i am smelling secrets

ETNA PLUS

not that you need to know
but would you like to know a secret?

it’s the curiosity of the unknown that
betrays your smile,

…ha ha…

it’s funny, no?

it was a morning, a dusk at dawn
when he walked alone on the sky
leaving a trail of forlorn vapors,

I knew that it was him, with his
usual tardiness, with ill begotten
terms of endearment, and sly words
whispered beneath the cloak of
midnight.

it was an evening, an enraptured death,
there was the usual sweat in the wind,
and I was walking down the memory lane,
when the wrinkled leaves swept by us,

“Why would you do this to yourself?” he asked,
and I said, “Why… that’s a secret”.

secrets are the aesthetic of our society wherein
the secret lies in the fact that secrets are not kept.

it’s funny, no?

not that you need to know,
would you, would you like to keep a secret
and hold it to your bosom, hide it in the folds
of your desires, because what else would you
hold so dear?

and would you promise to keep it,
by smearing your blood on my lips,
by flipping a coin, by caressing
the calluses on my feet?

there are skeletons in the closet
with a perplexed smile, mold has
taken hold of them and lies grow
instead of skin in its pale sheen.

it’s funny, no?

.
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For Poets United Midweek Motif

acquiesce

 

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when the light spilled out in the open,
I took a pause, my stride halted in that pulse
as they moved ahead,

his curls were visible in the crowd and her
pacified smile,
it was when the dark and light conquered
each other that I knew of those punctured
holes in my chest, I acknowledged my skin
in its composite radiance…

the distance covered itself, and holding hands
became arbitrary to my nature of resistance,

and letting my fingers entangled in her locks,

I saw to it that I would need, I would be human,
I would want to be found.

when the light spilled out in the open,
my heart was wrenched out of my open self,
and my bloodied hands traced the curves
of my laughter as its thunder boomed
against the sky, and the savage sun
spilled more light,
and the wailing winds fell into my eyes.

it was Elpis that rose from that gaping
hole, a new birth of dying, an old ending
to the origin of life,

open –

they saw the light.

.

For Poets United Midweek Motif.

amour

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dear

oh Dear –
it’s an evening of amour,
experienced alone, behind the open
windows- a view for the world
abstaining from desire, I disrobe
the words, and let them ablaze
on
the tip
of
my tongue.

dear

oh Dear –
let’s flow, let’s blow, let’s sing,
let’s waltz around in our skins,

*तू स्पर्श है तो मैं एहसास,
लब से जो तू छू ले तो मैं विलाप,
तू पुष्प जो है तो मैं  भँवरा हूँ.

let’s flow, let’s blow, let’s sing,
let loose control.

in dots and dashes,
I sigh, my last word,
in dots and dashes.

dear

oh Dear –

*you are the touch, I am sensation,
you are the kiss, I am that moan,
you are the flower and I, a bumble-bee.

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Linking it up with Poetry Pantry.

A Side Note: One of my favorite poets and bloggers, Oloriel Moonshadow, has recently published her poetry collection. Please check out her book here. It’ll be available on Amazon soon.

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I exist in the voices,
in sounds-

gentle, ricocheting against
the loud bass in the background
and speaking in hushed tones
in corridors where the tiles
are no longer bleached white.

I exist in that TV volume, defined
by the bars that identify the
intensity of my intent,

exist in the grrr grr grinding
of thoughts into an unpalatable
mush, that I got served for
dinner,

I am defined by the water striking
the s(k)in(k) surface, I am that

you no longer pay attention to,

the mundane, I am, the (l)ord-inary.

splash…

I split like a water bubble.

I am not my self(ves).

.

Linking it up with Poets United Midweek Motif.

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planet earth is blue and there’s nothing I can do

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an infidel runs out to the street
to gaze at the five planets which aren’t there,
the whore ties her hair in a bun
to sing to the moon draped behind the clouds,
and the starving mutt barks

creating a collapsing sense of reality,
where sound & vision are marred by
the man who sold the world,

the goblin king wreathing gold coins
enumerating the faces in pain, and
the pain in faces.

how odd is that space of un-belonging,
how dust from stars fall into my eyes
to let me see and let me think, and burn
from ashes to ashes, from skin to skin,

I did relinquish the desire of faith and fate,
I stole the diamonds from his eyes
but they were just buttons with no life,

so in the end, there are only dreams
and that tiny whimsy bit of hope
that has to be quashed, in order
to live.

the whore’s song has died.
the infidel castrated,
the starving has starved,
and I,
I, done with the world.

.
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A Farewell to David Bowie. Linking it up with With Real Toads.

sooner (than later)

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so it was in the cold that I held
those earnest embers of your words,

you were the marble idol
when black and white mingled
to cover the deep trenches of
my heart, your singular smile
was the only thing visible, only
sight on that evening of lights.

a caress on my neck had me
drugged, I was a shore for your
rising tide, I lost myself,

oh I lost myself that night, and
I am cold yet again, those embers
have a faint glow, and I am cold again

in the brilliance of my torn skin,
shivering in shadows of your smile.

I hold the new key, so new that it
is not yet familiar by the touch, of
my fingers, and I walk through
the door of this unknown circumstance,
I want to be home.

yes, I have fallen for you.
February comes soon.

.

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Inspired from February by Dar Williams, written in consideration of writing prompt at With Real Toads.

endings

“okay then, goodbye”:

stories have a tendency to end in the
most

cliched manner, as if they just can’t find some-
thinkg different, perhaps a hello at the end,

a promise of something that begins and goes
on still, but endings are supposed to be sad
all the time, many a time. Perhaps all I need

to do
is
to
never
let
stories
end,

and that’d give to me my choice of an ending
or no ending, a discrepancy of sorts in the end.

.

This is Poem # 9 for my 30 Days, 30 Poems Challenge.

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