Eternal bruises

I wander in search of words, those that can translate  my agonies and ectasies,  like a ghost, lone and thirsty,  looking for those that bleed,  for my poems were all arrhythmic  verses, inert and lacking essence. Bereft of soul, they were carcasses  mere flesh and clotted blood that stinked and putrified a while after.  I'm done giving stillbirths.  I've grown pale from them. Weak, I stumble and fall, on my days So I put on, at night, my white gown step out, with a dry mouth hunting for words, real and throbbing my appetite insatiable,  wanting to devour them all alive hoping it could cure me once and for all, my last refuge in bearing a worthy baby after all these infertile years. I scavenge in desperation  among piles of memories,  relentless and unabashed to conceive and nurture one, with all my finest genes of imaginations  embedded like beads on my past, gracefully in rhymes and phrases. An ordeal I take myself through ea...

All night, I dreamt of love, of a want to be wrapped, as deep as hope in the warmth of intimacy.  In the morning, I bit deep  into my radial vein  and it tasted sweet, for honey leaked from it, dropped onto my new satin skirt, and laced its frills  with little browns of stain. I locked my thoughts in a pale red box and skipped my coffee - I was already high, strolled through the yards biting tangy guavas. Oh, don't you worry  I stepped the office late! the bougainvilleas, dusty, by the lane percussed my friday thoughts   - wild hallucinations echoed the nook and corners - She turned eighteen again, they whispered!  My fangs were filled with venom  of an incandescent youth My eyes hissed at every man I met The linen around my waist letting the sun seep through in garnered innocent glances,  baring longings long forgotten. How volatile is my poise caught in the hold of desires? So I kept reticent  staring unto the grid of laptop scree...

Why did you kiss me  into the depths of my soul?  What did your lips find there?  Did you feel all the calluses of my heart?  Did you suck the drops of the leftover poison  they all made me drink? Was there any vestige of love  that I could dab into my eyes  for someone, someday? Or was it the remnants of my youth again,  that all you wanted to taste, too? Well, what difference, anymore  does a kiss render? The heart paces not, rhythm long lost. Half awake, the eyes abide  fingers clumsily crossed.  Ain't deep, graceful nor bold, do they even leave traces now, tickles that tiptoed on your lips for days?  Far from the sensual endeavours that fed my adolescent musings, stale, has it turned; no meaning, no girth. But you knew in the one last night, your face grew pale near the red of my lips as barren and cold as my feelings. You were like a child, lost  somewhere you've been never before. Oh, had I kissed you through  t...

  Devonian mermaids  is a leap into my childhood spent in Kattappana and the best part of it, Tittu, my best friend. The witch of time might have cast us into whatsoever, but I still see us together in dreams and I know life wouldn't be same if she wasn't there. They say girlfriends are like sisters, but she, she's my daughter. She is a part of me and this is for her. The rains are dead,  leaving these remnant pools,  in my backyard behind, slithery edges of mud  with a lavish childhood of  tadpoles breathing in, an earth that drank a monsoon sky, a bashful delicate Leo sun  a new warmth,  an invigorating defiance, a vintage feeling,  reflections and moods.  Hopping in rumpled skirts, dangling our itchy damp feet  into loud laughters of inane stories There, we were, two half souls running for the dragonflies, sucking the nectar out of flowers   when our moms weren't watching  drawing pretend swords pulled out of epics...

  Let us wither away,  ​in the residual warmth  of an early autumn noon,  like cinnamon leaves,  lounging under the whistles  of the pine canopy  in this cold zephyr  that would carry  our evaporated souls with  all our memories imbibed,  like a whiff of a delicate aroma  and slyly blend them  into the subtilty of this air,  forsaking, like veins and reticulations, the tattoos and suicide scars. 

To that one hell of a silent teen crush we all had: To you my old friend,  I've never said this And I had never hoped of you to read it out from my eyes Because we, I doubt ever  if spoke to each other  Because we, I doubt ever if even were "friends" Pardon that I still chose to  call you my friend  Pardon that I still chose to Recall that for you,  In my shady garden alcove  A teenage summer dusk I planted abreast the bush of roses  Lilies, white and pink  That, much of a muchness  bloomed in fall and frost alike And you never did know of the bouquets I made,  of fancies, naive and pure  that shattered the little box of silence  we shared one another  Where the lilies, white and pink bore a fondness, unbidden for you and only you, all the mid-summer And now, behold they bloom still all the same for someone  who's walked past a decade, whom I can no more think back to, Of feelings once stayed and shoved off to al...

I'll wait for you  down the hallway,  the inconspicuous and sombre the one less taken,  least by footprints and light  the one where cold,  frigid and might, sleeps calm  even in scorching summers,  impervious to the chaotic whispers  and creak of absent doors  prowling around among shadows of unknowns bearing echoes from infinity unaware of when  the days end and nights fall, where time's a dimension  yet to be construed  that so eternal is a moment  for a clock to make a tick, and there, with you I'll share  the most unspoken secret  of being alive sans life!

With half an earth inhering between us  and whole of our worlds  changing under the same sky, With the colour of the city lights  growing more in neons, the trance of Yellow sunshine  lacing my newborn thoughts, resigning to the truth that  no more do we get to stargaze  or sweat under the same moon  I'm afraid as well tempted  of you getting forgotten  if not, replaced!

I am chamomiles and thoughts.  A cavern of secrets  hidden from the ears of the world.  A red haired fairy painting  wanting to be mused at.  The last drop of rain  that sticks to the pane,  lazing to leave, to remind you of monsoon.  The coffee in a tea pot.  The brown girl from Tagore stories  in a clumsily draped saree. I'm memories and blisters. Love and garbage. 

You never know when  does a want become need.  But that thin line I've crossed many times,  despite watching closely  observing the blurrs,  the undefined margins,  the serrations and the blotches spilt around I've watched all of them over and over  balanced my toes from staggering.  Yet my footsteps crossed the limits  And sometimes we stumble  upon things; the ignorant mistakes, reach places where we didn't hope of placing ourselves. I never knew when  did my wants became my needs.  And I never knew when you became one. 

Im a caged lover Of fainted dreams once fragrant  And pale memories now stagnant  A caged, worn-out lover Whose pink faded away  From her cheeks day by day Whose wedding dress shaded grey  Whose lips turned violet, they say And then I'm a dead lover Wreathed in roses, bloody red  In roses dried but scented A dead and buried lover Who breathes within the coffin  Who breathes beneath her wreath Who breathes within the tomb And chokes within the soul  Im a dead lover Whose love was seldom heard Whose love was never returned A dead rotten lover  whom he loved never

I've wriggled out,  over and taking time,  from all of that you have instilled in me,  from love to worthlessness An arduous escape from all of you,  even the tiniest bit of you,  to find a new space to breathe  and a world to start over.  And then there's this read,  inexplicably making me,  all these years later, in a flick of time,  traverse all that path again,  plunging myself to deep dark corners  where you left me the day you walked away.

These leftovers wandering around my soul not mine not yours them, I can't stow or throw  the remnant broken pieces the grit and the grime, the solid and the gross Camouflaged in my skies some days,  they hang, which I wake up to some old music, our inane poems those broken hummings, I stumble upon.  Like old teddy bears  I've held them for long but now, they linger like ghosts and waste my space.  A geometric void is all I need to pile these fragments up beyond the walls of my soul, shut my doors on them for one last time, and not get knocked ever again   Or a deep black hole  that eats them off Or a scorching pyre  that cinder them down to ashes, which from   shall rise no phoenix evermore  Perhaps I'd find then, quietude  Perhaps then I'd dare to unbolt the curtained windows of my soul again.

You remember the thread  that thin ball of red? Seeking new colours inside  the spiral which we untied? The more we unfolded  the more got it tangled  In them, our fingers entwined  wrenched and bruised  The more it got unfolded  the more was it revealed  faint and fragile,  feeble and frail  Wounding each other, so long we bled  but all that remained was nothing but red  The spiral was lost, raveled and knotted  onto the floor, by and by, it flipped Gone was the fancy, gone was the fetish  in a haste that only a new love could perish!

 Paint me bright  and brush my edges  with your wildest fantasies Paint me dark and stroke my core with your subtle desires Paint me vile tickling my canvas with bristles grown stale Paint me shabby with all the secrets  we share past midnight Paint me silent in your steamy passion behind those closed doors Paint me lust and thirst, but love and leave me  right there unfinished.

Too much coffee these days is all I recline to, this phase No more friends waiting for secrets  to be spilled from pockets to pockets, no more weighed down shoulders, no more suppressed laughs A little more coffee, a little overdose only to grip my self on toes for the world may flip this breath or the next the pages, the prints, an unfair text I've read as many as trillion times  the ludicrous plays, the melancholic hymns. A cup more of coffee, each passing day  an hour more of night, awake I stay to ward off sleep, the wild nightmares deep unto the dark of my eyes, that stare to hobble my frenzied demons at bay and a head that droops down all through the day to push down the throat, the heavy and dark lumps that creep up with dead flashbacks  Bring more coffee, bring 'em on from sips to gulps, I've already moved on  Too much coffee is never too much for there's nothing more true in my life as such.