You And I

My mum says, " expect nothing, and accept everything."

I say " expect everything, and accept nothing."

My mum says I can sleep without having my dinner tonight.

Ex.

This ecstasy, pure and tainted,
A sheet of white, with a splotch of red.
A single dew drop, on gossamer wings,
A stiletto heel,
cherry flavoured lip gloss,
or platinum plated rings.


It creeps up,
Bit by bit, higher
like mercury brought to boil,
a parasite, a stalagmite,
just a point of desire.


A love drug,
Inhale, dream, repeat,
Hallucinations and helixes,
Of Spirals and lines,
Taken with a long stemmed glass of
Pinot noir or Merlot wine.

Creating paradigms,
Or paradise within
Neither gained, nor lost
Where only fools rush in.

To covet or covert
To digress or regress.
To feel the sparkle,
To see the warmth.

A piece of dark chocolate,
Or silk satin sheets.
A fresh strawberry,
simple lavender sticks,


can it be bound somewhere
between a sonnet of sixty words,
Or an epic of six million?
Or three single words, or maybe nothing at all.

Maybe its just me, or maybe its
You and your gorgeous behaviour,
Does every love story have an end?
Or does every end have a love story?

I love the way I look at you
I love the way I love you.
Its lust, that I am in love with,
Or maybe I lust for love.

Ah, this feeling of misery,
Or ecstacy.
Else maybe it’s just a plain
Case of idiosyncrasy.

the lust list.

A talk with D,
A day for me,


A poker face,
With a mask I choose,
The perfect game,
Where I never lose.

A thousand words a week,
A pint a day.
People who listen,
To what I have to say.

A glass half full
A gorgeous half,
And one more chance to hear
A’s infectious laugh.

A walk with B,
A May with Di,
An SLR,
For far away things to see.

A lust list,
To be sorely missed.
And all the things money can buy,
Not just the gist.

Sex, Subtext and the City

The 20’s in the city , apart from bringing along its own set of driving tests and marriage proposals, both of which teach you how to swerve carefully and avoid collisions, also brings forth an individual’s understanding of sex, and the other sex. Literally, and figuratively.

Blame it on too many cocktails, or too much Carrie Bradshaw,or just way too much of sex, lies and videotape, but it seems that true liberation needn’t be reached only through the Karmic Theory. In this realm, the line between enlightment and orgasm tends to blur. But it blurs a lot more that it seems, getting hidden away, packed and stacked, bubble wrapped away from all those who are thought unfit of use. Sex, is thus dealt with a major X, and discussions about sex, ironically take the backseat, finding their ways into sleepovers and stag parties.

Which brings us to the one question; should it really be left to the hushed whispers? To be downed with tequila shots? Bound beyond closed doors and history textbooks? Is sex even more fiction than Santa or Satan; where the birds and bees remain just that, birds, and bees.

In a country where sex is taboo, and people are coy about post-coital, one wonders, in a place where sex is accompanied with a seeti,where’s the sex in this city?

>Hidden, but yet in plain sight. Under glossy magazines in plastic covers, on makeshift wooden stands; softwares and soft porn. In the seedier by lanes of town, under shady street lights, hidden beneath the hypothetical carpet of perfection, giving a whole new meaning to streetlight people.

But what about you, and I, and everyone else out there, you ask? We may draw up our own lust lists, and take up all the purity tests that Facebook might have to offer, but sure, there’s a risk in being risqué. After all, the four bases of Baseball aren’t for everyone, are they? A conversation with a friend took a turn when she told me that she was well past base 3, but not quite there to reach the 4th base.

We wondered, sipping our long islands and nibbling at our nachos, is there even such a thing as base 3.5? Well, we both agreed, that she had miles to go before she hit the home run, but what about all those countless others out there, stuck in a sexual limbo, wanting to take that one giant leap, for that one small step?

They say that there might be a thin line between love and hate, but what about the thread between love and lust? Is love necessary, to lead to lust? Or does pure lust lead to true love? In true love’s first kiss, is lust what you sorely miss? If it’s okay to go after the object of your affection, isn’t it okay to do the same for the object of your seduction too? After all, if everything’s fair in love and war, isn't lust but the perfect coupling between the two?
Maybe, I lust you, will never replace I love you.
Maybe love’s labour’s lost, or maybe love’s labour’s lust.
Go figure. I have people to go stalk.

You

I hate the world today, a world without you.
I feel like an emo, I feel so blue.
If everything’s Technicolor, I live black and white,
No light over here, but 30 days of night.

July was grey, and august was brown,
It’s been the same, since you’ve gone.
The sun’s so dull; the moon seems a mess,
A world without you, a world so colourless.

Life’s blank, like an empty cheque.
Crazy, they call me, an emotional wreck.
I hate the world today, a world without you.
I’m scared that ill soon forget the things that you used to do.

Heart's a mess.

I lost my heart the other day,
I searched for it far and wide,
This usually does not happen to me,
In you, I must confide.

I searched for it here, I searched for it there,
I searched for it everywhere,
In all the places I thought a lost heart would go,
A blood bank, a gift shop, even St. Valentine’s Cathedral.

I was about to give up all hopes then,
All dull and dejected,
That’s when I saw it right beside you,
Beating, and blushing a deep red.

I tried to call it back to me,
But all my tries were up in vain,
Tried to use its own against it,
Nothing worked, neither artery, nor vein.
I couldn’t see what it saw,
Heartless that I was,
What else would I be now?
I had suffered a great heart’s loss.

As a last resort, I told it
“You wouldn’t survive without blood”
It stared at me rather pointedly,
And said, for you, it would even eat mud.


It wouldn’t listen to me,
I thought it would listen to you,
One look of your gorgeous face,
It struck, heck, for you, I would eat mud too!