That emotion can always be reversed ,
He mocked at her
He: You are trying to find a word
That cannot be reversed
To describe a feeling
that is notoriously reversible
Palindrome for love?
She: Of course, Abelard and Heloise.
Heloise actually said
“Let me be your whore”
and he married her….
He: They lived in letters
They loved in letters
Was that love or fantasy?
Their tombs were united
By Miss Bonaparte much later
Professor Higgins is real.
Ego is evidence.
She was furiously indignant
Not every man is
Professor Higgins of Pygmalion..
Bernard Shaw was merely writing a play
It is far from real.
The argument progressed
She: Penelope turned down 108 suitors
Till Odysseus returned
He: Homer was blind
Another round of applause………
He had no light of his own
He merely reflected the Sun
shining in a foreign country
He was inconsistent , consistently
vanishing at fortnights
He caused no growth except dreams
He was not deferential to a monastery
Nor contemptuous of a whorehouse
Both were free to have dreams
Lovers merely used him for their
pick up lines
Many babies opened their stubborn mouths
to be fed by mothers wanting to
close the doors of a bustling kitchen
We all need an illusion to pass the night
He is the biggest illusion
to all the lonely sleepless eyes
I am not your Saturday night palsy
I am the pins and needles of your words
My curves are not like that wine bottle
Not fragile nor likely to cut or cause a bleed
Intoxicating may be
I remember the eyes like black coals about to catch fire
Spreading a warmth in winter nights
You cannot get over me like flu
Or a bad case of thrombophlebitis
I probably happened like the rare drug
That never expires…..
A life time placebo ….that does not cure
( to flame catcher / a muse )
I thought it was the child marriage that had to be eradicated
I thought the right to education of a girl child was at stake.
I thought it was the domestic violence that was a menace.
She was never really safe at home, but she did dream of a larger
World out there where she would be empowered …..
The man at the helm of affairs hated her …
That silent conspiracy among men when they hate a woman climbing a ladder
By her own efforts not because of a profitable chance association………
This time, the cost was her life for taking a salary and nothing else…………
(The true incident of a young girl Rasila Raju , a soft ware employee of Infosys in Puna murdered at the premises of her work place by a security guard. Victim had reported sexual harassment at workplace to her family)
I may not have left red blotchy
letters on the bathroom floors
I may not have left pink
Lipstick kisses on papers or cards
I simply never felt that at any age
I was fighting unwanted attention
all my life
Broken glass pieces on my fence
and I was accused of seeking attention
When I was giving it
The only aspect of my cognition
that saved your life
Saviors die several times
for taking the responsibility
of someone else’s survival
unable to armor another with a purpose to live
I could read you like a book
I could complete you like a poem
I could paint you like a hero
I could touch you like a child
I could hurt you like a memory
I closed my eyes across the hall
I could feel the ocean , swirling waves of water
I could not swim to the shore
When I opened my eyes
You were running away
You saw that I was dangerous for the first time…..
Because you were in the same ocean
but were oceans apart…..
If you loved me
If you could convince me
every touch was mutual
If you could touch me
everywhere and anywhere
that defined me
If you could show me that
every natural curve was indeed
natural , show me why she was
silent and never spoke in touches ….
And then wrote a poem in words
It would be the biggest violation
of my body suffered by my mind…..
To be just a focus of your sensations
reduced to words
To summon & sustain your erection each time you
read the poem and so do all others…..Gosh….No ….
Intimacy resists this violation……….my love….
I am in the middle of this sentence
The pause takes your shape
Should I be grateful to you?
For misunderstanding me
In a way that made me look
for my self ?Guilty girl in the dungeon
She was sexy She hated the fleshy outgrowths
On her body that converted friends Brothers in to pure men
His stickiness between ,Her shapely thighs
Too much human smell ,Stifled in a struggle
Was that love or hate?Was that duty or choice?
It felt like someone with insatiable hunger ate her up
If I have to teach one lesson ,It would be never love ever again
I was blindfolded my hands were tied
I was twirled clock wise anticlock wise
Then one hand touched me Next another
Then one more Tell me who am I ?
One man was using many hands
Twirls left me imbalanced I smelt a child , but he was a grown man
Hands in glove with others The game was played against me
Sometimes suicidal threat Othertimes homicidal threat
Finally they stopped playingThere was no one
Just the stench of foul play
Could it be a father ? Could it be a brother ?
Could it be a friend ?
Hatred has more eyes
Love is blind.
You threw me out
at mid day from college
For writing a journal of protest
At midnight a man was not letting me sleep
he wanted confessions of sin
was not letting me think
about your systematic devaluation of the day
you desired a sinner
I was moving my chair backwards anyways
Time out on a wooden bench
I missed my father
White hair does not always make fathers.