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.
7 comments:
Bloody Mary! I really, really like this. The orchids, the orchids, my kingdom for the orchids!
reading this makes me feel, the day is better now, the soul is still pure and satisfaction rests among the layers of discomfort!!
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.
Kudos!
Blasphemous Aesthete
@Anshul, This is so lovely. You're always a delight to talk to, to share to.
@Minko, I am not getting my orchids. He is mean.
@Anonymous, Names are beautiful too.
Every orchid has its thorn! Occupational hazards, you know :P
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