Sickly Sweet purple darkness........

I saw you standing at the foot of the bed

The moonlight kissing every hard angle every rise and fall of your chest

Your lean long walk

Your breath rising hard and slow

The ending of a song rising slowly in sync with my eyes following the light drifting touching caressing your skin

The purple darkness of the night .. the white smoke from the end of the cigarette on your moist hard lips.. unyielding quick to touch

Hour hands running from your temple to your strong shoulders

The glistening beads of sweat on your skin

The orange light burning from the end of the web of smoke

Your breathe taking it in as you look at me and pulling away to look away into the rich velvety sky

The cold drift the makes your taut soft skin rise with tiny little bumps .. I could count every one of them

The spirals of your hair .. the nakedness of you makes me take in more than I can take anymore..

You look back at me .. with those surprising brown eyes..

Your tongue that tastes of me trying to lick at your parched lips

The disconnect of you and me.

Tangible sex in the air

The room warm . the sheets warmer I lay back and turn to the white ceiling I seem to find maps of my broken memories

Your fingertips on my toes that were only moments ago curled in pleasure .

Not seeing you I see you even clearer.

My legs shiver in recollection of your tongue , your fingers , your chest

The throb within ,in no hurry to go away

Music and fantasy in the air

A guilty pleasure of love making while the world is asleep

the moon peeking out from the clouds to check on us

the light in the room makes me look harder at your taut curve and dip as you turn to drink water

the cliché of driping water on bare skin makes more sense than it ever did before.

Sense , thought and delusion melting into sickly sweetness like the last few pulls from a joint

Overcome , overwhelmed we breathe in the stillness and ethereal concoction of our souls unable to differentiate even with a rooms distance from each other.

The spell of the witching hour broken with your swift reach to the bed ,into between me.

this is right ........ this fits.

quiet cascade

There is a deep dark place inside me. That seems to bleed into the rest of me.

Thoughts of violence, death, pain, angst, suicide a dilapidated version of i .

i .. so personal, so personal.. i so alone. so alone.

there is a surprising waiting in hope the flood lights turn on and suffocate the death in me

Thoughts of joy, of clear blue skies, of cold bright mornings, of laughter and love.

i .. so open, so open. i .. so happy, so happy.

Conversations you don’t want to have with Indian parents.

You- mum .. dad .. – what is sex?

Dad yells to mum- “This is why I told you to put her/ him in an all boys/girls school!.. Nonsense..!”

Mum – “ bachaa , you go ask your teacher ok.”

……………..............................................

You- mum .. dad .. I want to take up arts..

Dad – what! Your grandfather was a doctor! Your great grandfather was an engineer.. your brother is a doctor!.. you want to do arts?.. what will you do for money?... beg on the streets?... eh??/.. don’t expect money from us.. I will kick you out of the house on your behind.. and then we will see where this arts will take you.

Mom- beta.. are you sure?..

Dad- what sure! .. I am sure.. that is more than enough.. how will you show your face to nana, nani .. dada dadi.. blah blah blee blee..?.. (at this point.. everything becomes blurry and you retrieve happier memories and fade out.

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you – dad.. mum – I think I can dance…

dad- go dance in your room.

you- (continues watching so you think you can dance quietly. )

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You- dad mum . I met someone.

Dad- ah.. so did I on my way back from work.. you don’t hear me announcing it .. ?

You- I mean I met someone I d like you ll to meet ..

Mom- beta .. would you like to help me in the kitchen !

You- no mom, I need to tell you guys about this,

Dad- (clutching his heart) this is why I told you ,, we should have put her/him in india.. they go abroad and run around in bikinis .. I knew this would happen! Who is this person you have met??

You- her name is shaniqua ..

Dad- eh?... hindu?..(Muslim?/ Catholic?/Pentecost?/ replace with any Indian minority /majority religion)

You- umm no.. not exactly. She is an atheist.

Dad- there is no such thing.. where are her parents from?.. where are they originally from?

You- hmm… I want to say Nigeria. But they are what you d call. African American.

Dad- WHAT!

(This scenario applies to straight woman as well.. Replace shaniqua with jamal.)

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You- dad…

Dad- ah .. STARTED.. what is it this time?.. you want to become a hippie rapper and tour the world peddling drugs?.. eh?.. nonsense.. when are you going to get a job and settle down..

Mom- yes darling.. Nasser uncle said he d set you up with an administrative job. Lot of growth.

You- umm no .. its not about a job or peddling anything… I think I m gay.

!! CONGRATULATIONS!! .. you just killed your Indian parents.!!

In the sanctity of a broken mind.

A recurring dream

An animal outside the room.. a crazy mad song in the loudest decibel. I can recollect clawing at the door to get inside. I never really know what’s out there; I assume sometimes it’s a lion. A big gorgeous beast of a lion.

Is it a metaphor for coming to terms with who I am. Maybe I locked away my ‘dark passenger’.

Maybe it was sedated and the older I get, the harder it gets to keep the beast out, the more I realize it needs to be caged.

I wake up scared and not screaming. I wish I did get up screaming; at least it would be cathartic.

Maybe I need to get laid. I don’t know. People usually think that does the trick. Maybe , me closing a door on a side of my personality that was so violent and manifest, is the cause of the night terrors. A huge part of who I am , who most of us are is sex. Now I don’t mean, Bang Bang in the bedroom. But a more raw , SEX. That we make jokes about, we are ashamed of, we live our lives hunting it down. Sex, the basic rawness that we roped and caged into norms and rules. Matrimony and organized community.

I roped and caged and thought I killed the beast , when I stopped looking for happily ever after. When I grew up and the throbbing need got dull, I realized I dint need just a romp in the sack and five rug rats. I needed a friend. An honest loyal friend, who would never let me down and who I d never let down. We d go through life travelling, exploring the world and us. Living and having a fucking frenzy. It all became clearly unachievable , and I don’t say this in hopes of someday a knight with blue eyes should come change my mind and slay or befriend the beast. I say it with an understanding that what I want is unattainable for a number of reasons. Those reasons don’t apply to everyone. But they do to me.

To save my yearning, aspiring soul, I chained away my sex. A huge chunk of my soul and decided I was going to get through this alone. Its just me and me.. baby .. on this long ride home. I do believe from whence we came we shall return.

My rider was not on the Storm.. My rider is the Storm. The one thing I cannot allow myself to feel.. I welcome nature at its finest. Thunder.. Lightening.. Raw and scary.

Chaining all that.. has to be a bitch. And it comes back to bite me.. Most nights… if not every night.

It starts a smooth jazz.. a slow build into a drum roll and thundering explosive guitar solo and a screaming Bruce Dikinson, Cris Cornell,Anthony Caleb,Hendrix, Axel, Robert Plant ,Bonn Scott and Freddie Mercury all in unison .. Until my heart can’t take it anymore and I wake up in a cold sweat , heart pounding.. one heck of a ride.

stolen kisses

He was just a boy and I just a girl

He was confused and I misunderstood.

I d given my heart many times before,

But no one was a prince on a white horse but him.

I his princess and he my king.

He was a boy and I a girl,

We were forced to kiss one warm evening,

In a game little boys and girls with red faces played.

We kissed and thunder and violins, were heard.

he came to me an hour later, with tears in his eyes.

He told me he loved me, in the dark when no one could see.

How did I not see.

How did I not see , this boy before.

He stood tall and fair ,

And I short and dark.

an unlikely pair.

He was a boy and I just a girl,

We stood on a cliff and the valley below,

Where games were played in evening’s cloak.

We stood with the wind in our hair and tears in our eyes,

Looking and seeing for the first time.

My prince before me, and I his queen.

He leaned to a soft and cold kiss.

He was a boy and I just a girl.

Nobody could tell us there were dragons and dungeons in the forest before us.

As the valley caught fire

We kissed in the white tower.

And in his palace while his kin stood guard,

The darkness was sweet with warmth and cold kisses.

And I called him my dreamy knight on white steed.

He stood fair and tall and

I short and dark.

An unlikely pair the two of us,

Fell in love.

Until one day he had to return home.

And he never came back and I never saw him.

Until years later ,I heard he was gone.

I thought of warm sunny afternoons and cold kisses in an ivory tower

My king , my prince , my knight was gone.

He was but twenty ,

His cold soft kisses with him were gone.

He was just a boy and I just a girl.

To crib

1. Waiting-Impatience runs heavy with me. I have never understood the concept of taking things slow, or patience being a virtue. I do not like to wait. If I need it. I need it now. It can be my visa to study in the UK to waiting to be picked up or waiting to be asked out. Nope. I get angry, irritable and depressed in that order.
2. Liars- if I know you are lying; you will hear from me that I know you are lying. But lies of any kind annoy the Shiva out of me. Lying has many shades to it. Deceitful behavior- playing games with people mentally or emotionally. Pretending to be someone you are not. Trying to cheat, or cheating .none of this has to be toward me, if you are doing it. I don’t like you. Period.
3. Hot rooms- I detest sweating and rooms that are hot. I do not like people in hot rooms. I have an ill opinion of people who like hot rooms and work in hot rooms. Give me a morgue to work in, I ll do it.
4. Wearing pants / shorts/lower body clothing in bed- I hate staying over at peoples places for one reason, I have to wear the whole pajama set. It irks me to be restricted on cold sheets in a cold room and under a humongous comfy quilt. This also leads me to prefer sleeping alone.
5. Small beds- size matters.
6. People who cannot make up their fucking minds- people who cannot make up their fucking minds.
7. The American accent- give me a rolling malyali accent and throw in some of the north Indian obnoxiousness.. I’ll still find it quirky and funny. The American accent just seems unbearable. This is only in person. I like watching American television though.
8. Indians who put on a foreign accent- I say foreign because most often than not, an Indian is talking in a Russian American welsh hybrid with Slavic and Arabic influences even though they think they are pulling off a British or American accent.
9. People who have money problems and think it’s the worlds right to know about it- I like people who suffer in silence, I hate assholes who try to make it my business to know that they do not have money. I don’t mind being asked money but going to a store and looking at things with sad puppy dog eyes and the tongue clucking and the..” sigh… maybe when I get some money”. If you want it, buy it. If you don’t have the money, its not the end of the fucking world, sit your ass at home or do something (anything) that does not cost any money. Eg- go to the beach, spend time with your family , make ice cream at home whatever it is stop saying you don’t have any money.
10. Anything to do with hurting animals- this is too depressing to get into and too wide a topic.

Note- this is followed by deep deep dreamless ( I hate dreaming) sleep in a cold cold room under a oversized quilt in a king sized bed with no shorts on and no one to share any of the above with.. sigh the good life. The good fucking life.

goddess

The goddess inside me is living and breathing. I don’t control her. She controls me.

She battles my fear and apprehensions. She turns me into a screaming banshee to a sultry manipulator. Men are playthings to her. She sees them as instruments of procreation and loveless creatures.

She is wild and free spirited, a ragged thorny rose bush, sweet smelling and deceptive at the same moment.

Her sigh is thought and pre planned. Intake of breathe and lowering her eyes to please and betray.

She teases and taunts men using my body as a vehicle of dynamic motion. A stutter and soft whisper are heavy with intention.

I know she’ll make me kill for love. I know she has absolute and complete control over my emotions and heat beat. I’ve learnt over time and over every injustice to control her and her madness.

She is happy and unforgiving, her laughter comes out in giggles and tears, and the more I stop her, the louder the cracks on my face become.

Her dreams are big and all consuming. She dreams for me and everyone around me. She is trusting and free.

She is tired of poised hands and crossed legs , I can feel her pushing against my insides , ready and coiled to burst out and run wild and free. Run without inhibition and laugh without a thought of the tears that come after.

She hurts easily, I can feel her sadness gushing and pushing through my chest and eyes when she is met with my resistance, when I stop her from living. When I continue my existence my lifeless muted existence.

A fierce mother is the only role she readies herself for; all other cloaks and skins are flammable and perishable. I can feel her stirring and scratching me on the inside for an offspring, as I crush her spirit with my doubts and insecurities. No man is good enough. Never will be. She knows that, but stirs me to mate. Making love is for the delusional. Love is never made, it is given and taken. Love is timeless. The best looking should suffice; I hear her whisper as she caresses me and softly pushes my chest forward and lips into a pout. We’ll make up for everything else. Her reach in every inch of me stirs an ache only another was meant to quench.

She wants to shock and entertain. She wants to serve and sustain. She wants a balance while fighting structure and normality. And I have learnt to shut her up.

Without her, I imagine a slow preparation for eventual blackness of death. A dismal nothingness, a void that is perpetually empty.

I know she stirs and keeps me awake. She is as fierce and terrible as images of kali, there are no in between steps, there is the beginning and the end . She is hovering over the second before complete and total annihilation. I love the thrill of her living breathing and monstrous soul inside me. I know I am not a lost cause when I feel her anger shift slowly and terribly into chaos. As she surveys the destruction before her, I know her warmth and familiar excitement at the sliver of dawn she imagines she sees.

The goddess inside me is devious, nurturing, manipulative and self sacrificing all in one breathe. She is impatient, ruthless and beautiful. I am her , she is me.