I walked foreign land
Like the back of my hand
I walked your dreams
In drunken streams
Sand in my shoe
A hundred thoughts of you
You called
I gushed
You smiled
I blushed
You cried
I died
You touched
I froze
You promised
Who knows…!
You spoke
You drunk bloke
I’d smile
Just for awhile
There will be
An again
Without any pain
I hope there will be
For you and for me
They dissected her. She lay sprawled on a cold steel table. They reached out and got her gut{s}.they clasped a fistful and dumped it in a spittoon. Nodding in shame at each other and disapproval at what she had done. Defied societal norms and how she wavered from reality. They grabbed her heart. Squeezed her marooned arteries and claimed the cuddling blood was muck. For she divided her love and lust between two men...one forbidden, one not.
They all contemplated and discussed and exchanged mails and ostracized her! They tore her dress which was sewn to perfection in a single surgical rip. She turned and twisted.helpless.the halogen lights burning her nakedness. She thought of the nights when her state of undress was perfect in a pleasurable searing under the moonlight...they seemed so long ago...
They wrapped her curls in a knot in their palms and pulled her head to a tilt as her mouth let out a silent scream. They shoved more cold steel down her throat, trying to get the germs in her esophagus on a solvent-doused swab. She wondered if they knew the arse from the esophagus. She laughed in silence at their catch-22. She laughed at their insecurities that arose because of her sin, her overpowering lustful sin. How they would love to know why she did what she did. The secret being, she had no clue either. She woke every night clammy head to foot. Wondering and contemplating the same thing.
At 11 past 46 in the lull of the night, they called the time of death…
She died in morose all her dreams were a teardrop shy of impossible and she gave it up for it in spite of the deficit of chances of them coming true…
I was at the pond that evening. Waiting for my 30-second therapy of watching all the lights come on in a circumferic sequence. I thought of how when we were kids we never thought of impediments and assumed everything would fall into place…there will be a happy ending…
Now it makes me wonder how many drunken frogs have been kissed by all of us put together waiting for prince charm-fuck-ing.how many shafts of hope the hearts emitted looking for the fairytale…when you hit moment of realization and figure the preconceived notion of a car with a heart shaped placard saying ‘just married driving down winding roads might not be what happy endings are supposed to be.
I’ve seen all of us waltz around in our moments of triumphs, the first times of falling in love, kissing in the rain, dancing to Clapton and hoping that’s the last of the first dances. We have all at some point lost to another woman, been second fiddles, stood crying in the rains as our tears enmeshed two bodies together in goodbyes.
The beginning of happy endings need not be with a prince always. Neither do the ends. There are tiny moments of joy we’ve ignored looking for the big fireworks. And who knows what part of our lives or the decisions we’ve made were good or bad for us? I had been forewarned before every fall I’ve had. I still took leaps that were bound to end in thuds back to reality. But we always get up, dust our pants and recover!
dont ask me for my heart...for i ripped it out and tore it into a thousand tiny pieces and thrown it away!but you will not know of it..because i will be the perfect forgery of a loving woman and you will recieve from me love that is counterfeited.
dont ask me for my soul...it withered away as i grew into what i am now.dont look into my eyes and tell me i am beautiful...they are just cold almost colt like!
dont cut the chase,if you do ill explode into shrapnel and vanish from your life...
