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.

Old Age Haiku

story of a life

narrated by zig-zag lines

engraving the skin

~

remaining silent

words can never speak of it

life at its twilight

P.s.- Written in response of VisDare Challenge. I composed a story earlier, keeping in mind the image of the prompt but forgetting to consider the word.. so I ended up creating a tale with an entirely another theme and I tried but couldn’t include the significance of the word “engraved” into it. So, I have written these two haiku inspiring from the photograph. Again, the second haiku is devoid of the main word or any of its synonymous counterpart. I apologize for that.

And that is when I get hurt…

I ask myself not to expect

anything from anyone

you are all alone

and that is the sole truth

but I expect

and that is when I get hurt.

~

I ask myself not to speak

anything to anyone

don’t open your heart

for people will judge you

but I speak

and that is when I get hurt.

~

I ask myself not to dream

anything, not a single thing

don’t fantasize what

you can never have

but I dream

and that is when I get hurt.

~

I expect. I speak. I dream.

And I get hurt.

The few words I use everyday…

The few words I use everyday

to describe myself

the condition I am in

fall short of

how I actually feel.

I am not very expressive, I know

but I try to express

my emotions, my feelings

my everything through the words I write

which fall short of how it feels

to be trapped within a cage

which opens up everyday and you can go out,

but with a sensor attached to you-

you are given freedom

which fall short of what you need,

you are caged even when the cage is open.

 I speak out these words

to express how I feel

which falls short of

how it actually feels.