Pillow Poetry

Let me lay with Sleep-
He is the last man who shall claim me tonight.
I have grown weary of
Twirling around
The heart that is clung to the hem of my skirt,
The other that is snagged in the train of a stocking,
And another unhung from the strap of my bra
Black with the secrets of a million humiliations.
Only Sleep can quieten this whore of words
And bleed the tongue of all language but Truth.

To an Ancient Love

I have taken a step ahead
With your heart still freshly shattered
Beneath the other foot.
Mercy begs my many graces
To cite to our verses
In the bibliography of
My well drawn out second Act.
Your Gospel by which
My eyes were raised in Womanhood
To meet a life that was once meant for us-
A life I now spend in another man's arms
And call it home.
I have taken a step ahead
With your heart still freshly shattered
Beneath the other foot-
With this I shed the memory of all the pain,
With this the bliss tinted Polaroids will also fade.
I leave you only with words
Like a fallen husk
When the seed is lost.

Atop a Cloud of Pillows

With the silvery pale moonlight
Twisting like ribbons through the leaves,
Binding us to be one
Under the sheltered canopy-
Where our love
Is neither a secret nor a song
But just the truth
Stealing itself into
The corners of our smile.

The Unborn Devastation

Meet me at the crossroads of lust and hate

For an object I so desire must chain me.

Cast away your soul and breath

And come only with the weaponry of your trade.

Be unfeeling when I am not chaste

Lest my broken clockwork tick again

And race to keep pace with the life that has flown by

And bear witness to the performance of

Forgotten black angels in their hypnotic masque again

And string all their words in unbearable poetry. 

Meet me at the crossroads of lust and hate

And cast away all that I desire of you.

Be the faceless stranger with the weaponry of his trade

So when I meet my death, you can go your way. 

Meet me at the crossroads of lust and hate

But do not bring your love

I do not know which road to take. 

Written on 8 February, 2013

My polyglot pen tries to make
Several points
On the even surface of
Unwritten paper.
It hasn't got the same effect
For it whores around the whole surface,
Bastardizing various tongues
(Mostly South Indian).
All words break loose
When the good Indian woman's bun
At the nape of my neck
Tumbles down.
Sense can only be
Sieved in the kitchen. 

Sleep and Hunger

My tummy's a-rumbling, rushing

Into mid-day with

Last night's dreams still in tow

Between sleepy lashes

Of mine eyes.

I can only collect

Falling dew

On tip of my tongue

As visions of you

Melt and leak

Out my head

Down the tip

Of my nose.

I might eat your

Candy-cane fingers,

Blue water-apple face,

Eye-balls on a lollipop,

Shred strawberry centred

Marshmallow tongue,

And slurp

The cappuccino cloud hair.

Lemongrass: A Cyber-Space Freshner

The words jump out and glow extra bright-
I imagine the satellite shoot at me.
The internet is fascinating!
My laptop is bright red!
The fall-rise tone of a new notification
Is the only acknowledgement of my cardiac arrhythmia.
His blog is a two-way mirror
That I'm on the wrong side of.
I'm fan-girling like a twelve-year old,
I have that minor-celebrity crush thing happening.
Mama told me not to talk to strangers on Facebook
But what if I really want to get tangled in an elaborate web, world wide?

I will never know how green his blue jeans are
And he won't see how my bed is a chocolate wrapper junkyard
But our IM smells like lemongrass.