THE TASTE OF RAW DESIRE.

In between the ghost of his lips seducing me,the smell of his perfume holding me hostage, I couldn’t do much. Wrapping me up in a whet of his touch,my body shivered.
His hypnotic gaze landing me in a confusing state of mind.
Engrossed in the moment,I realise he’s my type of fire. Fire that burns so eminently, erotically and still breathtakingly.
Fire to burn you down like a Phoenix, to cold ashes,and on the same note, keep you warm when the cold hits hard.
Fire that I won’t falter from holding it in my hands. I guess the proper acclimatisation has rendered me less vulnerable.
A desire that makes my taste buds tingle, coz they know damn well what they get offered.
I bet that is the real taste of raw desire.

THROUGH THE EYES OF THE UNIVERSE.

At 3 am surrounded by memories,all she could do was cry. It came as though she was stationed at the bottom of the sea, where happiness was captive to sorrow, and there she could breath with no compromise, no constriction. Where the sun rays were vague,but not that it mattered. Where time stood still on its toes,never lasting long enough for her to grief. She was a life ticking bomb,ready to detonate soon as she was triggered. Sorrow is what she bled of, from her heart,and the universe was just tired of seeing her like this. Sadly,it was time to take her.

A WRITER.

I am a writer. A writer with a faulty wing,
Soaring in the deepest enchanted parts of
The clouds, is something I have done,
Where their secrets lay, sashayed, and
Hidden, far from the reach of a human’s wish.

I have trespassed where angels and their
Immortality reign, picked up the specs of
gold, shed by their wings, and kept them
As a souvenir. I have witnessed and dined
With the beautiful souls, a comfort zone it
Was, but still, I was meant for more.

Drinking from the galactic springs, is the
Only way I know how to quench my thirst.

I have built a constellation with the stars
And I have heard you whispering into each
Other’s breathes, of how amazing we looked.

I have shelved books of endless wishes,
In the moon’s library, wishes you have
Made each and every day, and night.

I have sailed with the shooting stars, battled
Gravity, and I have been called not the
Pirate of the Caribbean, but the Captain
Of the Stars.

I have been arrested in the rain’s jail
But still, walked out, with lightning
And thunder in my pocket.

To hell? You kidding me? Yes I have been
There, bored the devil out of his wits. I
Must admit, I have famously known fire
To lit a cigar, placed my feet upon his many
Demon heads.

Thought he was the devil, but I had him
Retract from those thoughts. He Is well
aware, that I am a match he cannot match
Up to, not even an inch.

I have hawked ice in his most dreaded
chambers, like selling candy to yearning
Kids. Siphoned the last drop of immorality from his
cup, licked it darn clean, making him wish
He had remained a good loyal angel.

I have swallowed whole, the darkness
Did not need to use a fork, what for?
My jaws and well sharpened nails ripped
It apart, searching for its innermost
nightmares, turned out it carries no
authenticity actually fearing its own self,
more than you would.

I have invaded the world of the dead
Scavaging whatever little they have with
No mercy, dragged it on a rusted chain,
using them as a ladder, to the earth’s
surface.

I have connived and conspired with the
universe, to turn back the hand of time,
tie fate up, and destiny by its neck, to
prevent them from mating on my watch.

For poetry has had me heal, the wounds
Inflicted by reason, the only tool I have as
my state of art machinery. Enabled me to
be villain in a story that needs to be told,
a play that needs to be played, in my every own theatre.
Has cooled me down even when
Novocaine, could not do so, to relax my
throbbing ideas that seemed to collide
fatally in my head.
Has remained loyal where everything and
Everyone was ephemeral. Its what makes
up to balance my faulty wing, keep me
afloat, hold me into place.
For I am a writer, with a faulty wing.

ALL TOO FAST,ALL TOO SOON.

Under the moonlight we stood,
Standing we did, but still, she wasn’t there,
I held her hand against my heart,
Wanted her to feel what we once had,
My heart was bleeding, poetry leaking,
Only that she was not an avid reader,
Cared less to peruse through my pages,
Read in between the lines, understand,
The ink I had used to write it down.
She was fire, that I knew.
With the ability to burn down my pages,
By a single touch of her flame.
I was to blame. With thorns grown all around,
her, it was hard to get close,
Her guard so high, walls so strong,
Walls that I had known like the back of my palm,
Entered whenever I felt like.
That was the greatest mistake I had done,
Swinging and banging her gates,
Clumsily, at my own pleasure,
Little did I know I was sucking her
Into a pit of despair, and she got
Too tired, of fighting any more,
Repaired her own self, and locked herself in
Cried a lot, but it was for the art,
I turned out to be a cup of hot tea,
That burnt her tongue,
She just was not ready.

A SLAP IN THE FACE.

You closed your eyes in the name of sleeping,but I know you never did. You were haunted by memories. Memories that bore delightful despicable things, that only you can decipher. Yes,living became expensive for you,and perhaps you couldn’t afford it ,at least no more.
Maybe the only place where you were safe,was only inside your mind,a place where your demons played poker with your cells,and betting wages on your soul.
Your demons were delighted to hear you mess up your own song,because somewhere in between the lines, you contradicted yourself.
And there,yes, right there,is when you realise that your life is bleeding,and nothing can heal it back. The break of dawn failing to bring any hope with it. Gone case!.

THE HUNGRY CHURCH YARD

Ash to ash, dust to dust, and the priest turned to the congregation
White was his robe, King James on one hand
Silence in the atmosphere, for the catastrophe, required silent souls
Here, many had been six feet below, long forgotten
The yard full with a swollen stomach, but still craved for more
Few metres away, the old church stood, a witness to all the goners
Rood slightly slant, years after its youth
Dry sorrow drains the blood of the crowd, nothing but mere silence
Their backs they turn, leaving the dead to rest in eternal peace
Flowers, embodiment of beauty, whisper to the grave in silence
What they say? No one can really exactly comprehend
Clouds above pass silently, for the ground below, is total chaos
It never was satisfied, was always ready for consumption
Was it its fate? To solely, caress the faces of the dead?
Even with all the piled up graves, its fertility was never a grace
Stars in the sky keep guard; they stir not, its existence
Neither will the guard patrol in the land of the damned
At night, lest he knits his own death gown
Its proximities, seem to be aware of its ability to seam
Its name on you, and there! A gone case you will be
Flora and Fauna, both fall prey to it, their demise planned or not
Souls of innocent worshippers are disturbed, knowing not
The next victim to lie on its no return bed
No pillow to lie on, no sheet to cover you, just you and your dead self
With folded arms, and a craned neck, he waits by his gates, to prowl and devour
It was a nakba, maybe one of nature’s prodigious births, one loathed by many
Tears tearing the soul, till we lose our sole purpose
Heart ache hurts the being, been left behind, but the church yard still will remain hungry

Wachau Chege

Wait,you didn’t know,right?

SHE STAGGERED HERSELF INTO THIS
Her mind serves her right, and she well remembers
That day she was drunk, not of liquor, unfortunately
She lacks to know of what, but she loved it
It was raining heavily, and the heavens reigned with roar
Soaked wet, freezing of cold, and she felt numb
Tears reluctant to flow back into their native springs
Wincing and hiccupping, rubbing shoulders simultaneously
Her weight was slowly outdoing her, as her knees wobbled
The streets were empty, no one in sight,funny enough
Everyone was probably warmly tucked in their sheets
She walked, splashed, and paddled in muddy water
Only the night knew how long she had been walking
To her, it seemed like eons, like time had stood still
Deep inside her, she longed for inner peace
Make up with her past, find solace she yearned for
A homely drift it was, she was a lost soul
Unsure if she would drown in her own world
Her heart avenues were gridlocked in ice
Fire for hire would have been a better justice
Like water drying off a tap, she was dying
Like an unironed, crumpled cloth, she was caving in
Fading like a forgotten memory, she was wearing out
A life ticking bomb, is what she was turning into
Her ship was leaving the harbour, willingly
She approached the end the street, still staggering
Her heart running short of rhythm, was dwindling
Blinking relentlessly, as tears and the rain played
And mated in her eyes, teasingly and mockingly
Alas! There it was, a small well built house
Some light flickered, and she longed to regain
Warmth, before the drunkenness killed her
All so soon as she imagined, the door opened
It was warm, a room cosy and well lit
Just the perfect size for a happy perfect life
He touched her shoulder, ushered her in
The touch made her flinch, and he noted that
Like slate under the chalk, her heart was melting
And the water building up a bubbly fountain
Her cheeks, started growing into a glowing brightness
Splendour of her own, radiated the room
Overwhelmed with aw, delight danced in his eyes
Before him stood a fine china, with the finesse of a well groomed peacock
For a moment the universe was gyrating around them
Fragrance of a beautiful innocent thing sprouting, rented the air
Holding her hand, her heart started to regain rhythm
Her water, like freshly from the mountain spring, it sprang
The sun was smiling down on her, ironing her origami
A reverse took course, no longer detonating her bomb
Her ship, finding an anchor, took anchorage
It was a work of heavenly act and art
Witnessed by the rain and lightning, giving their consent
It was downright, her staggering
She staggered herself into it.

MY CONFESSION

Pardon my manners if I came in last night, at the middle of the night.
Drunk of words, hiccupping of poetry, stains of ink at the collarbone of my shirt.
*Laughs hysterically*.
I am sorry, but she was enticing, I could not help but fall for her seductive charm
Served just like I love it. Like a magnet pulling me into touching her all over,
I am sure I have left many marks of tenderness on her
I am sorry if I seem like a pervert, but this is the only dose that cures the bombarding thoughts in my head.
She lets me document my memories on her, and she does not even make a single sound.
My heat builds up, whenever I fail to see her, for like coffee; she calms my nerves and soothes my existence.
I am sorry I stagger from her intoxication, but the thing is, she hits me so strongly, I cannot help it.
I am sorry my breathe, a mixture of imagination, and fantasy, smells so badly off, and cannot make you sleep at night, as I exhale it towards you.
If in my sleep I talk of her smell being intimidatingly sweet, then it’s because it is true, like petrichor on a rainy day, it is hard to ignore it.
When i happen to look at you absent mindedly, and smile like I am out of my mind, then know I am reminiscing on how worthy she makes my living.
I do not want to get untangled from her knot.
I am sorry if you do not perceive the essence of all these, perhaps one day, you will.