Lovers?

Then with forgotten promises in our skin

And fake “love you” on our lips

We float under the half moon…

Lusting for the bitter taste of land,

Effacing every chance to reach it.

- The Shepherdess

Reconnaissance

Many lips I had kissed

I had caressed many souls

Effaced were many faces

Inking stains on my parole

Sanity prevails

After the storms

Thank you, my glowworm.

Lumiere. Liberte. Liebe.

I have seen the face of God in a cloud of gold
Burning the leaves of autumn in indescribable agony
I have heard a man, a man I love,
Deny the possibility of human love,
And I have believed him
I have burnt like the old woman in a tram
Her cheeks pale with gold,
Or like the seventy-year old man in tweeds
Who after a night of rain, goes out in the morning
To the park to die burning in a shower of sunlight
I have seen the point where desire ends and blooms into a spray of lilacs

scio amo

Within

Ten thousand insects beneath the skin,

Searching for a drop of light

To die, obliterating the already dead.

- The Shepherdess

When the lightning strikes
I think of my lord
When the clouds are dark
I think of my lord
When it is dark
My friend clasps me
Thinking I am afraid
I enjoy the warmth
Even though the air outside
Is cool with rain drops
My lord has two bodies
With one he sends rain
and with the other he enjoys me
When it is raining
Though I have no virtue
He has given me the capacity to enjoy
I count myself blessed
Even if I can never reach heaven
What is the moon in heaven
If I can gaze at his face
Dark as the clouds, his smile
Breaking out like lightning
When it is raining

~scio amo

He asked me, “If you knew you would be dying in a day, what would you wish in your remaining mortal hours?”

I paused. And replied, “I would take a stroll down Park Street.”

Dripping water from the hair. Drenched in the evening downpour, I entered the pub. Unknown faces. A few known. Exchanged smiles. Twinkles in the eyes that glittered among the shabbiness and the occasional rats. “Oh, again you have coloured your hair.”“Yes,” I smiled, “Golden this time.”

Both of us knew the gold of my streaks extended its roots deep inside us. Us. Inebriated by the rum. Ensnared by words. Words that blew in the smoke from the hot cuppa in the café nearby. Words that were chewed in between the ham sandwich at the street corner. Words that were run over by the meandering traffic.

A dark alley was discovered while being in the mood for love. In another chunk of darkness wavering in between the flickering lights, I saw my namesake on an earlobe.

From Candide to Vagina Monologue, from Sans Toi to squabble over homosexuality, I tasted them all. Taking a few steps up, we sat in a corner that offered us a view. Umbrellas. Blue. Pink. Yellow. Emerald green. A shade in my mocktail glass. Smooth. Soothing. A bit like the struggling words, born from my lips that witnessed the tears sitting opposite.

Spells of disappointment. Bouts of despair made room for themselves sporadically between Spring’s red Gulmohor trees and December’s warm cuddling breaths. I thought I could create an album of Melancholy. Thoughts remained thoughts, amorphous and anomalous. Thoughts morphed into photos in black and white; into today’s me, O Park Street.

- The Shepherdess

For a Compatriot, on her Birthday

Let me weep
It is evening, and the wind blows cool
Every land is a land of exile
Let me weep for the sun that has set, for my youth that is wasted
Let me weep for my first love, for my last
I long for freedom, I long for love
Let me weep for my futile desires

~scio

(since I could not better the painting, I thought I would change the mood :p)