My Pet

So sexy, in bed a wild cat

So trusting, little doormat

So loving, your tail wags

Pouting, you never cease to nag

Multicoloured feathers

I proudly display you on my arm

Dark pleasures

Cozy nights, morning alarm

Talking parrot

You rarely make sense

Crouching, ready

Muscles, hot and tense

My pretty doll

On your chin a cleft

I miss you most

When it's been a week since with you I slept

My love, my slave

My dessert, my little pet.

Pieces Of My Day

That capricious piece of green cloth

Teasingly plays on my shoulders

Threatens to fly off

To tease a stranger

To caress another face in the crowd

Or the back of a chair

Refuses to let me in peace

In its carelessness, commands me to be careful.

That piece of white paper

Borrowed in jest from a trouser pocket

Now lays on ashes of friendly cigarettes

Kissed by black ink

As my mind talks to itself,

Around me loved voices

And faces framed in smoke

The green darkness

Of a familiar old cloak, my favourite place.

That snatch of banter

A few lines of an unfamiliar song,

Face, a combination of so many emotions

Expressions, contradicting the everyday words they utter

Eyes, so earnest, vulnerable, wanting

Mocking the camouflage of everyday complacence

So open in this moment,

I catch a stranger's eye, he won't hold my stare

These pieces, pieces of my day

So incomplete,

Leave a sweet void in my consciousness

A void that awaits the next day

And it's pieces.

Red Lipstick

A garish scar of femininity

On my otherwise docile face, a taunt.

My confidence

A mockery

Of the person I'm not.

An invitation, an intimacy

A rebellion, a warning

A declaration of individuality

A confession of weakness

A license to be wanton

An assumption of sophistication

No reason to take you,

A reason to forsake you.

Rosiness of satiated passion

Bleeding of hopes

Happiness of true love

Hopelessness of a whore.

An Ode To That Wile Harlot - Navy Cut

I crave you.

Everyone told me you would be the death of me

But you've embroidered death into a fantasy.

Everyone told me you are cheap

That you could be had by any excuse for a man.

But a moment of lust is stronger than a lifetime's wisdom

I proved to myself this timeless truth

So here I am

With a light in my hand

I crave you.

 I have had others when you were not around

Not that you asked for loyalty

Not that you deserve it

There were classic beauties,

Mild maidens,

Glamorous black princesses...

Yet it is you I crave

You in your cheap white cotton dress,

The vulgarity of your breath

The ferocity of your hot amateur lovemaking...

Oh how you feel in my mouth

You engulf my mind in smoke

A fire burns me down, down to my guts...

 Can't give you up

And the laughter on your angry orange lips says you know it

You throw your power in my face

I throw you out

Take you back

You shameless urchin, you smilingly come back

Come back to kill me

Come...

I crave you.

Tell Me It's Easy

You sell yourself

Not for money, but to hide

You hide yourself, hide your beauty from me

You've killed it now

And yet you smile your dilute smile

How do you do it?

You tell me it's easy.

You are the personification of denial

Yet you nervously claim to be thankful

You say you do it for me,

That I should do it for you

But I'm not happy,

And you are hysterical

Why should we do it?

You say, Because it's easy.

Now you've smothered yourself to death

The poison is bleeding out

As you swelter in your own blood,

I beg for a final answer

That tired smile again

You tell me it was the only way

And so, it was easy.

To this day I stumble on

Like a bewildered child

Fighting with everyone,

Fighting for everything

I haven't smiled for so long

But I have laughed so much

And I look for you

You're dead, you're not coming back

And yet I wait for you to live

You think it's easy?

It's not... But I need to live.

Disconnected Thoughts

If we choose to deliver and stand naked in His eye, together, holding hands, jeering at time; as butterflies flutter over our heads and we look up at them and smile and grin and sing; will we be transported back to heaven on a swan's wings, will we fly and tease each other? And laugh? Is laughter hysterical? Or is it as beautiful a thing as it appears to me? Or is it both? And a pink boiled bun in the sky. What would that mean? Can I make a dream what it is or do I make it what I want it to be and then try and understand it and a faint glimmer is all I get? Is it better this way? Why is my mind all questions? Are questions my only contribution to the consciousness? Black and shiny. Glamour. Riches. A celebration of what we are. Only we deserve to celebrate, we, who are free. We, who are free from guilt. We, who truly know what enjoyment is. So much pride I take to be displayed on his arm. His most beautiful possession. And we laugh and we let them see we laugh. And we laugh at their deadness, their diluted malice, their wonder. We are children in our laughter, cruel as only children can be. And again we fly. All black and shiny and laughing like a couple of seven year-olds. Will we see ghosts? Will that make us unhappy? Or surer that this was meant all along. I think we'll find that it was only we who were meant to see. And understand.

How bizarre.

It's a bizarre movie I'm watching. Or is it a book I'm reading? In a dark small room, a small tin boy arranges things importantly; he's waiting for someone to come. Can't say if it has life, but it's certainly moving. And smiling.A train with a steam engine, puffs around hilly bends. Everything I see is inside a thick ornate golden frame.The frame disappears. I'm in the train going somewhere.Now I'm in a green flowery place, both familiar and unfamiliar. It's places I know somehow entwined with places I can only imagine, they are so beautiful. I come out in a particularly beautiful clearing with curtains of flowers hanging down slender tree branches.I turn around and look carefully at the path I'm on so that I can come back to this place. There's a lawn with a little bird-bath a little ahead. And there's this perfect cup cake of a house, all cream and pink. I haven't seen this one before. I go closer and read 'Griha' written on the door. Explains a lot. There's a small girl washing her face at a basin outside the Griha. She looks at me for a few seconds as I walk slowly past, then resumes washing her face.The trees are denser now. I reach a small shack. I had known all this while that this is my destination, but I realize it only now. I open the door. It's dark inside, it takes me sometime to get my vision.The tin boy was standing on the table near the window. With a smile that foze my blood. I was too late. It was waiting for me. And it had died waiting. I don't know what was more of a shock, the fact that it had died or that it's me it was waiting for.