Poetry

Tasting Him.

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He brought with him the scent of the rain
The first shower of monsoon.
The decadent smell of earth permeated their nostrils.
They inhaled deeply as if it was their last breath and they were dying.

She couldn’t smell.
She wouldn’t smell.
Instead she chose to taste him.
Breathing him in was as detached as something could be.
She wanted to get so close to him she would feel his soul stir.

Eye contact.
Glances were exchanged, eye to eye.
Smiles were returned, mouth to mouth.
Messages back and forth, heart to heart.

She went up behind him and tasted his neck.
His skin tasted like the most delicious chocolate, a hint of wood, a pinch of bitter.
She could taste the passion wafting from the pores of his skin.
It tasted raw. It tasted real.

She found a drop of sweat ready to roll down the curve where his life beat met his shoulders.
Intermingled with his anger and aggression,
It tasted of his struggles and hard work.
It tasted of salt, grainy with a hint of satisfaction.
He was like the most delicious coffee she sipped  on a Sunday afternoon while re-reading her favorite book.

Licking along the rhythmically beating pulse, she discovered his dreams.
He had his own personal universe hidden inside him.
Nobody had discovered it. Nobody had dared.
The rhythm spoke of days past.
It had been steady. It was galloping now.
He wanted her to discover him. He wanted her to know.

She felt the secrets evaporate from the top of his skin.
They were all around her now.
They were all in the air just like his smell.
Nobody realized. Nobody cared.
All they wanted was to soak in the smell of him.
His essence, only she discovered.

She knew she had stumbled upon something special.
It was a gift only she received.
Others weren’t privy to his deep thoughts and beautiful heart.
She was. She knew.

Staring deep into the eyes again,
They discovered each other’s galaxies.
He was ready to taste her now.
He was ready to discover her.
She was ready to be discovered.
She had been starving before.
The satiation came at last.

-a-

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Poetry

Two Broken Wings.

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Source: Google Images

She had a lonely past.
Loneliness, her friend of choice.
The past had taught her lessons few.

Drunk mother taught her to keep her mouth shut.
Opening it resulted in insults hurled incessantly.
It was better to stay hidden.
It was better to stay quiet.

Depressed father educated her to never get attached.
The spirit bottles her mother guzzled had made him a broken man.
He did nothing. He said nothing.
It was better to stay aloof.
It was better to stay away.

Promiscuous sister was the next in line.
She taught her to never trust the divine.
She slept around in hopes of finding the one.
There was no one.
There was never one.

She used to dream of flying around,
Enjoy the sights and the cheerful sounds.
She was now a bird with a broken wing.
She couldn’t fly, she didn’t dream.
Then came he.

Filling her with hope and positivity,
He told her she was magnificent and free.
She believed him and started to try,
She was going to be the bird
With a broken wing who could fly.

She thought she got rid of the past that engulfed her.
She didn’t think she needed to stick with the lessons anymore.
She believed he was the one who would help her fly and dream again.

He was the last straw, he wasn’t supposed to be.
He promised to teach her to fly with one wing.
Instead, he broke the other wing.
She was now a bird with two broken wings,
that couldn’t fly.
She wouldn’t fly.

-a-

Poetry

Magnificent.

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The smell of her soul intertwined with shades of her gorgeous being engulfed everyone around.
She was the most amazing combination of the sight of happiness and the sound of smile.
She was an unreal reality that you couldn’t fully embrace but couldn’t let go of either.
She was the dream that everyone tried to hold on to after being woken up suddenly but just couldn’t remember.
She was the bright sound and the melodious light. She was a being that shouldn’t have existed in the first place.
She was the being that was awake in everyone’s dream.
She was magnificent, mind and soul.
She was magnificence come to life.

P.S. I am writing too many “she was this, she was that” kinda posts, aren’t I? Sigh

-a-

Poetry

She.

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She was a breathtaking being
With poetry wrapped in the silk of her hair
And the deep thoughts glistening in the sweat on her skin.
She was a beauty that was ethereal.
She was magnificent in her existence,
Bleeding emotions all over the plain white of her dress
Woven with threads of mystique.

-a-

Poetry

Her Unfeeling Heart.

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Tingling in her palms was the first sign.
Slight, nervous giggle that escaped her lips, the second.
She missed all the signs. At first.
Her heart started beating at the speed of the bullet train.
That’s when she realised that she was feeling again.
There was anticipation. And, nervousness.
There was expectation. And, excitement.
There was activity in the left part of her chest.
It had been stoic for far too long.
She was amazed. She hadn’t felt anything in such a long time.
She was feeling again.
She wanted to feel everything.
She was feeling everything.
There was nothing amiss but one thing.
Her unfeeling heart.

-a-

Poetry

BLACK.

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BLACK, THICK AND OPAQUE.

Through the looking-glass, they saw darkness.
All they saw was black, thick and opaque.
Her eyes were a different story.
What she saw was the beauty that is dark.
What she saw was her imagination running wild.
What she saw were the possibilities. Bright and new.
And, all she felt was a comfort that was bone deep.
She felt the ring of familiarity.
She knew the darkness.
It embraced her from the inside out.
It was a part of her.
It was her.

-a-

Poetry

She wanted.

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Wanted.

She sat still on the windowsill
Looking down at the street below.
The mother of 4 juggling the groceries,
The mad man singing about getting killed on Friday,
The vagabond trying to sell rattraps to whoever would look him in the eye,
The giggling girls talking about boys they’ve loved before.
She sat there, staring, and speculating.
She was there. And, yet not.
She was thinking about the time gone by.
She was thinking about the days wasted.
She was thinking about the past that flew by her, unnoticed.
She wanted to live again, and not just exist.
She wanted to take it all in, and not just breathe.
She wanted her life back.
She wanted to live.
She wanted.

-a-