What if?

we have two hearts

like we had two

everything else

would we then?

be more wanting

more receiving

would we?

hurt less

long less …or at least less on each side

repair better

love equally

balance the brain

or outweigh it if needed

accumulate more

therefore, give more

and abundantly

stay young at heart

one being the sturdy support to the the other during a bypass

stay tenacious

because there would be more ‘nerve’

be able to keep a ‘heart’

even if one was pounding out of your chest

stay true to your “heart”

because one would always keep the other honest

surely love deeper

and with less exhaustion

since it would be with all my “hearts”

who knows though?

life patterns evolve over ages

this may well be an encounter waiting to occur

But

one pattern will not change,will continue to conform

has not altered,will not alter

the abandonment at the end

when everything halts

if they were to be there, these extra organs

and when they ceased to pound

the salve through the being

and when the fragility of existence did show up

unrelenting

then..it will not matter that there were two

they will still be unarousable, they will still be bewildered

and they will still be susceptible to the end

and what they leave behind will still experience annihilation

still survive

and walk the journey

after departure

the journey will still be one of surrender

and every step will only move in millimeters

no different!

it is fascinating yet

If indeed we have two hearts?

would they carry the weight easier along that journey?

Trinkets handkerchief’ed inside that glazed box

Testament to many and resilient joys

Mysterious key that turned in its lock

 

Emeralds limpingly dangle as ear drops

Grace then favored the small and less

Rainbow colored gems embedded into tops

 

Silver rusting yet raging bold

Temple bells alongside peacock motifs

Chokers and slender necks to behold

 

Ankle trims one piece to be found

Stars hope in tiers of lobed chandeliers

Broken pearls strategize cornered in a mound

 

Humble smooth sunny golden globes

Gifted as tentative adornment to a young woman

Extended punctures still trophi’ed in her lobes

 

Magical contests played with finger rings

Opaque, glassy, stone in dramatic shapes

Slender fingers gloating royalty like kings

 

Counting trinkets was a childhood hobby

The texture of shapes and colors heirloom like

Memory encapsulates still each piece, though dates are foggy

 

Smiles and giggles lived in that box are owned

Rearranging, cleaning, then pruning in each jewel

Pride ballet dancer like, fearless luxury that trinket box

always condoned

 

Adam and Eve

took the garden

Eden was witness

to their plea

rewrite that plot

banish the serpent

bestow luscious apples

create in harmony

death not penalty

cane and abel

born of love

religion forced vernacular

symbolism of fear

forcing reverse inspiration

icons always cynical

identities streamlined suitably

illustrations pitching sanctity

roam free forwards

flawless garden temptations

songs echoing prayer

explore differing insights

dreams revisiting destinations

Redefine that plot

Remix creation logic

 

Almost erased
By the white of the walls
And the aseptic gowns

Almost recovered
When she held his hand
And made him touch her dimpled skin

Almost lost
Yet he made a full throated appeal
His conversation a desperate plea
” Give me his life, my son is too young
I will barter you my pride, my ambition, my Self, my breath ”

Almost heard
but only by those in shock
they stifled their gasps
As he lay silent in defeat
grieving a lost conversation
with his son

NaPoWriMo 2017

 

Running from perceptions and into his identity

Stereotypes and comfort zones broken at every step

Jogging across thresholds, crossing marathons with empathy

Sprinting through journeys that can make the mind inept

 

Training with pain, heartbeats in healing

Finish lines left behind in every chase

Partnership side by side, each stride in seeking

Every mile adding rivulets of love to the race

 

Metaphor like, your shoes on the road of life

Running alone yet in communion with universal space

Pushing the physical, pausing at the divine

Tracks, trees, lanes explored with discipline and gratitude at each phase

 

Edinburgh, Toronto, London have witnessed  an Icon

Maneuvering through the mind and ligaments to a balanced state

Creating contentment, courage lighting the horizon

A centenarian badass, a portrait of simple faith

 

 

NaPoWriMo 2017

Bold in colors, intimately interspersed with stanzas of drama

Lightly sensuous tassels spread carelessly on the couch

Assuring memories carefully snuggled into a woven panaroma

Negative clutter discarded with leftover skeins in the pouch

Keeping adequete rhythm white metal hooks singing row after row

Easing into the drape were stories gathered into mysterious reams

Toes and fingers popping out of twisted holes in the blanket squares

Souvenir of bundled blessings wrapped with gaiety and forged with dreams

Blossoming skies whisper a tease

Kissing buds savor a sweet breeze

Curving eager boughs crackle in pain

Brimming in chorus, the lantern burns in vain

 

Transcendence stains the shadows above

A visual orchestra on the embers of love

In those vestigial minutes of the day

A naked tranquil entwines the night in play

 

Repentant gaze stirs the passion alive

Sepia and blue dance their shadows in jive

Eloping with the dreams locked in urging vines

Surrendering their waltz to the Nocturne chimes

NaPoWriMo 2017

 

Today, my love  

I write to get provocative, just for the sake of it

Reminiscence can write a good story, moreover, it is cathartic

A little healthy skirmish, therefore with a few questions from me

Maybe we have a winner or maybe we conclude it is about you and me together

And the habit we have become!

Being away not apart

Us, nursing the ache distance brought

I have heard however

That there is always

One with too much love

You who lived those lonely nights?

Or me who walked the solitary days?

You who kindled my absence with your songs?

Or me who wrote your presence with my melodies? Y

ou who believed destiny would bring us together?

Or me who convinced myself that we never were really apart?

You who cared so much that nothing else mattered?

Or me who consumed into the days so I could encapsulate what mattered the most in my nights?

You who nurtured my spirit even from miles and mountains away?

Or me who pushed every limit – ensuring the physical fatigue stayed an edge ahead of emotional languor?

You who sustained home, what we had created together, the precious status quo, while I explored, experimented with the new?

Or me who combated the schism of whether I was deserting too much for too little?

You who held my heart in safe keeping as I ventured around?

Or me who bore the gaping hole in my heart where I felt your absence?

You who changed your course so you could be my navigator?

Or me who held tight at the wheel, harnessing the years of companionship as fuel?

You who laughed, when I cried because I could not be angry with you?

Or me, who cried at your attempts to make me laugh?

You who made giving up significant aspects of your life so matter of fact, conclusive?

Or me who so dexterously took to the air every day because you were the wind beneath my wings?

 

Send me in response your strength

If there is a winner for too much love

Don’t tell me who

Just let me believe it is you

Post Script –

Tomorrow is your turn

I really wish to go sky diving when I can have you

 

 

NaPoWriMo2017

Stop it in the middle

Feel no pressure at being pushed to the finish line

The act began, with an assumption that you are second fiddle

His satisfaction,your humiliation is not what is fine

Imagine if you end, he zips up,shuts down, swings away and off

You likely, cuddle painfully into a wishful womb, fetal like

One sided pleasure in this encounter should not ever be your payoff

Measure completion on mutuality and intimacy, not just as a virginity hike

Stop it in the middle

Because – being safe, is not just about being sorry

Emotional engagement, as well as consent is imperative; not some equal rights scribble

Finish the act; seize it when you relish it’s communication with your body;

Stop it in the middle

it is your prerogative, not a relationship harikari

NaPoWriMo 2017

For hour’s I devoured, stories of a world abandoned
Faraway lands that came to life, his pupils and his hands in tandem; I sat on my dada’s knee

Shaking couplets, tears intercepted with guffaws
Fingers caressed the spineless book that had escaped, also outlawed; I sat on my dada’s knee

Horseback rides, orchard strolls, rooftop gatherings
I held tight on the trot, plucked ripe mangoes, crackled corn, went along on his meanderings; I sat on my dada’s knee

Maimed, Raped, Orphaned, Robbed – preparatory words
I asked why he hated train journeys – he murmured something about the whir; I sat on my dada’s knee

I also asked why he was so tall yet so bent ;so handsome yet so forlorn
He hunched under the weight of his Kashiana separated and dispersed; the partition of his beautiful subcontinent had left him hoarse; he lived with the ghosts of the many he could not mourn;
I sat on my dada’s knee