Dear Damocles,

Living in doubt,

I wondered how that must be?

Praying that the silken thread does not snap,

let the blade fall.

With a feast set before your eyes, with the maiden ready and waiting.

With a certainty that there is one, with the heart ready and waiting.

 Let the blade fall.

Pray that the betrayer thread does snap,

I wonder how that would be?

Living in surety?

Desperation:

There was once a hope. A sliver of light. It came in through the shadows. It promised me the stars. And I twirled and laughed and sighed. It has promised me the stars!

I clapped my hands in glee. Grew and bloomed under the welcome warmth. Made a daisy-chain of dreams and wove it into my hair. And I twirled and laughed and sighed. It has promised me the stars!

It made a halo around the grief. It made the edges all soft. It blurred the past and it made me blush. It made my smile true. And I twirled and laughed and sighed. It has promised me the stars! 

I danced, a mad two-step, a dizzying waltz.  I walked light, a little above. I cried for joy...Oh! How I cried for joy. And I twirled and laughed and sighed. It has promised me the stars!

I knew how to possess. I knew the ecstasy of touch. I knew the safety of a wall behind me. I knew desperate want. And I twirled and laughed and sighed. It has promised me the stars!

It made my heart beat faster. It made me believe in clichés. It made life wear a sheen of rose. And it made me feel loved. And I twirled and laughed and sighed. It has promised me the stars!

Then it wrapped up its little bag. Said the stars are a little too high mistress. Said that you feel a little too much mistress. Said I need to leave now mistress. Said you were a little too foolish mistress.

Then it said the stars are a little too high mistress.

Neon Lights- to Prajakta

The flashes of life, that I see.

Those glimpses, surrounded by a halo of chic.

Embodied by you, made up into a face, paint and all.

The rouge, the shadow and lines, of a doll, ready for fun.

Out of your mouth, with every kiss, I yearn, to suck at the lights, take in.

Red and blue, flashing and gay, you tell of past misery, I hear a past restrained.

Red and blue, flashing and gay, the wings of a moth, I yearn to fly.

Lead me into the neon boulevard. I yearn to live your life.

I yearn for the red and blue.

Jilted!!!

All the mighty swords rose up and shouted,
“ Me! I shall!” not one to be doubted;
And bravo! They all went to slay the groom errant,
Who left with just a note handed to his aunt.
“ No! Can’t be, impossible, to leave freedom unable.”
Up and away towards liberty he went,
Without a backward glance being sent;
Young and handsome, he had too much to lose,
Left was variety still, from which to choose.
No goodbyes, no farewells,
Not the tinkling of the wedding bells
Nothing stopped him in his way,
because ahead the love of his life lay.
Sometime, somewhere she would be found,
But definitely not the one to whom he was bound!!!

Hastily gathered and hurriedly briefed,
The swords, for the poor bride, sat and grieved.
Nay, not for long were the tears shed,
The bride soon cried out for the groom’s head.
All the bachelors in the party rejoiced,
A chance from which not to be shied.
The bride sat quietly wiping the tears,
A lady she was, not given to fears.

Hark! What does one here hear???

Oh! What scratching, fearful squeaks, and those claws…
It’s just a rat m’lady, the guard bows.
A rat! Just a rat! In the bride’s room?
Help! Save! Call the maid, bring a broom.
But! What luck, everyone gone?
For his sins the groom would atone.

Little by little the furry fiend approached,
Frightened but by no one reproached.
The bride simpered and cried in anguish,
Looking all scared and squeamish.
What luck! Someone’s here to save,
The bride in vain trying to be brave.
Shining armour and a glittering sword,
No, a mousetrap and a smile broad.
“My lady, maybe I could be of service.”

Which was quite as gallant as “ allow me, miss.”
The bride had never seen such bravery,
How could it be present in one of the knavery?
For wasn’t this the one who was caught,
For stealing water during a drought.
Ah! But past mischief are quickly forgotten,
In lieu of today’s circumstances rotten.
“Oh! Thank you, thank you, kind sir,
Deliver me into some clean mouseless air.”
“My pleasure.” said the worthy servant,
and up in arms he went against the rodent,
With a gleam in his eyes he set up the trap,
but the mouse was a little of a born brat.
This side and that he hopped and skipped,
From somewhere atop the bed a voice piped,
“Couldn’t you just get it out of the room?”
The trapper for the first time looked,
at the damsel in distress who had him booked.

The first is the last, impression, that is,
Love at first sight, was a motto of his.
The lady with her skirts gathered,
Standing over the pillows feathered.
Looked to him like an angel without wings,
“Oh! what beauty! I wonder how she sings?”
the mouse forgotten, quietly disappeared,
his role was now over, It appeared.
Anyway, there he had seen gone,
A lady mouse beautiful and lone.
Love was in the air, as the mouse showed,
The bride too, by the one to whom she owed,
Was smitten in an instant, bravo!
But how could romance go on without pain and woe!
The groom mentioned above, suddenly reappeared,
Guilt and remorse all over his face were smeared.
“I am so sorry my love, forgive me, would you?”
Off course, she could not, what a silly view!
But she had to, being a lady and such,
Regarding her marriage there was not choice much.
So without further adieu, let us the moment seize,
Objections if any, speak now or forever hold your peace.
“Stop, please, just one little thing”, the trapper said,
To him, melancholy and grief were everywhere spread.
“ Just one little thing,
Your ladyship dropped your wedding ring”
He handed the little jewel in those hands so soft,
The room applauded, you don’t see a hero oft.
Those big round eyes now filled to the brim,
Her hero, the one beside her, or was it him?
Too late for a point to ponder upon,
Or early still for a scheme to spawn.
“No I don’t” screamed the jilted bride,
giving the groom a surprise snide.
She handed back the paper so cherished,
“ No, can’t be impossible, to leave freedom unable”
The trapper turned back, too overjoyed to see,
The bride meaning every syllable to be.
Away she went from all trappers and grooms,
and presently has a career in decorating rooms.

Hubris

There is a wall around me.

A shell, a wonderful warm blanket.

A comforter, a quilt.

A shield, a protector.

The 'slings and arrows of outrageous fortune',

they hurt me not, they weaken me not.



I do venture out from time to time.

Get tossed and turned. Safe in the knowledge,

My wall is waiting, to be gathered around.

To close me up again, to let me lick my wounds.



To let me gather around me, my fragments.
Stick them together again and make them me.

It waits patiently, to let me live my follies.

And everytime I fall, my pride, dear pride,
props me up again.

Avarice

Hear, the burning of the primal need.
Surrounded by the cacophony, the clamouring...
of want arising.
A thousand black screeching crows, descend,
make living flesh shrivel,
rip out the deepest, slumbering desires,
bleed the finer passions dry,
feast on the glorious unbound, smorgasbord.
Dries, wilts, turns into dust,
back to the mutilated caricature of man.
We are after all, the playthings of desire,
operated by that magical open sesame- 'I Want'

Dried Flowers

In your rage, scarcely reading,

flipping through the pages of a long forgotten book.

A memory slips out and calls.

That first rose, the one so lovingly preserved,

Recalls all the lost emotions,

And suddenly, that first touch,

That first kiss, become live again.

As they were when you lay in bed at night,

Alone yet together,

Thinking about how perfect it was.

When you felt yourself falling deeper and deeper,

Looking into the past and finding the present.

The anger subsides and a recognition glows,

Now it’s clear, why this love, this passion endured.

You put the flower back in and take the answer out.

To go on and not stop,

till death do us apart.

Madness

Panting ...gasping...lungs bursting..aching for air..

A vision..

Of running through the grass..pouring in air..down to the deepest level...

until every cell is ready to burst...

“There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life, and beyond

which life cannot rise. And such is the paradox of living, this

ecstasy comes when one is most alive, and it comes as a complete

forgetfulness that one is alive. This ecstasy, this forgetfulness

of living, comes to the artist, caught up and out of himself in a

sheet of flame; it comes to the soldier, war-mad on a stricken

field and refusing quarter.” *

....and to those who have been denied happiness for too long.

Pretend.

To be a lover...not the earnest steadfast kind. The passionate.. voluptuous

... tempestuous ..uncertain .. insecure.. kind.

Pretend too..to be denied your love.

Imagine.

A room full of people...tinkling glasses...glittering jewels...seeing the curve of a neck..

as she tilts it back to drink... a bead of moisture makes its swift progress down the arch.

People talk...the tide swirls all around you...and you live only to watch that drop cover its uncertain path.

Outside..humanity..with its civil boundaries.
Inside...panting..gasping..aching for life.

Prison

There is a blackness to love. not the inky dark blackness in which you can lose yourself and not be blamed. its the wonderful shades of grey...like a long moonlit corridor with the rays coming in through and lending a glow...which when you pass through make you feel like...here the blackness ends...now i can be happy.
someone i know told me it has to be pain and pleasure...together..never one or the other...
it seems so unfair..when you come to think of it.
why would anyone go through the whole rigmarole of giving and taking, being emotionally drained, getting tossed about and turned from one direction to another....and all this for ..for pain? sleepless nights (such a cliche), the crying, the arguing, the need, the helplessness...the sheer horror of being so completely dependent.
pleasure...is another thing in itself...so many connotations..this innocuous word has.
be it with drugs, sex, and a hundred other kinds of addictions..its always pleasure that is the ultimate goal. a heady feeling...it is.of being loved. perhaps the greatest of addictions.
its a prison.

The bars that you see right in front, but disappear when you touch.
Those that you want to break, but not as much.
They don’t hurt, you say, but then why lay awake at night,
Trying to kill the pain?
Maybe one day, some day it will make sense.
Why ruin it when it has been great?
You run, you hide, you forget, but…
You are still living it.
And once in a awhile if you do get rid of it,
It reaches out to take you back,
Into the same darkness.
No way out because it is the worst of its kind,

It’s the emotional prison.

One that didn’t trap you, snare you, or made an animal out of you,

It just stood there with its hands out to welcome you.