Lust.

He is in the office.
He might be working late.
Come over, make sure
there is no one at the gate.

Come over,
and we will make raw love,
I will grab you by the throat
While I wear you like a glove. 

Come over,
I want to lick your lips,
Then bite your tongue,
His love is in my veins,
But he’s not young.
His gifts, his care,
This bond that we share,
Is not enough,
But,
I love him
Oh,On the devil I swear.

So come over,
I can not think straight,
lust has taken over.
Come and jeopardize,
my happy married life.
Strip me,
off my clothes,
And my dignity as a wife.
Come over, and put it deep within,
And see that fiendish smile on my face
as I happily do a sin.

Artwork by- Ashwini Raman (The most talented person I know and a very good friend.)

WhatsApp Image 2017-07-05 at 5.36.35 PM (1)

Cold.

Cold,
she used to often accuse me
Of being.
Didn’t she know, she was the only warmth
In my never ending winter?
She says,
My face doesn’t light up
When she exclaims “I love you”
How can it?
When all you knew until now was hatred,
Curses being spewed at you?
So much, that love is just a word now?
How?
Can I allow her
The light in my moonless sky
To love me
And darken her bright aura
In my grayish hue.
So
I wait
For her love to wane.
I act cold.LRM_EXPORT_20170416_020732

Depression.

aviary-image-1491383013475

Do you look at the stars and feel,

that they are looking back at you?

Judging you?

Do you cry yourself to sleep?

And then you cry more because

You didn’t know why you cried before?

Do you question every gift you get,

every sentiment?

And think, that you don’t deserve a shred?

Then think again, friend!

About the lives you touched, brought a change.

Think about the fits of laughter she had,

when you tightly clutched her finger

in your puny hand.

The times he carried you around on his back,

even when he cramped his leg, 

could hardly stand.

And at last, think about you.

Your dreams, your fire,

one that which people used to admire.

Think.

And remove the grey tint.

The brush and the palette are in your hands.

Orphan.

He plays.

He laughs.

He runs like an athlete,

when the teacher says,”Go!”

He is happy.

He is normal.

At least that’s what he tries to show.

He wins every game of hide and seek.

Well practiced from hiding his sorrow.

He passes every day,

hoping,

that he will see her again,

maybe tomorrow?

He eats his food,

cooked with care.

But if asked,

always ready to give up his share.

Always lying he had something before.

No one knew,

all he longed

was to eat from her hand,

just once more.

He remembers her tinkling bangles,

when she used to dress him up

for school.

That sweet memory now faint.

He will play.

He will laugh.

He will run.

But with a childhood 

that will always be taint.

 

 

Hold my hand.

Hold my hand,come walk with me.

Let me take you to worlds unknown.

Where you can be all alone.

Free from the shackles,

where the skies have a brighter tone.

Where you won’t be used for one’s carnal desire.

Where you can burn them red.

Because you breathe fire.

Hold my hand and we shall land,

to a place you will finally understand.

You can laugh.

You can shout.

You can run.

You can open your wings and fly off to the horizon.

Where your life could be your’s,

not a soul to tell you otherwise.

Come walk with me,there is no stopping us now.

Through this dark we will rise.IMG_20170225_144145_427

Fear.

What is it that you want?

What gains do you seek?

Whose company you ask him for on the nights you have to weep?

Sleep?

I know it doesn’t come,your heart gives a shriek.

Is there anyone to hear,

anyone to calm you?

No,you shriek.

You never thought before losing the shells,

that you were advised to keep.

You ran,ran chasing your dreams,

never hearing her agony,her screams.

But now you are away,

far away from your home.

You rose to success,standing high over the carcass of feelings,

but now all alone.

It is a cloud,friend.

It shall disappear.

But you can never go back to sleep,

I fear.

Her world.

IMG_20170314_151511_889

 

They said she was the quiet type.

As she stood there quietly,hopelessly wishing

someone would listen to her scream.

Maybe she did have a language of her own,

a world of her own.

Where she could be chirpy and loud all the time,

where she could be a prankster,

where she could walk bare feet,

feeling the earth,

where the characters of her favorite book come alive,

where she could have a ball dance with her prince,

where she could pick up her bag and just

leave for some unknown far off place,

where she didn’t have to put the mask and pretend.

Maybe she wasn’t screaming to be rescued.

Maybe she was calling out to someone,

to join her in her world.