I can hit the fastball
But I really want to hit the slider
Same thing in writing verse
The erotic comes easy
But my own core emotions
Always leave me wanting more
From myself
So, no erotic poems this morning
Going back to the basics
My need to write
I hope you will let me in
Even though I have been hard on you
I’m not a bad guy
And I don’t spit too much
When I’m at the plate
A got-up video game-
played on the screen of reality
where every click may not be responded
and every level may not be crossed over,
yet clicking is always unabated.
A babbling bunny-
selected as a super hero,
openly by the tumultuous kids
but secretly by an invisible adult,
for the game to win.
Slowly but steadily,
powers are obtained step by step,
villains are defeated one by one
and doors are opened level by level.
In the climax, only two doors-
almost twins and adjacent to each other,
remaining to be opened to win the game,
the left- for the kids
and the right- for the invisible.
The blockhead kids-
quite blissful in reaching the left door,
hopeful for winning the game
and prompt to press the click.
Alas! The hero is irresponsive to the click
but spontaneous to reach
and open the right door in no time.
A roar of laughter reverberates in the air,
makes the kids astonished and disappointed too.
So it seems to the profound
that love grows upward from the ground,
as slowly as that ice thaws, but then
mid closed buds, the odd one open
that tries to rush the spring,
or so it seems to touch the heart,
as if risking it’s life to greet me,
and how it tugs my tendril spirit
fearing the sun, too weak to save it
and all the rest, the waiting wise
or so it seemed to my surprise,
along the old track to the mere
with Wordsworth, singing in my ear.
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I’m driven by lust
But defined by love
Power and fury
Flowers and sweetness
The mansion is wide, long and high,
Its whiteness makes it a mammoth recess,
Where we are expected to live
In eternal comfort.
The little girl is frustrated.
She yearns for a change of air.
We sit together at a square table,
And look through the curtain,
She tells me about her friends’ boyfriends,
I warn her,
About how disgraceful it is to love,
to touch
And to be touched
‘It is the animal pleasure’
I tell her.
Thus the daytime
Wastes in our mansion.
The aunty gets angry
For every trite slip
Her body is wasted,
A mass of saggy muscles
She is both the mother and the father
Of the mansion
Who am i?
I am another woman in the feminine mansion
The emblem of purity,
The untouched petal,
A chaste Mary!
We pass our day and night.
Yearning for rain.
Constantly licking
Our parched lips
‘It is raining!’
One day she shouts.
Both of us run to the vast terrace garden,
Only to find it is only teasing,
With a drop or two.
‘It’s not going to rain
Let’s get indoors’
I tell her.
That night
When I’m lying alone on my single bed,
I hear the inviting rain,
But I choose to sleep on.
Holding hands with you
Like ducks swimming in pairs
Never far apart
Love, devotion, unity