Archive for September 18th, 2006

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Tangerine

September 18, 2006

26th Feb 2005

A shade of tangerine
Will that be your cue?
I’ve watched from the shadows
Did you watch me watchin you?
Traced your every move
My gaze like burnin ice
Fell upon your back
Following the lies

A casual backward glance,
Do you take me for a fool?
Turn back to me now…
This may be our only chance
The fire smolders on,
And shadows dance across
The tangerine mask is falling
The shreds of doubt are gone

Falling through the ice
I cut across the shroud
Searching for my soul
I am cryin out loud
Hold my tears as they drop
Crimson is their shade
I plunge into the depths
And regret is the blade
I fall upon
In the twisted tangerine world
Of my making…

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A Midsummer Night’s Dream…

September 18, 2006

“Why do you trust people so easily?” he asked me.
I had no ready answer—“Why do you ask?”

“Because… it’s unusual. You are unusual.” He propped himself up on his elbow and gazed at me, putting some distance between us. “Yes, you’re an unusual woman—a woman-child…” he drawled, tracing my lower lip with his forefinger, “and I… I am a very lucky man.”

A mischievous smile lighting the corner of my eyes, I whispered “Hey Mr. Lucky Man—know why I trust you?”

“I’ve often wondered why” he countered.
“Because…” I said, circling my arms around his neck “you’re my lobster!”

“Your what?” he let out a hearty laugh, curving his mouth in that familiar way that never failed to make my heart do a tango.

“My lobster… you know, holding claws and running across the sands. Hey… stop laughing at me!” I ended on a fit of giggles, “Else you’ll be Mr. Not-so-Lucky Man next time.”

“You’re incorrigible, you know that?” he whispered in my throat, “and irresistible… and now, my lil lobster, I’m going to have YOU for dinner.”

***

“Would you miss me when I’m gone?” he asked me the other night.
“What kinda silly question is that?” I shot back, trailing a finger along the stubble on his jaw “You need a shave. Aren’t you glad we’re both kinesthetic? …else it would’ve been one cold winter.”

“Must you always answer a question with a question? You’re hard to read, kid.”

I knew he was waiting for some sign that his question wouldn’t go unanswered this time too, but I wasn’t ready to deal with the reality of it all. I needed more time with him, more time as ‘us’ before I could make up my mind. “Must you always end up with a question?” I grinned back at him, “Let’s not talk for a while… just hold me on your lap.” He let out a soft sigh “I’m leaving in a couple of weeks kid… you know we can’t push this away forever, we need to talk.”

I gazed at his hand that lay sprawled on my pillow… large, supple hands with long nimble fingers, the veins strong and prominent—there was passion and sensitivity there, a heady mix of recklessness and prudence, of controlled power, a storm held in check by an unwavering will, a vulnerable heart cautioned by experience… I covered his hand with mine and willed myself to look at him. He was looking straight into my eyes, reading my soul with the ease of one who knew he had every right to… searching for the answers I was unable and unwilling to give him. What he found must have satisfied him, for his hand tensed momentarily under mine before his lips parted slowly in a smile… “What are you so afraid of?” he whispered, pulling me down on the pillow next to him, “I won’t hurt you… that is it, isn’t it? You are afraid I will leave too… you are so scared of losing me that you refuse to give us a chance…”

I had no answer this time either, but he didn’t need an answer… he had seen it all in my eyes, the pain and the fear. He knew the demons I was battling… he knew. And it didn’t unsettle him. For the first time, I felt something like hope stir within me… maybe this time wouldn’t be the same, maybe this time I had a choice, maybe this time I wasn’t destined to return to the pitfires of my private hell. But I wasn’t ready to give in as yet… “Let’s talk…”

“Where do you see us going?” he asked me, “It has been one hell of a joyride this far… and I hate leaving without knowing if we have a chance for something more.”
I sat up, pulling my knees closer to my body… I needed all my senses about me right now. “I have a past” I stated simply, “I come with a lot of excess baggage. Can you handle it?” There was no need to play games; we both knew the time for that was long past. He looked hard at me for a while, his eyes inscrutable… my world came to a standstill for those few moments, for my sanity hinged on his response. In that instant, I knew that I could love this man for the rest of my life… that I could trust him completely and lay my tortured soul to rest—and it all depended on his next few words.

“I will never question your past… I love you, as you are now. But I need to know that your past is your past… if we do this, I need you to be absolutely sure—no relationship is perfect kid, I’m not saying ours will be… but I’m telling you right now that with its many imperfections, it will still be for a lifetime—I promise you that no matter what, I won’t leave you, ever… we’ll find a way to work things out as and when they happen.”

He wouldn’t leave me, he wouldn’t leave me ever… my mind refused to think beyond that…

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Of numerous loves…

September 18, 2006

I lie awake sometimes, wondering
if numerous loves are possible…
Is one who loves deep and long
a single other soul,
revealing secrets of the heart as yet untold,
holding, questioning, comforting,
forever entwined,
with eyes for none other—
is that love greater than one meted out
to all who come by, and seek comfort;
a kind word to one, a gentle touch elsewhere
while all your secrets lie rusting,
with no one to share
the pain that’s your destiny,
wrapped up
in impermeable layers of giving,
so tightly bundled
that though with each giving
you add a layer more,
none can give
that which penetrates to your core…
The love that demands
an equal affection—is it selfish?
Or is the love that refuses
to let anyone close,
see the anguish and the tears,
know the murky depths—is that love selfish?

The tears ran silently down my cheeks as I lay on his shoulder, every stroke of his hand piercing me like a thousand tiny shards of glass. There was pleasure in this pain, a bittersweet vengeance of sorts. Unconditional love—and impersonal. Never asking for forever, never asking for anything but the moment… to be held and comforted, to be worshipped, but just for this moment.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, planting a kiss on my forehead. A mute scream rent my conscious, a voiceless cry from the very depths of my soul… I was curling up and dying inside.

(25th Aug 2005)

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