Wild Beats

Courtesy : sykescottages.co.uk

At the mountain top the twilight was fading and the west is eating the sun. There were a group of people in the open space with the bonfire starting in the middle.  The cool air was freezing their blood which pushed them to the pyre that was burning the green of the earth under.  The burning logs were trying to keep the engulfing darkness at a distance with its yellow gate of heat and effulgence.

The music, I presume, was tribal chilling the nerves spreading fear of the night from our ancestors and the nectar of erotica in the muscles from the human-animal instincts.  The drums were putting the minds around the fire in trance like a drug dissolving in blood. Expert’s hands knocking the door of pleasure against the skin of the dead animals with the sticks of the old soul woods.

 

Guitar along with the beats of tribal drums and human heart beats was striking the right chords of hearts preparing all mortals to become immune to death!  There were eyes closed, eyes with tears, eyes fixed at the eternity of night.  The music was wild and mystic just like any human hearts. The beats vibrated in every cell of the flesh. Some weird awkward emotions like euphoria, nostalgia, lust, melancholy, and vigil mixed together and made the moment a Moment.

 

The scene was picturesque; crescent moon shined and stars here and there twinkled.  Yellow of the fire and the black of the night mixed to add color to the picturesque.  There were entwined hands, locked up eyes, heavy hearts, beautiful souls, waging tails, unbridled love and unconditional affection.  It was all a panorama of life on this planet.   

I was painting this moment with words from a distance. My name is Time.

I called Her A Dream!!!

I called her a dream, the one that woke me up in the weird time of the night, the one that sat in the middle of a crescent moon and waved her hands, the one who walked over the moonglade to the shore like a meteor of bunch of rose petals. I called her a dream, the moment she stood close leaving a kissing distance with cosy shy and warm femininity. The fragrance, of artificial mixture of chemicals along with the pheromone of hormones that puts any intelligent brain in trance, that she carried made me call her a dream.

The fire was burning and the heat scorching, the fire that couldn’t be touched though the wave of flame pulls you to embrace but I know the fire cannot be cuddled until the fire wants to engulf you and make you a celestial being, I called her a dream. Just for a fraction of a second the wave caressed and to put the dead cold water in me to boil. The touch was soft, short living, and fervour, intense, lightening, nerve-rejuvenating and reminiscing. It was a confabulation of souls that were dying to live together.

She stopped my saccades with her eyes when she realized that she has put a ball of fire inside an ocean of ice. The ball heated up the liquid and made a hole in the frozen sea. I wanted her to put her forehead on my chest kiss and turn her ear to my heart and hold my heart with her hands from jumping out from the rib cage. She stood looking deep into my pupils making it dilate with the fumes of urge to hold her by her torso and to make her eyes close over my lips and fly high in with the joy induced drug forgetting the mortals around.

It was a rain over a draught hit land, lighting over a dry tree the rendezvous could be rejected not and can swim not in the flash flood; I went down on my knee to ask for her hands, to ask permission to read between the lines of her lips. She didn’t give her hand instead placed her palm over my head, caressed my hair and said – " I’m here, dear weeping heart, I’m here. O old soul I know you but long forgotten. You are only a precipitation of memory in my heart, to reckon about how we were related was a tough task. Dear love, I’m here but remember I’m only a dream, wake up"

She called herself a dream. I called her a dream.

Ishtar

courtesy quotev.com

There was a regular rhythm like the key notes of piano and there by she walked with her shy but smiling anklets.  It was semi walk and semi levitation by a semi human and a demi-goddess.  The Sun light turned blue and the temperature dropped.  It was hallucinatory for snow flakes sparkled around neither falling nor flying but sparkled all in blue and white.  She doesn’t know that walking over the earth wont hurt the surface; she stood near by coming down from levitation.  The breeze blew her hair uncovering her ears where she wore a shining star from a distant universe.  And the entire shine of the star succumbed in her ear lobes asking no questions going against the dogmas of the nature.

 

She picked a bunch of dark light rays with her fingers and swiped it back of her right ear with a divine femininity in act.  She stood looking at the earth and waves in her bosom froze the sea.

 

The wait was over and it was time for her to move and I stood watching in trance.  Anklets sounded a sweet lullaby but I was watching her swaying hip that was making the air to sleep.  I wished to call her but not with her name for it got stuck in my throat.  How can I call something I could worship by her name? 

 

Fewer steps and the air woke up again for she stopped swaying the cradle.  I was back to reality from the trance for she turned once and looked at my eyes. Those were the eyes of Ishtar an old soul, a deity of love. It was a call, to follow her to become one with the universal feminine force. And I realized I am just a human with no super powers with all dirt of past life and fading soul. 

 

I let the deity go convincing my self as everything is just mere delusion!!  I let her go!

Yesterday is but today's memory!

courtesy : www.shutterstock.com

Why am I writing not!  Thousands were the content in mind, hundreds were the story in brain, of course few emotions in tens and twenties in my heart.  I still don't write.  Writers block! No; the writer in itself was blocked.  Pain in my hands as a collateral of being an over worked owl and palpitation in chest as the result of a broken marriage. Thank god it was broken but the resultant pain the process and the society had brought in was like a needle prick in the beating heart. Slow and steady the needle goes in so the heart throbs. Words pour from somewhere in the air just like the breathing, unbridled and subconsciously but throbbing evaporates the pour and the sourness ties the hands from writing.

 

Now that I fear not about the pain and sourness and decided to eschew the blocks it has built, the words flow from the same unknown source, the sun, the moon, the sea, the sea shore, the river, the trees, the chirpings, the eminence godliness and thousand more. 

 

The heart still beats faster knocking the doors of my chest to open but it was a cage of which the keys I could find not. The fragrance of the skin I know before decades is not leaving my olfactory.  And the face that owned that fragrance, the face that I held in my palms, touched with my fingers and kissed with my eyes is leaving me not.  The good thing about it is that it is the pill for my palpitation.  I have tasted real love once in my life and realized that never again, ever again will that same fragrance will come crossing my nostrils.

 

The story was a not a simple one liner when I thought it was over decades back. It still continues without the protagonists because the story is the protagonists and the characters are dead long ago.  It is still a book that I still write; I neither know the ending nor the number of pages it will take to complete.  It is just a story like any other but a story by itself, writes by itself; mine are only the hands that just types. 

 “Yesterday is but today's memory, and tomorrow is today's dream” – Khalil  Gibran

SK

A Devil’s Rendezvous

Pic Courtesy : unsplash.com/@johnwolf3

…and then she claimed into the moving metal bogie, in a

flamboyant attire, with no make over, with no polished nails.

Her eyes were sharp like a guillotine, every time she closes and

every time she opens it shines as if it was sharpened.

 

Like a slash of a great warrior, her torso was a clean cut

designed with divine’s own precision toolkit.

Her bosom complimented the waves of the oceans and

every wave threw a spear in the air puncturing my hormonal sack.

 

I could metaphor her hair with the moonglade on the ocean, it was

not black nor blonde, it was plaited and glittering.

My olfactory picked no fragrance, no scent: natural or artificial,

other than the extreme cologne of femininity!

 

I have read about Ishtar, a delicate beauty, but

this woman was far delicate than Ishtar, a hawk’s feather.

When with no special power we want to look beautiful and

Why not a devil with all super power wants to look ugly!

-S.K

Love of my Past!

There is an unfathomable hole in my soul,

Deep down lives the memory of the past of

the unsatiated unquenched love of my life.

 

Some movies, some music, some words,

Some rain, in times some shine, some couples,

reminds me of me-with-you as you-with-me.

 

Like the petrichor, like the blooming jasmine,

like the smell on baby skin, your fragrance sleeps

in my philtrum and it wakes in time like a alarm.

 

And my soul rejuvenates from slumber and I dwell

in the past to see if that can be turned to present,

to relive to relieve the weight of the memories with you.

 

When there is a knock on my window sill by the rain,

 I reckon the day you rejected my umbrella walk, and

When the same rain drops touches my cheeks,

I remember the day we walked together under the umbrella.

 

You held my arm like a baby holding her mothers neck,

the rain, the umbrella, the togetherness doesn’t exist today

but the scorches of your palm, your tender love is still a scar!  

sk

Mirage

…I have to start it from the middle for I am in the middle of a summer day, scorching and burning.  There is no place to hide, no shade to fide.  I reason out it to be cauterization for I have been bitten by many poisonous beasts. When everyone waits for sunshine I wait for the night time, the dark and cold sky.  I sleep in the desert sand and the heat never leaves even after the sun goes down, the surface is chilled by the moonshine but the heart of the desert still fumes with heat.  I am just a poor pupa in conjuncture to develop into a butterfly.  The soul is caught inside the body making it difficult to fly and reach its astral home.  There is no space for my soul to twist and turn inside the body I was caught in. And the soul lacks the ability to tear open the body to fly and reach heaven.  The abode, the haven is what it looks like but it feels like a prison; caught behind the bars.  It is all nonsense: the dogmas, the righteousness, and the rules of culturally correct life. It is all cynical.  Everything here is only a mirage wherein the water you see is untrue but the mirage is true.

 

What am I writing!  I started it somewhere and just like my life the context moved into a different direction.  Words! O words! You are my last abode, betray not me please. Thousands of word runs in my brain and I could feel them in my fingers but the mind interrupts to make mistake in the spellings and I pronounce it wrong.  I have clumsy thoughts, mystic thinking and dusty memories; I have dumped them all in a corner of my brain but when the new thoughts comes it still stinks with the older dumps from the corner.  What a stupendous, stupefied, astonishing but wasted design!

 

Nothing makes sense, the context above, the sleep, the waking up, the walk and run, the work and job, the money and savings nothing makes sense.  The soul knows the universe is just one soul and the images we see are only the fast and slow accelerating cells. There is no you and me, there is only I and that is only one I, everyone is one I. Of course all those crap enlightening stuffs of reality of the universe is known to the soul and the soul tries to teach the mind and brain but the cognizant is so dark and dusty that the mirror just cannot not be wiped clean to show the reality.

 

It is hard to distinguish the truth and falsehood, the real and fake for everything is in juxtaposition.  Let the universal soul, some day, rest in peace!