a kiss- Any-more!

Dark lush hair
caressing your ankles...

tethered dreams
hatred seethe
virgin nausea
truth-
of your thighs
the silent demand
flower garlands of jasmine-


Painting by Rabindranath Tagore.

Beyond..

(chasing her yellow laughter
a boy would catch butterflies)


the drying buds
of roses silent curled,

wafting aroma of cinnamon sticks
somewhere ...
eying the jars of spices
in the quiet of an afternoon



a navy sky grows weary of the blue...

Moon Flower..

tinkling of my bangles

the salty smell of your ocean

footfalls echo somewhere deep down...

keeping secrets
wrapped in a threadbare shawl;
parched with thirst
She opens her heart
a princess with never a crown
dances wild; dances free
bridges of Madison county-


a tire hiss in the tangled night
fireflies lurk,caught beneath an imposing moon..

P.S

i located this painting in the blog..http://janettmarie.blogspot.com/2010/01/moon-flower.html

Moon flowers are generally white but he painted it other wise as he believes painting it from heart.....:)

Backless...

Filled with summer's heat
heavy scent of stifled air
the urge-
our pupils spoke
strong;
dark cappuccino sipped
i bathe in-
the water melon in our lips
dampened earth; my dark raven hair
mangroves
between your words
flows of rhyme
tainted dreams...

Above the moon...

The sun played on the floor
as sweats trickle from your brow;
bed- soft and warm
in spectrum of colors
scarecrow watched in silent thought
the koel on the kadamba tree
waiting for me, you:
Squint your eyes at the cistern-

Just when-

Wrapped myself
up like a caterpillar
dusk turned purple-

a new piece of world stand
darting to the corners

my body rot~

to write of the kisses stolen
the thick warmth
 running-
tongue across
tasting his sweat
its stubbornness
infuriating;
fragrance of the musk
under my breasts
scent opened her portals
played his lilting tune
as his teeth bit hard
on anxious flesh;
he ingests
riot of purple
his lips
rip my skin
logic flirts
slowly down
so precise
that inside
he loves
in savage feast
between...

beneath where
timbered dreams
weeds that grew a wondrous  green~

P.S

for my city Calcutta...

The Only Witness...

 

In his jockey shorts-

she has the quiet ribs
of a salamander;
Bee sting kiss
the unaccustomed heat
clumsily stroking her
in the darkness
her stomach to her thighs;
crossing the old pony post road
with sheets and blanket
against her protests
burning on bonfires
the warble of nausea
comes;bang up!
her shivering body
begins to grind
focused
the ripples of hatred;
Detail;by detail
Fighting a losing battle
like streets you read about every day-
 

away from her body
something ticking,
tick-tock-tick-tock
 

An omission
the only witness to a rape!