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.

The Muddy Pot

Trapped in your eyelashes,

I tried so hard to wake up;

But your yawns, they pull me down!

Into the muddy pot of delirium and euphoria

Where I lay drugged

On the juicy floors of your feelings.

What are you?

Are you the red flower that kills my jungle?

Or the hail storm that breaks my nest?

So I find no place to rest;

Tell me, I cry!

I want to know

The name of all the tricks you pull on me!

It should be love, my heart is sure

While my mind in panic shouts - run!

Run so hard away!

I convulse instead and collapse;

Go into spasms, shudder and jerk

Fall finally dead, but in the arms of love

Only to resurrect again

And see my light!

Hey Carrot!

Ante-Script: Hey carrot! This one's for you!! :)

The first time I saw you, I felt the weight of Thor's heaviest hammer-bang right on my head. Ouuchh I shouted in pain and closed my eyes, touched my head slowly, thought my skull broke asunder into pieces, but it was all intact - thankfully nothing happened. But when I opened my eyes, the world had become beautiful. The feeling was indescribable. For once, I'm not joking. I could see colors everywhere in my otherwise bland two-dimensional life.

I like the way you sweetly push me outside the door, and quietly blush after I'm gone. You very well know that I'm going to come back for you, don't you? I could clearly see it in your eyes - how you are intrigued by all the weirdness in my nature and your longing to call me - mine. The way your eyes move between my eyes and my lips gives away everything you have been trying to hide. I can understand, but you have to please stop doing this - because I'm the type who goes for the soul first and later when the time is ripe, for the other things.

Promise you, we would kill each other with deep kisses - both rugged and smooth, fast and slow, and hard and soft; and I'm just going to eat you whole whenever you are hungry. Trust me, this would continue forever. Every time we get a chance, we are going to crush each other with the most romantic of hugs - even if our grand children would make fun of us. Note, kisses are allowed in public even in our wrinkled age, only if you are okay with not disturbing the dentures. Ah, few fairies are now hellbent on pulling my eyelids down to close, so I stop writing stuff here and continue planning the rest of the things within the boundaries of my dreams. So good night I say, and go to sleep.

Until I become a cartoon, and then come and see you in the city of Zootopia - love you!

Burnt Down!

One gaze and you burn me down. You swim into my heart like those hungry crocodiles that are adept with their moves to attack all the beautiful zebras that try to cross the river. I can sense you moving through my nerves and the very thought of it intoxicates me - leaving my eyes red and head numb. I see smoke forming weird shapes everywhere, and everything appears blurred except your countenance that turns from lovelier to the loveliest. I collapse every time you hold me tight and whisper those few words into my ears. The best defences of my heart fail terribly and I topple into dust like those twin towers.

It took some time, but now I know that I'm under siege; you have placed your armies round about - so it is impossible for me to even think of planning an escape. Quite clearly - I am going to get killed as love would swallow me up completely like a deadly python. There is no option left for me, but to cooperate and get thoroughly digested inside cupid's guts and metamorphose into someone crazy and special - only for you. If I ever think of resisting love, I know I would be consumed by the unbearable heat of brimstone, and see my instant hell.

The time of drizzles has set in, monsoon is on. The climate has changed - I could now clearly hear the sound of kisses, and those cute faces you keep making every time you blush or turn playfully angry - they brighten my soul like how supernovas bring merriment to the skies. You personify all the desires I have never been open about; you are all the love songs I have ever written. Keep watch, see the clouds turn black, smell the earth, don't lose a moment, wait for me - because the way I would meet and storm into your life is going to be epic; trust me, our grandsons and granddaughters are going to talk about it with all the pride even after we are long gone.