Crazily Forever

I was beaten and taken down to a cellar full of coal, dust and darkness. There, I found you. Like a shining diamond that would fill my cold cup with gladness and make me warm. You came running from your hide out and jumped on me, wrapping your legs around me while your bum sat on my hip, and you softly placed your lips onto mine. Then you rubbed your lips against mine for some time - smiling and whispering your 'I love you's and then started kissing me deep, you hands kneading my back. I fell down into a blue ocean, we swimming together and you asking me to become a dolphin. I bite your ears instead and tell you that I am a tiger that goes after his slender deer. You push me away and swim. Swim to an island so exotic that when I saw you there, I felt this was heaven.

You wanted us to roll on the beach mud and laugh till it was sunset; and we ended up making love there - with waves grazing our skin as your sound and motion finished us off in style and we falling into each other's arms together, content. When we woke up, we were in a ball room filled with cute couples dancing, the overwhelming romance in the air forced me to pinch your midriff. That's all that I did and you forcibly led me to the floor and I danced the dance I would never forget even when I sleep, shut inside my grave. Because you knew the jazz that played in the background so well that you planted pecks that turned into kisses that intensified into smooches whenever the music hit those loverly notes. I sincerely haven't heard or known a better song and music, but you.

Then we rushed for home because our kids were waiting for us to come back. As we stepped inside the house, it was all dark. You were holding my wrinkled hand because you cannot see properly now even with your glasses on. Ah there you go, the lights came on with a lot of loud shouts, party poppers exploding and our little grand children swarming around us and everyone gathered singing the best anniversary songs - with a big cake kept for us and photographs from the past hung every where. There, there, in front of every one you wanted to kiss me so badly and you did it - embarrassing me right before all our children. For this, my dear crazy lady, I love you. Forever and ever.

What is to love?

To love is to die, to love is to hate yourself more than you love yourself, to love is to go hungry for nights without food because you are broke and you don't easily borrow money even from your dad, to love is to wake up all night thinking how you take her out of the shit she's stuck in, to love is to see magic when she smiles, to love is to give, give it all, to love is to pour out to the last drop of your blood, to love is to pick fights with total strangers who would dare speak shit about her, to love is to not be open about all the things you did and what you had to go through because your situation shouldn't make her feel bad even in her distant thoughts, to love is to be true, to love is to break down and cry even if you are a man, to love is to get hurt, to love is to create circumstances to make her hate you so she can forget you and be happy, to love is to give away all that she returned to a charity organisation which in turn makes a lot of poor people happy, to love is to smoke a lot knowing that it is killing you, to love is to draw sketch after sketch, to love is to write poetry, to love is to donate blood thrice a month even after knowing that you are an epileptic, to love is to take a strange old woman who faints in front of you on your motorcycle and drop her home, to love is to not allow men to harass women, to love is to buy medicine every month for children affected by AIDS and not tell anyone about it, to love is to care genuinely, to love is to have knife marks on your body trying to rescue trafficked children, to love is to smoke up to see hallucinations - the only place you see her very delightful, to love is to change and fade away, to love is to become like little kids, to love is to be passionate, to love is to strum your guitar, to love is to whistle, to love is to go on long rides your bullet all alone, to love is not doing things to impress anyone, to love is to live life to its fullest.

Thoughts that flowed after a totally random guy talked to me of love and religion. I sincerely told him that he knows not love.

A Ballad - The Woman From Future

You are my sky

Vast in its blue expanse, splendor and beauty

Like a bird I shall fly freely

Into you

Feeling you in every whiff of air I breathe in

As I flap my wings

Moving into dense clouds and out

I don't have to die

To go to heaven or hell

Paradise, is living with an ever present sense of assurance

That keeps whispering into my ears

That your heart is cradled in happiness

And my worst nightmare, your tears

They skin me alive

Ask whatever you want of me

I shall give you

My life and my death are in the power of your slender hands

The alcohol and the tobacco stains that have polluted my blood

Leave my head in an unending spin

So I reach out for the pencils

To draw a sketch with my eyes closed

When sobriety hit me in the morning 

My eyes fell on the sketchbook

I saw you there

Your blazing eyes gazed straight at me

And your smile intoxicated me again 

But what captured my heart more was your soul

I could see it popping out from the paper

And it spoke to me

Told me of all your joyous moments and the nicest memories

Also of the past that has incarcerated you

I fell in love with your soul

For its beauty lies safely hidden inside its brokenness

I got up from my bed

My heart singing songs of delight

Only to be hit by a tempest shortly and dropping dead

Bring me back to life if you could

Or leave me alone

So I rot at the mercy of the maggots

That feed on my decaying flesh

Which once housed my soul

That never could let love disappear and die.

My Type Of Woman

My type of girl prefers motorcycle over car, and bicycle over motorcycle. Sketches over photographs, and pens over pencils. She is the divine morning, clothed in its abject beauty - with cloud forms peppered all over the orange sky. She's simple, real, free-spirited, adventurous, wild, happy, independent, doesn't give or take orders, has high moral standards, knows to take care of herself, focused and an ardent fan of art in any form. If you ask me, she is art herself, the way she moves would tickle my senses all over. You have no idea what a charmer she is; ever-smiling, kind, honest, and she also loves little children. She's good at something that I am not good at, and she tries to teach me. Well, right now I have no clue about what that something could be.

I could just sit by that lake, she sitting closer - with her thighs grazing mine, and listen to all her stories that beautify the sunset evenings furthermore. She has flaws, yes. She has a past, yes. But it's okay and alright. Well, who doesn't? We all have dirty laundry hanging in our rooms. What matters to me is that I still find her perfect and beautiful. If I have to be frank, I fell for her scars and imperfections, not for her skin and shape. I am glad that I am able to look at her soul while other men could only gaze at her body. If she ever sinks into her lows gathered from her troubled past, I very well know how to brighten her mood, merry her heart and make her smile. She does the same to me too, there is no doubt - she is one of the most humorous women I have ever met. Dare anyone makes her cry, I shall punch the person to death.

The best thing about her is that she doesn't try to control me, because she trusts me. She gives me the space that I need, and I give her the space that she needs too. The mutual respect we have for each other is incomparable, even though teasing is our favourite past-time and we don't mind getting crazy with our jokes on each other - even if other people are around. I cut the vegetables and do the dishes, while she cooks me food. I wish I could cook too, would have been more fun. May be one day, I will surprise her. We wash our own clothes, except for the days one of us falls sick - that is when the healthier one gets to help; oh we love helping each other. She doesn't suffer from indecision concerning important things in life, because she's clear in her thoughts. But otherwise, she intrigues me on a daily basis. Wherever necessary, I try to help - though it doesn't majorly help; but I enjoy anyways. The small pillow fights we frequently have, the petty things we argue about, the constant efforts by one to make the other happy, the teasing that gets creative everyday, the undying love and the many kisses - are all that I wake up for!

Flower and Fragrance!

She slapped him with a song. It swung him into a never-ending spin, even the shabbiest of things turned beautiful like how Midas's touch turned everything gold. Then he started hating everything that was happening around, because 'everything rosy and beautiful' is a little too much to handle. It kind of appeared so bland and the flavor was slowly fading. She read his mind, and blew kisses from her sweet mouth. No exaggeration - his heart did feel the heaviest blow, like how a pilot would explosively propel himself out of the aircraft - having mistakenly pressed the eject button.

He was going up and up in the skies, his stomach tickling, thought he would die after a while when gravity would pull him down into abyss. But a parachute opened up, and held him floating in the air. She was clearly observing his state of mind and all that she could do was - giggle and laugh. He remembered a Henry Miller quote which said - 'There's something perverse about women, they're all masochists at heart.' Yes, it did hurt, but still he found it all beautiful. So sacredly and so erotically beautiful - both at the same time.

It is true, love plays dangerous games with your soul. Until the day you exorcise all the demons that hide in the dark, every little move will haunt you. And it is not good for a person to stay inside a haunted house for long, or it might derange one's being. But however gravely bad the surroundings and the circumstances might appear, howsoever screwed up the logic - that forms the basis of our society - might sound, can you really separate the fragrance from the flower? Can. You?

The Roaring Waves Of Love's Embrace

If you want to listen to the music that plays within my soul, you have to come close, be in the quiet, close your eyes and focus - or you would miss a few notes. If you find it so soothing to be true, I dare you put me into the hottest of pans and fry me up alive until I give up my ghost, pour a few bottles of acid and water over me so I burn down faster but into a lowly sludge of slimy ash. As you see my flesh and bones shudder in the heat with excruciating pain, do these three things - the last wishes of a dying man - one, do not panic; two, bite your teeth and be cold for a while; three, come closer still and stare. To add to the disturbing chill, you would notice even the last few gasping breaths of mine speaking volumes of love.

You might, with mock derision, ask me - what do you know of love if you have never been into an affair? How do you know what it feels like to be immersed in the roaring waves of love's embrace? You are a fucking virgin, you haven't even touched a girl ever in a sensuous way - what kind of noisy rant do you moan of love? Love certainly is not simple and I don't understand much of its complexities - who does anyway! - but I know one thing very clear. It was only when I walked into the darkest of places, I found love; and ever since I have been paralyzed by its symphony. It was in melancholy, I discovered my melody; and I precisely know where to find beauty - for it lies hidden inside the scars and the unhealed wounds.

It is true that we cannot limit love to culture and its many rituals, because it is beyond human constructs of family and society. There is nothing apart from love that can transcend every divisive force that tries to wreck this world. I always tell the kids I meet at the orphan homes that if they wanted to become superman, they should love. Because when love sets in, it would make a superhero out of the simple you. For - at the touch of love, one not just becomes a poet; he also becomes a mad man, a man truly out of his fucking mind; and history has always testified to the fact that only madmen have insofar loved in truth. You need to be really mad to not shy away from getting beaten up for the sake of the oppressed; to pump your blood out frequently to help save lives despite being an epileptic; to love others more than you love yourself even though you clearly know 'love thy neighbour more than thou love thyself' is recipe for self-destruction. What is life, but to continuously break yourself down completely and then build again - until the day you become the best edifice, a wonder the entire world would rave about.

The Comforting Lap Of Flower Petals

You hypnotize me, sprinkling honey into the soft evening winds so when they graze against my skin - my soul loses its gravity and spins eternally into the black hole of your sweet vices. You sting me like a scorpion and peel my heart open like how they remove the fibrous coconut coir - to show me what's hidden inside. All that I am left with is a pair of lungs full of breath holding poetry - with all the schematic rhyming and the music. I could hear the distant sound of the clarinets and the lyres growing stronger at the passing of every second, and it befuddles me to do something crazy. So I try to flap - first slowly and then fast - only to discover to my amusement that I'm one of those mutant humans who had wings. You wouldn't believe if I told you that I did fly - flew so high - like a kite, without knowing if it was east or west, or north or south. In simple words, you put me up there in the high skies, totally lost.

You intoxicate me, the smell of your lips is far more stronger than the best fragrance of all the exotic flowers found on earth. I want to know how you managed to plant a tempest inside my heart because it demolishes me from within. The very gaze of yours disintegrates me like how dandelions become dust, it belittles the wild me into a lit wax candle that melts. You - with ease - spin a piece of dry hay into rainbow and shatter a hard stone into slimy clay, but how? I'm trying hard but your image doesn't disappear at all even if I opened my eyes - I'm confused if this is some form of lucid dream. There wouldn't be any worry if only I were a bee that sleeps on the comforting lap of flower petals. If only.