Wednesday, 6 May 2015

Through The Looking Glass...


"I know the feeling of it stealing life out from under me."
The lyrics played on softly in the background,
In a place and time where I am not entirely sure I was.
Jon Bunch crooned on about I noticed not what.
For I was in a time that had slipped right through the gaps of my fingers like sand;
The clinging grains a reminder of a regret I probably should have.
But the flickering flames of lessons learnt melt away any lingering doubts.
I see your face, and your face, and your face,
Here and yet not here, as I reach for it...
Smoke dissipating at my touch.
Reality is merely an illusion, a figment of one's imagination;
Or is it?
A howl echoes through the distance,
Echoing again, only closer.
The wind is deafening.
Her tears of woe kiss the parched ground vengefully.
One, and two, and three, and never pausing for a sob
She lets them fall.
Fall into the embracing limbs of some ground
To make love so sweet that the clock stops
Ticking for a moment
As my lungs consume
Greedily, hungrily, lustfully,
The balmy innocence that lingered on
In the cradling arms of the roaring air
Of that sultry night.
Of this sultry night, that caresses me like a lover would,
I can say that such revelations are tabooed.
Tabooed for a reason.
Men must not ever bare their souls,
Honest and pure as the dark night skies.
For even the night skies are only so grim when the clouds come gathering,
And hide from vision that which lies beyond.
The silver maiden sheds light unto these dangerous intentions.
The ever glorious, pearly Moon,
So pious, untainted, utterly unblemished,
Has secrets of her own.
A shadow falls across her worship-worthy face,
Reflecting for us mortals the price of chastity.
And what indeed it is!
Righteousness is punished fairly when the honest are made part
Of the crimes being committed;
Sworn to keeping their tongues tied;
Drowning with every breathe they draw, their very life a noose
Around their necks
That kills a piece of them at a time till there is none left.
And so the Moon, dear darling Moon,
Glides across the heavens,
Burdened with the wretched crimes of all that reside behind that curtain of clouds,
Sentenced to an eternity of silence,
Watching as the immortal fall from their grandeur,
And as the mortal crawl upon this speck of dust that we are.
Dust thou art, to dust returnest...
A line resounds in the empty trenches of my mind
From the most truthful of verses I have ever laid my eyes upon.
The mud is moist, of course,
And soft, almost velvety.
The grass blades spring back to their alert form
Once my feet no longer share their heaviness with them.
I lick my lips and taste
Saccharine and saline.
Tears.
Of the wind and of the fire within.
I take forth another step.
And another. Almost
There now.
Water drips from my finger tips,
From errant locks of hair,
From my proud chin that juts out in challenge.
Water, she...
She says that she likes how I feel
Against her,
Under her. She wants me
To stay.
She travels along the curve of my spine,
Pauses at the small of my back,
And then moves along.
She says that she wants me,
To stay.
But Fire is a jealous mistress,
You see.
She wants me too,
To stay.
And refuse I can
Not. I can refuse my lady
Not!
Mistress says that she is a part of me, as am I of her.
She says that
She resides within me
Like my own heart;
Every beat of my own is a flicker of hers.
She takes not kindly
To these affections and infatuations with anybody
But herself.
She wants me, and she says so.
Seething, searing, scorching, singeing, smiling
As she says so.
She rises from her seat, and touches my bosom gently.
I feel her burning
Inside of me. She is alive
In my heart. I can
Not refuse her, but I want to.
So, I try
To steal myself back and away.
I decide
To let water take me
As her lover. I decide to let water save me from my mistress.
I let Moon bear witness to my selfishness,
And let wind carry the message forth for the dawn,
That when they found me in the first rays of the sun
That morning
I had finally escaped my lady,
I had finally found a lover true.
A lover that sought me out
And brought me joy,
Regardless of the cost.
A lover that vowed to always
Set me free.
And she did.
As I splashed another cup of chilling water against my sullen face.
I looked up and saw us united,
And then she fell away, like a lover scorned.
Like a bridge I had burned in another life.
Perhaps,
I had.
I touched my lips and saw them dance to the memory of those words.
They whispered to me ever so silently,
"I know the feeling of it stealing life out from under me."

Thursday, 30 April 2015

Surrender

Fingertips tickle against stubble.
Lips covet lips.
A firm tug at the waist,
A hand rests on the hips.

As the distance is consumed by a hunger,
A sense of deprivation lingers
In the air, static,
Bound to us.

Reluctantly you pull away
And I try to find my balance.
Your lips are being tugged at by a smile
That announces itself as a challenge.

Dare I move back and defeat
Admit, or dare I stay in the seat
And risk losing.
Or dare I even more to move forward and drink further from your lips.

Sure as always,
You leaned in a second time
To claim some unknown right.
You lick my lips, I let out a sigh,
And surrender.

Sunday, 15 June 2014

Heaven hath no rage like love to hatred turned...

When William Congreve said, "Heaven hath no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned," he definitely knew what he was talking about... (Experience talking or was he just a genius, we shall never know.)

Malice clouds my mind

And I see your eyes full of fear.
No place where I wouldn't find
You hiding timid, my dear.
Your screams, agonizing and petrified,
Fill my ears;
Bringing to my face a smile
Some would rather call a sneer.

Like metal against metal should scrape,

A screech from your throat is torn.
In vain you look for escape,
But hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
Regretting your mistake
You plead to settle the score,
And offer all I could take
But not what I crave for.

You're bound and gagged,

Aghast in horror.
Your skin is scarred, marred,
And dripping crimson.

I lift my arm up high

Aiming for the final strike
That will in one blow
Bring an end to your life.
For I shall finally break through
Your ribs, that hide that which is mine;
That which you refused to let me hold,
That which rests now beating in my hands cold.

Lady desolate...

I am one of those women who find it extremely difficult, taxing in fact, to bond with other women. It is not as often a talk about one's dream stripper over pints of beer as we plunge into details (so dirty that my sober mind wishes it could disown me) as often as I would like. Statistically, I would have, I suppose, one female friend for ever six male friends or something like that. My math is bad. It is not that I find it difficult to make an acquaintance of womankind, but that I find it impossible to find the kind I would like to befriend. For I would like to be around her who can converse about sonnets, stories, songs, sex, sports, shoes, sheep and sweets as passionately as she bitches.

Such women, in my experience, are rare jewels. But every once in a while Fate decides to be kind to me, for no girl can live fully without that crazy little girl friend. And though this poem was written for someone who once seemed to be another of my kind, today I post it for all those women who I love now and shall in the glorious days to come. These women have made me stronger than I ever thought I could be and I know shall hold me up when my treacherous spine gives in because it thinks my shoulders can bear no more weight. I thank you for the crazy memories we have made or will tomorrow, and of course, the smiles and tears over pastries and ice creams will never be forgotten (because PMS is kind of a monthly plan).


Rolling down your sombre face,
At a steady pace,
Are frigid tear drops
Invading my heart.

Your eyes appear unclear.
They are puffy and swollen.
Once rosy, now glistening from tears
Are your cheeks, a fabric in time woven
And worn down by the pain
Now piercing through my heart.

Allow me to be selfish and say
That I wish to wipe those lousy pearls away...
And let me tend
To your bleeding heart.

Thursday, 29 May 2014

Done. Undone.

I am not claustrophobic. Neither am I achluophobic. There are no walls holding me prisoner. And I can't find a corner dark enough to hide my face. But the suffocation is inescapable. The house is empty; but there are too many people around. It is pitch black outside. Not a soul in sight. Everybody is asleep. The vagrant dogs have found shelter and lost their way in the land of dreams, too. But the noise is deafening. I look at my reflection; barely so, however. It's been days since I have looked myself in the eyes. Guilt sits heavy and stout, grins at me with its toothless jaws; it settles and nestles upon my heart like it were a bean bag. I wonder what makes her smile. Nay! I beg of her to tell me what humour could possibly relieve me. She smacks me across the face and sends me spiralling down this abyss from where I know not how to return. I hit rock bottom. I can't breathe. It is wet... it's wet and cold. And there's a lapping sound. I think I'm in a lake? I now know what she found funny. There's a loud thudding. It's getting louder... Ah! It's too loud. I don't know if I can take it anymore. I can't see a thing. Why is the air around me compressing and decompressing??? The pressure is making my ears hurt. My vision is a blur of black. Everywhere, all I see is black. Except the eyes. The pairs of yellow eyes. Guilt brought family along today, it would seem. A fingernail runs along my bare spine. It cut me. I know it. A warm liquid is trickling down my back as sorrow, hard and frigid, sets into my gut. Another claw tries to snatch me away, and another, and another. Each doing a fair share of damage. I can not fathom for the life of me what they want... my chest is heavy. Too many voices, too many noises. The thudding is getting closer. The lapping is no longer there. The water is crashing along the shore. Wait! Not water. It's too viscous and sticky. There's a light somewhere underneath the liquid I'm standing in. It's getting brighter. There is no land I feel. The light gets brighter. The eyes are too close for comfort. They are calling out to me. Accusing voices and blaming fingers, hurled at me like daggers. I'm scared. No! No more! Stop!!!! I mean it. I dint do anything. I dint know. I can't fix it. Please! The light is getting brighter. I try to scream, I'm standing in blood. No voice escapes my throat. I have no throat. I have no body. What's happening? I am here; but I am not here. Somebody help me! The light is now blinding. The voices are now scared. I can hear them scrambling. The noises are waning. I can't contain the light. It's not a light. It's not light. It's fire. It's burning everything down. I look around. Nowhere to run. I see it coming. It hurts. And then it doesn't hurt. My heart is warm. I look up and catch somebody looking at me. She's smiling at me. I reach for the mirror, looking closely at my fingertips. They make contact with the surface and I look up again. She's still smiling at me. I'm smiling at me. I lay down in the bed. I fall asleep, still smiling at me. 

Wednesday, 28 May 2014

Her...

She was a creature majestic.
Captivating, intimidating.
Her skin was creamy like milk.
Her flaming hair sleek as silk.

Her irises seraphinitic
Held a fire in them blue.
She licked her lips in a vile taunt,
Her lips that mortal souls haunt.

A drop crimson
Escaped them and rolled down her chin.
And rolled a little further more,
Running along her swan-like throat.

She was looking for fun,
You could just see it in those eyes.
As clear as your end
Lurking around the bend.

You ought to have picked up your feet,
Not stood there numb.
Run in crazed terror.
Maybe hide from the awaiting horror.

But you couldn't, you see?
She had you in a trance.
Her spidery, long fingers
On your skin you wished would linger.

The sway of her hips
As she glided over the distance
On her shapely
Legs, the promise you accepted dreamily.

For it was the promise of a kiss,
Lingering and eternal,
Fiery and cold,
Just like the hold

She had on you,
Only inches away now. She
Laid you down on her bed
And painted the unlit night red.

Tuesday, 4 March 2014

Ignorance is bliss.

I am 20. My golden era of teenage came to an end a few months ago. But I still show the classic traits of a teenage girl. I spend way too many hours online, I sleep way too little, I am always missing from home, I get back home at inappropriate hours, any excuse to party is good enough for me to party, I conveniently 'forget' work (that's actually a natural talent with me), I am moody, I am always hormonal and disturbed in one way or another (which may or may not be related since I am a chick), I believe in throwing regular tantrums, I love having pictures of me clicked with morally acceptable classification of faces being made in them and then sharing them on various social media. I belong to what my maternal grandpa fondly refers to as the "Idiot Box Generation".

You see, my grandpa views the world in terms of questions. He has this insatiable curiosity that drives his life. The essence of existence to him is questioning. Questioning EVERYTHING! How is it that bottled water claims being mineral water when it has gone through reverse-osmosis which fundamentally would mean that it has lesser minerals than regular water and many such questions have been posed to me through my formative years. And I swear, I never saw the sense of it. I never understood what these questions would ever get me in life.

But 10 years later, am I thankful! Now, I don't claim being a know-it-all of any sort, no siree, but I do my best to cover all my general bases in whatever discussion I am involved in. Despite my efforts at not letting my gramp rubbing off on me, I learned from him to have a healthy sense of curiosity and an (what I consider) average need to know about things.

Another proud trait I inherited from my family, is that I am a book lover. That and my love for language (read grammar) go hand-in-hand. Both my parents are extremely fond of turning pages. But while they are limited by their specific choices of genre (probably because genius skips a generation), I tend to be more like my grandparents. I can bulldoze through almost any kind of reading (unless it has that word 'study' attached to it, even at a subconscious level).

I suppose this makes me a stereotypical bookworm/nerd. But I don't mind. Probably because I know that the word is 'obviously' and not 'obvi(o)'. And it is your talking like an under-educated citizen that will make me condemn you from ever being acknowledged as a human being by me. I'm sorry! But did you pay only half your tuition fee? Is that why you weren't taught all the letters that go into spelling a word? And how on the planet does typing 'mah' instead of 'my' make sense?

Am I the only one lost in this new trend of weird lingos and destruction of a language? I feel bad for English. If I were to anthropomorphically explain this occurrence, it would make the Saw series of movies look like Disney. If you expect me to feel delighted by a message that reads, "u r beautiful.... can v frnd? if yes than add me....... u wil nvr regret for makin me frnd", excuse me! But... ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Is that... Am I supposed to be even remotely interested after this display of indecency towards somebody else's culture, forget being ever slightly impressed! I am biologically incapable of lasting more than 4 abbreviated sentences. 'Oh my gosh' only gets as short as omigosh to me, and only when it is to express intense emotions and a rush of words resulting from the touchy-feely nature of my being.

Another nonsensical trend that I tried to comprehend and being a part of... Selfies! But I never really could learn the art of clicking your face and maintaining the focus of the camera without seeing the screen or looking normal in case of a frontal camera. Guess I never will be talented enough to master this art or to fathom the reason behind it being entertaining. I gave up.

Flattery is apparently the key to every chick's chastity belt. I am in that picture. I have seen that picture. I have chosen to post that picture. I know how I look in it. Your false words of undeserved appreciation are not fooling me. Your lore of my phenotypical genes is not impressing anybody. Nope! Do not care. Not getting laid tonight, bro! In fact, if you keep chasing my tail, NEVER getting laid. Paranoia clouds every single nerve ending of my right lobe the moment the guy starts being dishonest. I am going to turn anti-you if you keep calling me every single day to 'hang out'. If your first question after a general greeting is an inquiry to do with my relationship status, you are leaving a distaste in my mouth, man. I do not like you.

I realize I sound bitter and judgmental and just plain rude but I am just honest. Honesty is a two edged sword. Most of you are not going to like this piece. But the truth is, my generation makes no sense to me. I do not understand what drives us (except money) nor the reason for our immorality (usually to gain money or tail). We are vain and naive. We are all brought up in a world where everybody believes that they deserve either an Academy award or a Pulitzer or to be a Nobel Laureate. Reading is damned, knowledge mocked. Everybody is talented. Everybody is beautiful. Everybody is desirable. Everybody is plastic. We are Mean Girls, real time. And I just am scarred by my constant pondering over this thought, "Where did we lose sight of the way?"

But I suppose what is best is to just shut my eyes and move on... when life gives you lemons, lick some salt, knock back a shot and then enjoy the lemons in its face!
-GaurikaVA =)