Monthly Archives: April 2012

Smitten

Drinking wine with
you is such a waste
of perfectly good wine.

By the time, we clink
our glasses the pub has
already melted away.

The hum of conversation
from the neighbouring tables
is replaced by
gregorian chants.

A smile that creeps
into your eyes reminds
me that I have not blinked
since the Ice Age.

To cover my embarrassment
words tumble out of me,
helter skelter, like delighted
children running out of class
at recess.

You nod kindly at
my nonsense and
I am grateful it.

Kindness comes
naturally to you.
No wonder you
work with children.
They must adore you.

I like your easy grace.
I like your confidence.
I like your eminently
kissable mouth.

I don’t like at all how
quickly the evening ends.

You tell me you have
yoga class in the morning.
I try to sit up straighter and
ask for the cheque.

I am very drunk.
On the wine, on you.
I remind myself not to
try anything stupid.

The drive back to your
place is the greatest act
of self restraint I have
ever exercised.
I don’t trust
myself even to speak.

Finally, we exchange
a hug and a polite
good night.

You are charmer,
you tell me.
I blush to my toes
in happiness.

On the way back
I imagine you
holding the downward
dog pose in your
yoga class.

‘Down, dog, down’
I laugh at my drunken self
and roll the windows down.

The night breeze
is suddenly fragrant
with the smell of
jasmine blossoms.

Advertisements

A spade is spade

Most sadists pride
themselves on
their honesty.

They wield their
truth like a dagger,
a claw, a whip.

They draw blood
with their words.

They make  scars
that take a lifetime
to heal.
They leave scores of
damaged people
in their wake.

Smiling with satisfaction
as their words of
malice strike home.

The wince, their reward.
The fallen face, their trophy.

They have no kindness.
no regrets, nothing but
pure malice masquerading
as truth.

Lying takes imagination,
heart, kindness.
Things beyond the ken
of these pathetic,
small people.

I hope God has a
special place in hell
reserved for these
bastards.

Truth, my ass!


Six

Six years ago
this day, my love,
you chose to be mine.

Since then you have
been a rock
to my stormy seas,
a balm to all my pains,
a calm to all my
insanity,
a hope to
all my despair,
a bright morning to
my dark nights,
a gift to my poverty,
a rein to my restlessness.

You have ruled the
wilderness my heart
well, my queen.


Serendipity

I was done with love.
You were done with love.
We met.

What a happy accident!

We went to pieces
over each other.

The conversation was scintillating.
The sex, spectacular.
The companionship, incomparable.

So many lazy afternoons
spent watching Goddard and
Makhmalbaf on DVD,
stoned immaculate
from all the joints smoked,
arguing furiously about plot,
character, dialogues.
All arguments
ending eventually
with even more furious
lovemaking.

We were so hungry for|
new experiences.

We soaked it all up –
books, plays, cinema,
places, art, travel.

The works.

We were like
partners in crime
looting the world.

We were so hungry!

Literally, I mean.

We ate all the time.
I cooked, you pig!
But you ate with
such relish, such joy
that I didn’t
ever mind.

And then like fools
we fell in love and
stopped being partners
in crime and became man
and woman instead.

And we all know
how that story ends.


Five

It’s been
five springs,
five summers,
five monsoons,
and five winters
since I first held
your tiny, wailing form
in my arms.

You have grown.

My wonder hasn’t
diminished.


Disgusting

I hate it when you
behave like
a beggar.

When you act like
you are all alone
in this world.
Like no one cares
for you.

Please don’t behave
like that while
I am still around.

It’s bloody insulting.

After I am dead
feel free to feel
inconsolable.

Not while I live,
breathe and think
only you.

Not while worry, want,
need, dream and ache
only for you.

Not while I love, adore,
hope and pray for you every fucking
second of every fucking
minute of every fucking hour
of every fucking day.

Understood?


Bliss

A slightly bent,
slow moving
elderly couple.
Bow legged
from stiff joints
and decades of living.
Hair, white like
blown cotton.
Leaning on each
other a little.
Anxiously pushing
a trolley laden
with bags, together.
Walking with small
quick steps,
swaying a little from
side to side,
like two big toddlers.

These super heroes of mine
who at one time could
throw me up in
the air and catch me,
rock me on their knees,
now with failing eyes
scanning the crowd
for me.

I smile at them
and they beam like
they’ve just won
the lottery.