Prayer

Come, little girl,

Let me ease your pain.

What is it that happened?

Did you fall down?

Or did the bully around the corner

Be mean to you?

Come, little girl,

Hush now, in my arms

You shan’t be weak anymore.

Did you lose your way

And were scared to not find home?

Did you shudder, little girl,

Were you lied to?

What is it,

Little girl,

Won’t you tell me now?

Won’t you rest your tired little heart

And shed those tears on my bosom?

Your bonnie curls,

With wet tear-streaked edges,

Are matted against my skin.

Hush now, little girl,

Speak to me and

I will comfort you…

Love, you say,

You fell in love?

With the blue-eyed cherub

That won’t love you back?

He doesn’t like your flowers?

Doesn’t play with you?

You love his angel voice,

His dimpled cheeks?

Oh, little girl,

What have you done?

You’ve stirred the hornet’s nest

Of life…

Oh, little girl,

I’m afraid; I can be of no help

For though your five year old self

Should turn fifty

Love shall only hurt.

Love shall only hurt.

Love shall only hurt.

So cry, little girl,

Sob your poor heart out.

And I shall pray that

He’s washed in your tears

And reborn unto you...

The Season of Potions

Stranded winter, frosted rose

Lit aflame by your breath.

My girl, you’ve left a trail

Of melted frost

That leads to your liquid womb.

Oh would I love you,

Like the sound of a sword

Slicing the cold wind.

But I’m afraid.

I’m afraid of the smoke,

The only letters form question marks.

My girl you have wounded me

With a summer afternoon

Raining towers of heat.

I have time till the smoke-stick burns out.

Sheltered spring nights,

When I could chase your naked form

Through wine tunnels.

My girl, you’ve left a trail

Of anguish and

It leads me upwards.

And I’m climbing your smoke trails,

Tracing your moonlight,

And framing you halo with kisses…

Void.

I lost a very dear friend three nights ago. Sarbatrik (known to all of college as Sabby) died on the spot of a car crash, drunk driving. Sabby was a vocalist in Anamol’s first band. The first time he was asked about me, he’d said “She seems to be a very nice girl…” and he’d never made me feel otherwise. When asked to leave the band in third year, he’d messaged Anamol… “Keep on rockin’ in the free world guys…” He’d read “One Hundred Years of Solitude”. Off the top of my head I can remember only that much…


The rest is a dull dull ache, he was a nice guy. Nice people don’t die, they mustn’t. He was a friend, how can someone die on their friends? Sabby sang “Stairway to Heaven” and he gets to go there, I’m sure… This here is his last post on FB.

He ran away… and left us all a void. Life’s a bitch, I HATE this feeling of loss.

To The Woman Who Sang To Jolene

With her flaming locks of auburn hair,
Ivory skin, and eyes of emerald green
She’s a temptress.

You, however, have dull black tresses,
Tangled on most days.
Bronze skinned and onyx eyed,
The one you think of as ‘your’ man,
Was never yours.

You do not have magic or myth,
You are normal, sometimes weird.
What does a man do with pleasant
Or courteous, when there
Is no enigma?

Jolene is a fairytale,
Every chapter a poem.
She is enticing as a breeze, with
Promises to lead to distant lands;
She’s mysterious as a veiled palanquin,
And charming like
The skies at dusk.

You’re klutzy, you drop things.
You announce hunger, fear,
And pain.
You plead with her to salvage your love.
And your dresses are boring
You do not know how to seduce…

Jolene glides in-and-out on
Tiny, pitter-patter feet.
Clothes become fables on her skin.
She doesn’t have to beg, she chooses.
When she brings men down to their knees
With a look, nothing more,
They peel off fables to find
Exquisite passion.

Your man was hers
When she was made.
You were allowed to borrow him,
Think, woman,
Has he ever told you
That you’re pretty,
The way he talks about her in his sleep?

You cannot compete with her,
You shouldn’t even exist.

Humility, Focus, Courage, Strength

There is SO much to learn...

Oblivion

In Greek mythology, Lethe was one of the five rivers of Hades. Also known as the Ameles potamos (river of unmindfulness), the Lethe flowed around the cave of Hypnos and through the Underworld, where all those who drank from it experienced complete forgetfulness. The other four rivers were Styx (the river of hate), Akheron (the river of sorrow), Cocytos (the river of lamentation) and Phlegethon (the river of fire).

The shades of the dead were required to drink the waters of the Lethe in order to forget their earthly life. In the Aeneid, Virgil writes that it is only when the dead have had their memories erased by the Lethe that they may be reincarnated.

Come, you shroud called Death,

Let us dine tonight

In my quarters.

Why don’t you bring your bride?

Melancholy, I've heard

Of her many virtues.

I may bring along my wishes,

If I could pick them up.

Once I have had my share

Of the waters of Lethe

And blissful oblivion has set in,

Let us take a walk along

The paths that Acheron traced

Down far into the nether world.

If thou should insist, I shall dip

Into the stories of Phlegethon,

But wilt thou believe my innocence

Even afterward?

When my lamentations mix with

Those of the Cocytus,

Pay heed, for a woman

Of true soul laments but once,

And in her voice, thou too Death,

And thine minions shall find salvation,

As many mortals have.

Our travels will have ended by now,

The stories told,

The waters of Styx will be

Called upon to perform the ablutions.

And when the water has dropped off me,

Oh death, what would you know!

When the water has dropped off me,

The droplets shall become

Wishes again.

In life I hath held on to him,

In you death, I shall he.

Another Blog!

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