent
Snuck for minutes.
Back to the wall, red brick horizon.
Your song. Blaring circle
Or a hug under clothing
That holds our tingle
Yearning like pine trees.
What to watch,
Lush and soft on spring sunshine
Warming a damp on bones.
Lips and thighs, whisper-soft
As strokes. Thoughts
Turning to glassy wings
Dancing, hand outstretched
Laughing she comforts
With self-explanations.
Maternal sway, crisp green and brown
Towels of leaf fall
Soaked dusk heat dampening
Shirt, trousers, and drumming
Her love affair mystic
And true, oak gnarled with age
And beauty blessed by its wooded mosaic
Pieces square and loose
Lifted by compositions hidden.
Dreamy belief and lips for me
Waiting at every drift
Pink and parted kissing
Through stillness or tears
A longing cut like debt or tobacco remnants,
Turning away towards a home.
House haunted by someone’s belongings
And a rucksack unsettled
Dirtied by dead pavements solid in a see-through
Cage.

Picture by Thaibaud Faix (Unsplash)

Steel Yourself

Steel yourself, for the tide will ebb and flow, 
Not to lunar dispositions
But to the gravity of the sorrow in your heart.

Stand steady, for if not they shall sweep you away
Overwhelming, they will hold you close
And drown you in their embrace.

Stay strong, for only will and fortitude
Shall stay these resilient waters
From breaking through and flooding your core.

Be wary, for the tide is certain to swallow you,
And there is little you can do,
But decide to go in pieces or whole.

Picture by Tim Marshall (Unsplash)

WINTER’S parent

‘CRUX’ OF OUR ‘CREDIBILITY CRESCENDO’!

“At times, try as we might, we are hardly ever taken seriously!”
As go voices of a few in a group tackling this issue very assiduously!
Some of these tips here, would guide all along such an arduous pathway
Helping with presence of mind to get led to that ‘path-breaking’ doorway!!
Let’s begin ensuring credibility – through our steady-build-up of ‘assertiveness’
Question-like-statements don’t work – just get caught, with some ‘attentiveness’!
Our Stories influence, create greater impact than “mere reporting”, as they say;
So, let’s come well-prepared; with our homework – on ‘what’ we, on table lay!
Staying informed helps avoid ‘deer-in-headlights-situation’- amid a group
While others’ presentations could well make us feel like a ‘nincompoop’!!
Great are ‘strategized show stoppers’ – like ‘Power-pose’; ‘Dress-sense’
Greater still is our ‘personality-inside-out’; our ‘inner’ magnificence!
Great would it be to have others speak up first; their stories untold
Greater insights pour in as brighter ideas and newer facts unfold!
Grapevine floating around is apparent when we are ‘in the loop’
We’re ‘abreast of what’s happening’; dynamics of the group!
Also, let’s believe in ourselves, a faith no one can ever shake
With our ‘courage’ and grit’ no one can away from us take!
The ‘Respect’ we cherish and seek from all; everyone around
Is more in our heads; “mental constructs” – does this astound?!
We however fail to place ‘respect’ wherever actually ‘due’ from us
As we simply rush to judge, based on our ‘very-first-impression-fuss’!!
So – summing up, ‘self-confidence’ is great; ‘Over-confidence’ does camouflage
Even as we try to begin settling; repositioning ourselves in our ‘Sought-after-entourage’!!

Picture by Amanda Lins (Unplash)

sometimes the truth is so simple it hurts

Sometimes the truth is so simple it hurts,
Because your mind wants to believe anything but,
Fabric the ways it could be happening,
The ways you let yourself conjure and create,
Sometimes wishing it we true just so you could breathe ‘I was right’,
Then knowing you’d never want that wish to come true.

Sometime the truth is simple,
Laid out before us in reason and logic,
Leaving no room for your mind to intervene,
But it’s not you mind you’re worried about,
It’s your emotional heart and the nasty things anxiety makes up,
Sometimes the truth is laid before you with nothing to intervene,
Yet you still manage to find ways to match it to your own truth.

Sometimes the truth is simply the truth,
And what you make of it,
Take your truth and make it your own
Stick to it so no other may shake your core,
Because sometimes the truth is so simple it hurts.

Picture by Daniil Kuzelev (Unsplash)

privilege and what came after

RELATIVE yEARS

We toasted our first year with glasses of tap water
And discussed our plans at length.
We marked our calendar
And wrote down other particulars in our diaries –
Height, weight, Color of eyes at dusk,
The number of finger-steps from your breast to belly button…

You started losing pages
From your loose-bound diary from the second year.
We measured the duration we could stare into the others’ eyes
And made plans to make rose wine.

A very long monsoon set in the third year
It stayed till year five!
You lost a few more pages from your diary
When the river beneath our bed overflowed.
I started to grow a small rose bush.

Fourth year saw our room damp and we burned frankincense.
Small dots of mould grew on the my specks
We skipped breakfast and ate a lot of eggs.
You purchased a new diary –
Meanwhile my roses thrived!

You were away, a lot, the fifth year.
We met in between weekends and beds –
Sometimes between moonset and dawn.
I made the wine mixture and stored it in ceramic jars.

The rains stopped the next year
And you were home a lot more –
We kept bumping into each other
And used the word excuse-me extensively.
We threw out the old bed; bought a new one –
And started to miss the old one soon afterwards.

The seventh year we sipped from the aging wine.
We made short toasts and sat down to long breakfasts
We gazed at each other over plates of pretty poached eggs –
The dark glassy spot in your pupils,
Where once I saw my face was now hidden by
Yellowing dots of drying mould on my specs
While you stared at a bee
Ruminating on my left glass frame; preparing to fly soon.

We had forgotten to turn the calendar
still set on a day seven years ago.

Picture by Eric Rothermel (Unsplash)

Oblivion

Will you forget?
You ask.

Haven’t you?
Already?
All the things we had, all the things we dreamt to be?
But I don’t really say all that.
I look into your eyes.
All I see, is fear. Fear of not being so loved.
Fear of not finding love again.
More so of not being given attention to.

You see,
Memories have been made.
Soon this conversation will be a memory too.
It depends on you, if you want to keep them alive.
Alive?
Our promises?
I’m asking far too much, ain’t I?
You hold me,
In your arms.
Cold heart, but warm arms.
It feels like walking on hot sand,
And freezing your fingers.
You whisper,
It’s going to be okay
I’ll be gone
You won’t remember any of this.

I smile.
Trying to convince me or yourself?
Tell me now,
Tell me quick.
Will you? Forget it all?

I feel your hands turning cold
And my fingers becoming numb.
I ask you,
Should I?
You look at me
Not really surprised,
Smile, as your tears roll down your cheeks.
And whisper,
Oh, I love you!
Damn.
I rephrase my question now,
Shall I?

Picture by Alice Alinari (Unsplash)

Burn Out

Simmer down.
What burns bright,
Burns out.

Ablaze and intolerant;
Nothing survives its wrath.

From places afar,
It’s light invites,
Those escaping morbid winters.

Frost and darkness,
Take many lives,
And those who still survive,
Travel to any emerging light.

They arrive,
And accept heat and shelter,
Heap praise over fires,
Burning bright,
In the middle of unforgiving nights.

In its comfort,
They rest.
Lay down their guard;
They close their eyes;
And never open them again,
To see the winter end.

Before the night,
Welcomes dawn,
The fire engulfs,
It’s grateful patrons.

In their sleep,
They are taken.

It’s victims,
Fuels it.
And so, it remains ablaze,
Luring more fleeing,
Captives of winter.

So, stay away from luring lights,
Build your own fires,
Survive the winter,
Not just solitary nights.

And soon,
The demon,
Will simmer down,
Burn bright
And then Burn out.

Picture by Maria Pop (Unsplash)