Healing..

I

Sorrows, preamble to tears
  Serum sieves through the wounds
Would morph to stigmata and then heal
  "It bled for you", she said
Yes, for the pound of flesh, beholds
  Is not hers but mine instead..
I would resurrect her love
   Like pleasures of whimsical rain
Carry her along, while she follows
   Like twig less leaf in untamed wind
certainly appears aggrandized
   But ask her to dream jus once more tonight
For last of incubus she'd see
   By the dawn she's gone, in my arms, with me..

II

Her wings would not spread
   words fail and thoughts obfuscate
she's stalled, in search of the wound
   from where she bled..
Her silent moans and tearless cries
   aren't whispers to be missed
I could sense her palpitation
   despite her stoic calm
and see through her pain
   here, offer mine, for it has dried-up,
to damask of scars & stains
   I'll take her heart, as her, myself
heal 'em all, each by each
   with nothing less than
wet quivering kiss...

~Cura te Ipsum~



P.s:In an attempt to heal someone's wounds, someone who is very dear and a good soul :)

.

Another attempt
 to express this through
a wayward scribble
 that expects nothing more than
a smile, hug and kiss
 this is not a rambling
from puerile days
 neither is this
an embellishment with words
 had seen and read how
people talk about theirs
 So why not I about,
my eternal river,
 Origin, flesh and life
cannot praise you in phrases
 for no word deems worthy
no language so complete
 Diligent you are
when you listen to me
 A grin, when I lie
And stare for, truth, I often time speak
 But as always I'd make
another wish, that
 I keep wishing for
but may never get..
 bless me with a sleep
and a dream that’s solemnly true
 each to each subtly painted
with different hues
 Concoct melodies &
sing me a lullaby
 mellifluous lute
bring me back the cradle sleep
 rip off, along the seam of knowledge
make me naive, make me ignorant
 of corporeal existence
O' gate-way devour me back
 back to the source, as a seed..

   Ma, Amritha

Essence of my life

Calling..

One Sabbatical Sunday..
  Meandering in the park
Reaching rubbles of clock tower
  I seat myself on its steps
Cold January evening, unusually cold
  Robbing me of my heat
I care less, as chill enters, uninvited
  I watch thoughts linger around
Everywhere in the park
  In all dark corners
Carefully picking
  Those that belong to me
I knit them to a kirtle
  Watching the Sun go down
The vermillion sky
  And the crawling infant darkness
I continue in my muse
  Under full phosphorescent moon
Park brims up
  With swarm of flies
Under the strobe light
  of luminous poles
I fumble on thoughts still
  Each by each
With every breath
  Am not the same now
with blood churning out cold
  Hairs raise on the back and
ears alongside the head
  revealing beast in, beast out
Masquerading along the dusk
  Acting human, near a half frozen tarn..

     howling

  the call of the therian

Slow..

She burns, I emulate similar lust
  we stay seperated
clouds of new year
  slither over one another
slow, slow she likes, as I
  she simulates
testing preseverance
  puerile and jejune
instincts die
  but physically reveals
fog clears, real slow,
  she gasps, her adultry surfaces,
with barren lands, leaving colossal skies
  glory of bewitching sun..