a good night kiss

how it is so that smiles are dripping down his chin
and his eyes are capturing rainbows in their delight, oh!
“Annihilation,” the world cried.

he is the abysmal beauty in the hourglass of night, he
stands tall like a crane snatching stars from the sky, oh!
“Annihilation,” the world cried.

how he traces the outline of his cracked lips and digs into
napalm skin, how his saliva coats the lengths of desires, oh!
“Annihilation,” he cried.

he falls down the cliff, and breaks open like dreams; he sings.

.

Linking it up with the prompt titled “the sisters Death and Night ~ Micro Poetry” at With Real Toads.

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amour

evening_a_24_inches_high_x_34_reproduction_oil_painting_68b57a6f

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.

this is a communion of mockery

and it is bestiality that sucks
blood from my passion,

pin me down by your gaze, subdued,
I cry out, bite my spirit into chunks
of my broken armor, burn me alive

this instant, plunge my back with
the sword of impudence, against
my wish, but my wish is held true

in the recesses of this panorama
where nothing is seen, and everything
is naked.

punch my chest to make me numb,
your nails piercing me through
and through, till nothing is left
unterritorized. I’m no longer alive.

dead, I am, to the shadows that fall
on your naked back, I plunge my hatred
inside you with a power of resurgence,

of

this treachery of an evening, that lives
beyond the realm of an everlasting night.

let me be the trickster, let me
be the one to wrench open your arms
and embrace you with my lethal dance.

let me wrestle around the sky where
the sun has been plundered, disgraced.

let me eat the flavorless fruit
of this mockery of life, of passion.

let this night line my shores again.
let this night never touch me again.

.

The year before last, I took up a challenge to write and publish 30 poems in 30 days of November. And I finished it. This year, I am going to try and imitate it. This is Poem # 1.
Linking it up with Poets United Poetry Pantry.

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To become Fire

my heart has begun to rhyme,
it’s committed the solemn crime
to begin the walk taken alone,
stepping on land that moans
with every blink of yellow eyes,
I’m finding stars that never rise,
I am in the wilderness of desire,
I am reaching out to become fire.

touch me where it hurts the most,
I am ready to pay all the costs,
there is no meaning to the sea
that perspires in moments of glee,
I am sea foam, salted with desire,
I am reaching out to become fire,
that pardons none and forgives all
I am giving away to you my soul.

my heart has begun to rhyme,
it’s blossoming with dirt and grime,
there is no penitentiary for lust,
it is the fuel that never combusts,
the journey ends where it begins,
innocence dead, the demons win,
I am lost in wilderness of desire,
I am reaching out to become fire.

.

Written in consideration of dVerse Poetics where we are writing octets. I did not follow the syllable structure. I was reading Bilbo’s Last Song (At The Grey Havens) by J.R.R Tolkien, written in three octets. So, I came up with this verse which can be called vulgar in comparison to Tolkien’s verse. But that is what I am. Vulgar. 😀
I haven’t been writing much lately but for some empty verses which I scribble on the book that I am reading. I hope that you have not forgot me already.

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Intoxication, Ejaculation: Tanka

Intoxication

amalgamation

wine and Midas in goblet

intoxicated

blind with orgies of desires

flows blood of passion and greed

Bacchus and Midas by Nicolas Poussin

Ejaculation

ejaculation

wine pouring out of canal

enticing ichor

ever flowing nectar of lust

golden touch of coital love

.

*Written in response of Right2Write Prompt 10. Please do participate yourself. For more info, click here.*

Branded: A Short Story

He saw the brand-mark just below her left breast as she tore open her shirt and he knew that he was to kill her before dawn.

“What are you looking at, sweets?”

“Ah! I am gazing at your perfect figure. You are beautiful,” he said sincerely. His eyes were still fixed on the hexagonal brand, which shone with multiple hues even in the almost dark room. The only light was that of the kerosene lamp on a nearby table.

“Then what are you doing there? Unzip your pants. I want you… oh baby! I have always wanted you,” she remarked seductively, touching herself.

He caressed his crotch and moved towards her. He reached for her and kissed her deeply, biting her lips. A drop of blood appeared which he licked. She moaned in response and got him out of his clothes.

“What would you want me… want me to do? I will do anything,” she was running her fingers through his dark brown hair as he explored her body through his tongue; his mind distracted in trying to find a way to end this demon. She was a childhood friend but now, she was branded. She was not herself anymore and the best he could do for her was to kill her.

He looked up to see her eyes glinting. They had gone violet. She had taken her cursed form.

“I… will… do… anything… for… you…,” her eyeballs were rolling out of control and she was trembling in his arms.

He shouted when she flayed her blistered tongue and abraded it across his lips through his nose to his forehead.

That was a very long night. There came no help in return of his shrieks; those who heard him envied him for his luck on finding a girl who could make him cry so lustily.

.

* For Trifecta.

Soul-mate

it was the thirteenth time

(she was counting)

when she heard his voice,

somewhere from far away,

but still close, too close

(as if whispering in her ears)

 .

she had devoured him,

tasted his blood and drank it all,

seven pints of it and

left his flesh to rot away,

or be the subject of a vulture’s dream,

she had gotten rid of him,

(that was what she believed)

but still she could hear his voice,

 .

as it was when she slaughtered him

to bits, seventeen pieces that stood apart,

torn away from the lifeless dummy,

she had snarled as she chewed down

his three eyes that once saw beyond

and sucked his lips that once kissed,

 .

she still heard his voice as it was

when she punctured his artery

and drank his life away, as it was

when he thrashed in her feathery arms,

struggled but then relaxed,

accepting what was to come,

lusty for her to take it away,

the poison that was left of him,

 .

she still heard his voice,

as he looked within her,

he penetrated her soul,

with those dead eyes that saw

but never saw again,

 .

she still felt his voice

tingle her back, (he was there),

she felt him within her bones,

his life flowing in her vessels,

she was the body he had,

 .

she wanted him as prey and had him,

(and believed that he was hers)

but it changed when he came to rule

over her, it was his voice

beckoning her to do what he desired,

it was his eyes that had come alive,

and looked through her,

and those lips she had fed on

were there speaking back to her,

his voice that emerged from within her,

he was there, (always been there),

he had become her soul-mate

*For dVerse Poetics. I took a slightly different approach and wrote a dark poem with certain ominous numbers.