Skip to main content

An Acute Wantonness

Come, quest for the depth of her soul
Light the candle of her desires
And melt her spiritual equipoise with your uncivilized sensations.
For she is a chaotic beauty, shrouded by obscurity
Fettered by fear, binded by sorrow on silent lips.

She has reached from pain to poetry to daily madness
A hurt bird lying in the middle of the field
With void eyes and an abate heart.

She is clever at masquerading but wishes to be trespassed today,
Come, Rummage and dredge up her psyche.

Take the floor and measure her in much depth
But don’t ask the meaning of any word she utters,
Lead her like a child by the hand
And feast her with gentle kisses tonight.

Ignite passion in her loveless eyes
Fritter away her sorrows and nurture the richness of her disorderedness,
Be her warrior, tonight.

Calm this mythical figure and she will reciprocate the love manifold
Embrace her restlessness and she will untangle every string of yours,
She is craving for your strength and intensity
Come, fan the flames of the unburnt fire inside her
Fuel the lone island of her thoughts tonight.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Letter to a Lethal Timid

"I quietly but persistently punished myself, shredded off the skin until nothing was left except the scent of blood on my fingers. I worked very hard to not let the black spot grow into cancer and slosh me down. On countless occasions, your needling, needless remarks pricked my conscience, and my head bursted like a dropped watermelon. You, dear hater, would never know severely have I been sliced by your venomous words. My vigor drained by the end of the day only to hear the slow pulse of its job half done. Saddened, I would scratch my wounds too deep for the healing and then let them open. I remember the nights when my insecurities hemmed in and my sense of fear filled my mouth with hot, dry air and made my body light. I used to watch you with eyes of hate before I realized that you are nothing but a pile of uncemented bricks that would never take a form, and I pitied you. I could clearly hear your enviousness and malice thudding loudly like a horse’s hoof...
Post a Comment
Read more

Empathy

“We think that poverty is only being hungry or homeless. The poverty of being unloved and uncared for is the greatest poverty.” The music beats thumped, the air conditioner froze and the eatables were swallowed. We were returning back home after attending a relative’s birthday party. On our way back, we paused at the red light junction, and a thought struck my mind . She seemed to be of the age of seven or eight years. Hair all messed up, ragged clothes, disheveled appearance and a baby in her arms. She sat on the footpath with folded laps, looking after the child. She was situated there staring us, and a grin covered her little face. She sat still and stared us, each and everyone in the car. The red light went off and we drove away, leaving the little girl behind. This is something so frequent at the red light stops. No one cares to even take note of that vagrant’s plight. They sit there the whole day, whether it is the scorching summer or the shivering winters. No timely f...
Post a Comment
Read more

Dispatch to a Friend

So this friend came to me the other day and accused me of being a paradox. He complained that your scripts talk about being vigorous and iron-willed while you, on the other hand, seem to be feeble and obscure; that you are a contradiction, full of falsehood and you drop lines on the piece of paper that you’re literally not. I let him had it at that while, because I believe I am good at pushing a pencil and am not blessed with the gift of gab. My dear friend, to you I write, I am a meek valiant. I sob at the sofa in the middle of the day, panting and yearning for something far-fetched. I am a miscalculation of theories and sentiments. While I scribble dauntless and lionhearted beliefs, I might be the most timid and reticent human being you have ever met. I am the one who fragmentizes inward and sheds bitter tears in a dark corner, rather than howling back. This ideal, prototypical girl in the back of my mind that I write about and that, in the heart of hearts, I aspire to ...
1 comment
Read more