who’s been alive in you,
wading in the mesh of liquid wires
through the medleys half-sung and the letters unsent
the nights wasted sleeping
time, like currency, spent
who drew the curtains, left vacant sign
on every window of every door
and begged the world to give you more
than this
who was it?
———————————————————————–
everybody who has ever been truly loved has that person, that left them because they loved them far too much to let them settle for a rainbow in the sky.
Posted in excerpts
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we, too, had gotten it all wrong more than once in our lives. we ran from desire instead of running towards it. disbelieved what mathematical induction could not prove, but what remains quite true: every pain, in every measure, can be counter-balanced by pleasure.
and i, the jagged tremor in your heart, the slight pause in your groan, am weak, for how many times i have surrendered to the illusion of lust?
but i shall find an excuse worth loving, a sentence worth of praise.
i am a woman.
no, a girl.
but more than that, i cannot feel complete unless i am a pool, half-full, passion rising to the surface, black oil floating on translucent water.
my heart is a pool collecting rivulets of desire in its basin, each drop – the sacred elixir of life. yes, i’ve changed. i used to say why be a man’s wife if you can be his mistress and now i’d rather say nothing at all.
now, i love you and you alone, but –
always a but-
i need the scarlet light to fall upon my form, if only to show off the violent carmine of my bullfighter’s cape.
my whole life is contained in the balance of virginal white and the shade of moonlight casting its fragile rays on lovers in the night. those colours merge to form my blood.
scarlet like the summer bloom of red roses, half-concealed by the shadows of rising sun.
and as i yearn for the chains of desire, wrap threads of red silk around me, dream me up sordid dreams.
i love you as you are, even if sometimes that’s not how it seems.
Posted in chapters of my life
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half my life, i’m freefalling, the other half – looking back on the sights i’ve seen in those few moments before my parachute opened, before the maddening rush of adrenaline was curbed by my safety net, the soft fabric above me saving me.
you are that fabric – the fabric of my life spun by the yarn of your love, by the generosity of those hands turning the spindle.
all because you feel responsible for me. or maybe not.
in the end, my life’s my life: a merger of past faces, names, soft hands that once caressed my skin or longed to do so.
and you.
the thread of you’s the thread of me. and i want everyone you know to love me, unbearably, exquisitely so that you know the worth of love. so that you can count broken smiles knowing something inside them breaks for me.
an only child, i knew how to be painfully selfish. i learnt it well, my only teacher – solitude and parents’ love. but here i am, sister in tow, and still that only child rhetoric lives on in me. so once in a while, i feel in need of broken dreams of others to see my hope reflected in those pieces of looking-glass.
and if you can’t blame me who can blame me?
my friend once told me i was cruel to boys, to men, male counterparts. that i was cruel because my skattered gazes never solidified, my touch was soft but vapid, my hands gentle but uncaring. so what? i said it’s my revenge.
and so it is.
as sweet as lemon sorbet melting on my lips.
Posted in chapters of my life
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do you still remember those teachers that actually cared? you know, the ones that would give you extra reading material, stay after school to help you with your coursework, or else, turn up to school in the middle of half term to give you that one last revision session?
such teachers are hard to come by. i had one of them. she was amazing. i loved her to bits. and she made me succeed.
i wrote her a letter yesterday. i just felt like i should. it was like a pang of nostalgia echoing my heartbeat. i think that happens sometimes, when you feel like you need to move on but can’t, because melancholy is seeping through the pores of your skin, dripping down in the form of tears down your face. and then, you have to do something about it or hold your peace forever.
i guess i just never was the one for keeping quiet.
she replied within an hour and made my day, my week, my month.
and so, i hope to see her again soon.
she was the one teacher who i just can’t seem to forget. i guess she must have taught me a lot.
such teachers are hard to come by.
Posted in chapters of my life
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glittering soot on her eyelashes 