When I made love to you

As I waited for the day I'll be meeting you for a date, my heart practiced to re-tune its rhythm. As the beats began to thump to a new music of their own, the effects were seen on my blushing cheeks. Who knew this time I would be meeting you impromptu. My feet skipped gracefully. I l felt people watching me and I didn't care. The place we were meeting at was familiar. The smells, aromas and the sights brought good times back. I knew we were meeting for just ten minutes and those ten minutes were like melting in the Milky Way, getting lost amidst each other’s textures, curves and depths. As you opened yourself waiting to be caressed by me, my lips parted, in exhilaration, for they had been starving for many months.  One bite of yours led me to have an orgasm. With my eyes closed and your taste lingering on my tongue, I dissociated and associated to that crisp aroma and rich flavour that I felt the last time we met. In that moment, I swear I felt infinite. Your gaze, the silence, the aroma and my dissolved self said everything.  Just when I thought I had had enough, I plunged for another bite and oh! I was on a roller coaster. You took me on a high that I resisted and craved for simultaneously. How could you spin such magic and play with me like this? Hmm? 

One after another, I digged deep into you as I discovered and lost parts of myself. I was never as mindful of my being as i was with you.

As I ride back home, I'm filled with you.  My fingers continue to lick the hummus and the pita bread. I'm satiated even as I starve. Can't have enough of you, you know that? Don't you?

The Growing Silence

The poems of this phase have been the best I’ve ever written. When my friends urge me to share it with them, I tell them they are too precious and sacred to be out in the open in the wild and callous world of internet. They need a heart as divine as they deserve, to carefully and gently place them on pages of a book with a gorgeous cover and a soul, for not any page shall understand their worth and not any cover shall envelop its existence.

At times when words fail, the rivers bleed with pain and  anguish, that is, for them to bear and for words to witness. The words sit by the river and simply try to be ‘present’; that’s all they can do. They feel helpless for being unable to extract the hydrogen from the oxygen, as the two have been intertwined for life. The words cringe, wince. They try to cry but nothing compares to the bleeding river. The words have a voice which the river doesn’t. The river hopes to turn its colours from black to red that it originally possessed. As goes for the words, to the outside world, they have only turned more graceful, poignant and charming as ever. Their magic makes people swoon and their effect stays like a lasting fragrance.

Between the spaces of the words and the river lies an abyss of great depth and silence. The Silence is exploring its own existence in its nascent birth. Ever since it stepped into this world, the cries have been shrilly and extremely painful to bear. At times, she simply sobs to sleep. On other times, there are sudden bursts of agony making her feel death was near. Yet the river would bleed from her eyes and she would still exist in an existence which felt nothing but absent. 

The silence has matured with time.  She’s growing.  She has begun to breathe with her own lungs. Her wisdom has given life to words. Times change: for a silence which was overbearing for her own self, she has begun to add beauty to others lives. As they thank her, she lives a little more. She lives for all that is yet to come and unravel itself in the most magnificent ways. She lives, with herself.