01-03-2016, 09:27 AM
Next Thing - Rutart
There wasn't really space enough
for the poetry of a grand finale
as she plopped down on the toilet floor.
Seems like she clutched the blade tight
more for one moment of clarity
than anything else.
She sat on the cold floor thus
about to deliver some art, as it were.
Randomness lay like a timeless cat
next to her, in a languorous coil,
thinking perhaps of its next meal.
She tugged thrice at the strap of her night gown
that seemed to slip down her left shoulder all the time,
and then let it be.
She meditated on the
chipped mercury of the mirror
like black stars on a silver sky
and then stared at her spindly toes
and thought about his
And the pronouns, their randomness
of you, me and us.
Her right palm had gone pale
from all that gripping
and shivered just a little
as her boy giggled from his dream
and upset the reverie of that cat by her side.
- - -
Romantic Song - Rutart
He was at my laptop all evening.
Learning the words of a romantic song
with such passion and industry
that I swallowed my irritation
at not having the machine to myself.
No, I didn’t need it more than he did, really.
He was going to sing at school tomorrow, you know.
I could hear him in the kitchen
mouthing the lovelorn words
careful, stopping in between
and trying it out again to get the pitch right.
As for me,
these last several days were spent on bed reading history
simply because I didn’t know what else to do.
I take care not to look at Mc Carthy’s beautiful book
bought with cash I didn't have
to keep myself inspired
staring at me non-stop
from the bedpost where I had tossed it.
There was some trouble with breathing.
And there were things
that demanded attention at three in the morning.
Like that unattended leak on the toilet roof
from the floor above
which has left some fancy shapes on the false ceiling.
It’s not as if they are unmanageable though.
Most days, them being there, sensed through
the corner of your eyes
is good company that keeps your limbs busy
But then sometimes you climb over the toilet seat
armed with a wet sponge and try to rub away the stains
and make a mess of the whole thing.
And then, here was my boy singing.
My clumsy boy who hugs me from behind sometimes and
blows at the hair that falls on his forehead all the time.
The words of that song were still ringing in my ears
a good while since he lay asleep on his tummy
and seemed three-four years younger in his sleep,
his mouth half open and dribbling a little.
I touched his left cheek, softer in sleep
and sneaked out to lie on my tummy in the other room.
Soon it will be time
to get up and boil his milk.
May be I should take him out
for an ice-cream in the evening.
- - -
Yeah, I know... Damn! (or whatever you say about life separating you from the things you love).
Me loving love poems and all; one I especially saved:
Le Résistance - Jestalessa
(Sudden stop in heartbeat,
A guilty, pleasant surprise of a kiss
in the dark -
our chemistry would have blown up the rocketship
and taken us to the stars anyway.)
But no, my Love.
I never can remember his mischievous grin
(his nose lightly brushing my cheek),
or the subtle, titillating scent of his cologne.
(drawing me closer, closer)
I hardly felt the heat of his hand sliding up my thigh.
I haven't thought twice about his eyes
desperately drawn to my lips, and it never
crosses my mind enough for me to wonder
what might have happened if
we had been alone.
- - -
There wasn't really space enough
for the poetry of a grand finale
as she plopped down on the toilet floor.
Seems like she clutched the blade tight
more for one moment of clarity
than anything else.
She sat on the cold floor thus
about to deliver some art, as it were.
Randomness lay like a timeless cat
next to her, in a languorous coil,
thinking perhaps of its next meal.
She tugged thrice at the strap of her night gown
that seemed to slip down her left shoulder all the time,
and then let it be.
She meditated on the
chipped mercury of the mirror
like black stars on a silver sky
and then stared at her spindly toes
and thought about his
And the pronouns, their randomness
of you, me and us.
Her right palm had gone pale
from all that gripping
and shivered just a little
as her boy giggled from his dream
and upset the reverie of that cat by her side.
- - -
Romantic Song - Rutart
He was at my laptop all evening.
Learning the words of a romantic song
with such passion and industry
that I swallowed my irritation
at not having the machine to myself.
No, I didn’t need it more than he did, really.
He was going to sing at school tomorrow, you know.
I could hear him in the kitchen
mouthing the lovelorn words
careful, stopping in between
and trying it out again to get the pitch right.
As for me,
these last several days were spent on bed reading history
simply because I didn’t know what else to do.
I take care not to look at Mc Carthy’s beautiful book
bought with cash I didn't have
to keep myself inspired
staring at me non-stop
from the bedpost where I had tossed it.
There was some trouble with breathing.
And there were things
that demanded attention at three in the morning.
Like that unattended leak on the toilet roof
from the floor above
which has left some fancy shapes on the false ceiling.
It’s not as if they are unmanageable though.
Most days, them being there, sensed through
the corner of your eyes
is good company that keeps your limbs busy
But then sometimes you climb over the toilet seat
armed with a wet sponge and try to rub away the stains
and make a mess of the whole thing.
And then, here was my boy singing.
My clumsy boy who hugs me from behind sometimes and
blows at the hair that falls on his forehead all the time.
The words of that song were still ringing in my ears
a good while since he lay asleep on his tummy
and seemed three-four years younger in his sleep,
his mouth half open and dribbling a little.
I touched his left cheek, softer in sleep
and sneaked out to lie on my tummy in the other room.
Soon it will be time
to get up and boil his milk.
May be I should take him out
for an ice-cream in the evening.
- - -
(01-03-2016, 09:27 AM)Leanne Wrote:I miss her
Yeah, I know... Damn! (or whatever you say about life separating you from the things you love).
Me loving love poems and all; one I especially saved:
Le Résistance - Jestalessa
(Sudden stop in heartbeat,
A guilty, pleasant surprise of a kiss
in the dark -
our chemistry would have blown up the rocketship
and taken us to the stars anyway.)
But no, my Love.
I never can remember his mischievous grin
(his nose lightly brushing my cheek),
or the subtle, titillating scent of his cologne.
(drawing me closer, closer)
I hardly felt the heat of his hand sliding up my thigh.
I haven't thought twice about his eyes
desperately drawn to my lips, and it never
crosses my mind enough for me to wonder
what might have happened if
we had been alone.
- - -
a brightly colored fungus that grows in bark inclusions