From the window, I see the world of my survival which is a large expanse. From my balcony I see the mast at the harbour, and the worlds beyond from where I get my peaches and apples.
From Turkish towel of France to the t-shirt from Bangladesh, I am what everyone is, with the whole of mankind on me. If you see through what adorns me I am the whole of humanity in me.
From messages of love and hate to instant news, I am closer to everyone in awe, inspiration, disdain, approval and rejection. But in acceptance, humility and compassion, I am imbued in all and all in me.
Sickman lying comatose, feeling lonely even with the fever, that doesn’t release him without. Sickman, ,deadman, seaman, man of man, king maker, king himself.
Lying naked burning under the sheets, under his skin, under his heart that pumps blood faster than needed. And burning deep within the void where only awareness goes.
The blood has salt, salt eating his bones. The sea is far and hull done with. Comatose, comatose, comatose.
He can hear his wife, rambling curses for her life, wretched him and his friends, viled and wasted without a dime. He walked in the sun, it wasn’t shine on summer days, nights were hard too, and friends were all he had. As he lies he sees none other than that, paraquet perched on the parapet. Rest all is Comatose, comatose , comatose.
Wandering his mind, mother embracing the child pleading to slow down, there is nothing in the toy, the red car will bewitch and steal you away from her. The sea he crossed, for his dreams had called. He was no more wild and jumped to the otherside. Comatose, comatose, comatose.
This side, other side, any side, This way, no way, any way, He led all the way to watching the paraquet fly away. He is in his self now, all the while he was sailing Comatose, comatose, comatose.
I want to sex you up. Seething and pent up, scorching the sweat into ambrosia.
Seek my blood, prey on me. Like a gazelle I run, from the break of dawn, till the light relinquishes to the dark, relishing the gnashing bite of pleasure and pain.
Suck the life of me, kill my will. I want to witness the death of my desires to live as a slave in quite obedience to your sexed up self.
You will see me smiling in all photographs, In the moment of joy see my arms spread, holding the frame as it is my responsibility.
My eyes won’t betray, my heart is unseen and my deep emotions won’t show, Unknown to rest, only she sees, I am broken but held together in promises. Of these, only few are to myself.
Love has been unkind. Or it wasn’t there ever. Unchained yet not free, but words are used to keep me, sometimes at bay or sometimes at home.
Love seems like a game. And the fool in me will play like the dice that throws number for the winners sake.
I have put my love through tests in my mind, filtering with logic and reason, donning the lense of morality, norms and accepted conduct.
I have seen and observed many a woman in their defined societal cage, in their hypergamy and blasphemy in thoughts, trusted as imperative to their hormonal twists, heralded by their maturing self.
And I have come to belive the one I love is true despite all womanly affliction. Her sensitive empathy overlaid on her love, I wish I was lucky to have her besides me. Now dying each day with just memories of time spent with her, that are stolen when destiny blinks.
Maybe it’s not all over, Not done till the end is the end. Hope is a malice for them, who play with an unlucky hand.
In the end when all is over, before that hope disappears. In its fading light a new one is born. different in experience but same in essence.
But, no hand is unlucky that loves with a free mind. The bond of heart runs deep where the mind is not tied in hopes.
The lucky and unlucky hand are born of hope, and hope by worldly knowledge. The wise one is not shackled to it as love shall seek that which is eternal bliss.
I am happy all the while except when I try to run away from the magnetic love of your being.
On every spark of memory I contort my imagination to keep you away.
Sometimes I walk alone the shores where no soul meanders, so I can immerse in my thoughtless zone. But my hormones have synced with yours; they drive my madness as much as yours.
Let’s make love, like we never loved before. Our body and mind shall meet on the grounds where we are not perceptions of each other, neither distinct nor united. But as one, like light and shadow, day and night. Like cosmic effulgence, at the genesis of life.
Locale de Muse 