Thursday, December 31, 2009

Jungle Retreat

It's a tropical life.
Colored in bright shades of orange, pink and yellow.
Away from conventional love,
conventions and norms.
Something I'd want to follow.

Spread out on the deck,
the breeze just about grazing,
the sunlight fading,
twilight hazing.

Don't jeer at me.
It's real, I promise you.
I've touched them,
the underwater corals.
The salt tasted sweet.
Real, unreal.

Ever seen them
Red orchids?
They're beautiful.
They're tempting.
How pitiful.

Don't show me the blue ones all over again.
it disgusts me.
it evades me.

Tighten the screws.
Knot the ropes.
I'll still let loose.
Swim through.
It'll be my breakthrough.

Dip in and wash it off.
It should be the way things flow.
Why would you go this slow?

Streak me purple,
I'll blend in.
Just like that juice on the counter,
I didn't order.

Ever heard of a rainbow becoming common?
Heaven is here.
I'm happy.
Dry cheer.

Brought home a cockatoo,
brought home a hammock.
Thought it would set the tone of vibrancy.
No such luck.
Disillusioned mimicry.

I dove at sunset.
Didn't come up in time for air.
That's right.

Disoriented, dual life.
Palm trees.
Hives and bees.

Concrete and water.
Lime and grime.
Black and white,
all combine.
Left with no shine.

Flannel curtains.
Set them alight.
Burn, burn.
Then just glow.

Don't try to sell me something I can't afford.
Crass paintings.
Dummies of the ethereal life.
Where jazz bands were once a backdrop,
now become screamingly obvious.
They're all fools.
They don't know about the real thing.
The true magicians' tools.

Beauty lies in the eyes of the admirer.
Darn those eyes that don't see this wild beauty.
Bring me the cocktail of the day.
One last day.

Soft candles,
become a blazing forest fire.
It's still delightful.
A sour punch.

Colors on feathers.
An intimate thump.
Beep on the beach.
Cliched, but feel it to believe it.

Fast forward.
Zip forward.
Lifeless life.
In my face.
Unpack the suitcase.

Do I behave like an insolent child?
I don't care.
I want to go back now.

Raw passion consumes.
The drowsy 'high' resumes.
Cheap copies make way,
toward my original life I sway.
Where I belong.
The call is strong.

Major pull.
Hot, humid.
High, high tide.
Speeding boats.
Wind in my hair.
Aromatic dreams.

Jungle call.

Sunday, December 13, 2009


Lying on the soft, dewy grass,
facing a sky full of stars,
the moon stood out.
Her mind shouts.
Suppressing it she thinks,
there it is.
It's whole again.
Sliced, and sliced again.
Always managing to shine through.
And now it's whole again.
That must take some strength.

She blinks.
Isn't the shooting star more like her?
Falling constantly,
the sky unperturbed.
Making others' wishes come true.
Her fall representing his victory.

She shuts her eyes and pictures you.
Her 'prince charming.'
Remember the royal blue?
Why does it dye her so stubbornly?
Snatching her chance away disgracefully.
You were her moon.
She now has to settle for stars.
They twinkle and vanish.
Sometimes fall.
Absolutely untraceable.

But you keep finding your missing pieces.
She can't bear to look at the full moon.
She needs her due soon.
A crescent.

You steered her away,
she came back.
You cut-loose,
she's now on fast track.
You told her to think, to consider.
You gave her a chance,
she gave it back.

Forgive her,
she doesn't understand.
You always thought it out.
She felt it out.
You know you did too.
She shouldn't argue,
you know so much more.
But what could she do.
You touched the core.

She's young.
Her mind's easy.
If you reached out to touch her face,
and your shadow got there before you did,
she'd shiver.
She could tell,
even with her eyes closed.

The stars are happy kneeling for the moon.
With dreamy eyes they give in.
Happy being secondary to its aura, 
its beauty.

She gave up on you long back.
But that crackling sound just wont go away.
Every time you pretend.
Every time you circumvent.
Every time you try so hard.
There are shards of glass,
that rip through her.
Drowning her in her own blood.
Deep, deep crimson.
The moon, the stars.
They all drown.

She somehow gets up.
Staggers in her dangerously high heels, 
towards her 'friends.'
Towards the air of intoxication.
He sees her now.
Doesn't look away.
He sees her denying her beauty.
Rebuking it.
Nobody can tell.
No one can read his mind.
Is this it?
Her closure?
Something crackles again.

Long nails, wrapped around carved glass.
The red lips are brought to it.
It's her chance to lose herself.
Or find herself.
He seems unshaken.
She always wondered,
where all that composure came from.
It was nerve-wracking.
But she was always nervous around him.

Her body moves to the rhythm of the music.
She takes it all in.
He approaches her,
takes her hand,
and says his goodbye.
His face meets hers.
He leaves.
She looks around,
is this a masquerade?

She gets out.
Looks up at the sky.
There is no moon.