Inside the puddingland

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MySpace Graphics Your kiss spins like a dice in the night air and finds a shelter in the naked geometry of my face. - For R

Friday, February 20, 2009

The Song Woman

"She was a phantom of delight

When she first gleam'd upon my sight
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament"

-W Wordsworth

you come,
in the breath of a second

amidst folk tales and forgotten smells

as your song-burnt hair jazz up winds
with a hue of purple whispers

when the nighttime raga lights up the breeze
with a rhapsody of aimless tunes

and the music rises like thoughts,
to conquer the moonbeams,
and carve a rainbow in the sky

I drench in your nocturnal smiles
beneath a twilight of dreams and colours......

are you real, my midnight angel?

so many night-pills,
and so many unfinished songs

poems grow like weeds on your skin

your lips are the sketches of snow,
your brows the music of temptation

make me a disciple of your holy glance,
who submits poems and prayers
at your doorstep

how long can you hide metaphors
behind your smiles?

cross the ancient river
that flows between us now,
with a scent of dead lovers

and show me the doorway to those secret empires.......

mother me with your dreamy kisses
and distant odours

on nights of sights and sound........

did you once speak of love

as we waltzed across the floor,
remembering witchcraft and Shakespeare?

my song woman,
did you not complain of solitude?

was it the smiles or an overdose
of cocaine?

your celestial eyes grow dim,
and you melt,
like the moon on the mirror

and those optical spies,
their songs wet with an eclipse,
still pray for a miracle.........

sex or supernatural?

I hunt for lost codes,
inside the entrails of a dead city

what happened to the songs and prophecies?

the senses,
now a motion blurr...........

who built the rhetoric on the tombstone?

a creaking door seeks a reply...........