Monday, August 5, 2013

The many shades of your coffee

The coffee shades of his erratic mood
drives me to his soul-
the one which he claims to be,
Unconcerned of my existence
Un-loved, un-lived, never narrated.
The paper cuts on his body
from those ionized lights
makes me want to touch the wounds-
the ones he has carefully concealed.
I tell him my story and he senses wickedness,
shuts me up with his gentle reproaching
and confess to me his pending notions.

He is red and warm and pure
close to my sick heart,
heating its nerves, like his fidgety electrons
find their partners and collide.
I wish his warmth reserves itself for me,
leave behind the game of perceptions
and opinions
String up a meeting for just two of us
sometime in the myriad of destiny,
If there is one
and if it approves us of our apprehensive souls.

The way he turns himself towards me,
the commotion of my veins stirs up the dream
I want him to fly and laugh with me
and probably embrace me
But only in my purest form,
Only in our clear skies.

I can sit and smile at him
And he shall keep on declining my orchids
I told him, I like them,
He says, you like me more.


Minko said...

Bloody Mary! I really, really like this. The orchids, the orchids, my kingdom for the orchids!

Anonymous said...

reading this makes me feel, the day is better now, the soul is still pure and satisfaction rests among the layers of discomfort!!

Blasphemous Aesthete said...

Why doesn't it remind me of Pablo Neruda when he says
I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries
the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose
from the earth lives dimly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you directly without problems or pride:
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.

Beautiful poem Monika. May the thoughts reach the intended recipient.

Blasphemous Aesthete

Monika said...

@Anshul, This is so lovely. You're always a delight to talk to, to share to.

Monika said...

@Minko, I am not getting my orchids. He is mean.

Monika said...

@Anonymous, Names are beautiful too.

Minko said...

Every orchid has its thorn! Occupational hazards, you know :P