After Re-Reading The Hollow Men Two Times Two, Failing To Realize That Unfinished College Assignments Need To Be Finished, I Write :

This is the way delay begins

This is the way delay begins

This is the way delay begins

Not with a whimper but a bang. 

and if you're interested : http://poetry.poetryx.com/poems/784/

..

How The Overtly Verbose SmartChap Convinces His Gullible GirlFriend That BreakUp Is Not Only Necessary But Poetic

..Tumble down the stairs, changing colour every step, and fall into my arms, your hair sliding down my face like a cold wave of air. Look up, to see, to sigh, to stare, to dare me to pick you up and rush outside, into the windswept forests, where the moon glides low, peeping from between the clusters of leaf-stars, rustling, murmuring, trembling. Hand in hand, through the unknown haze, discovering ourselves as we gaze deep down into horizon’s face, noticing a couple of children play, their laughter seeping out like warmbright rays into the cushion of clouds, the sky of promise, the breath of day. Not without laughter shall we depart, your eye in my eye in your eye, as the path branches, blanches, and breaks into two, challenging us, playing with our wits, sending down ripples of bittersweet pain down our spines, our lines, our delicate insides . Possibilities at the end of the road, where everything begins all over again, twinkling, smiling, shy; possibilities merging into one grand story, when we shall not be separate specks of bodily being anymore, but a song of unison, a flame of passion, a haze of joy, continuous, unblinking, pure. 

Unfinished Business With A Pseudo-Conservative Who Apparently Wants It Slow

The candle goes out
Poof, like a sunburnt romance, 
As the shadows roll-up and vanish
Into the conjurer's cardboard lair. 

There, but not there. 

Plucking up courage,  
Boom, like gravity from the sky,
I fall on your lap, flowers dipped
In honeysauce,the smell skimming
Down your thighs, before

The hand arrives. 

Dreaded swish, the flowers squirming 
In air, gravity all too clear, fleeting
Mid-air despair, as Hello, whispers
The dust-baked ground, near, near. 

Not fair,

I scream into her eyes, glimmering
Stones showcasing the birth of desire 
In the dusty dark, as I gradually
Realize her burning fear; for all I
Care, I hope I am 

Nearly there.

Game

Spread your fingers wide, and ask for
cluttered rhymes, patternless and sublime;
Sprinkled wet, since the rain never stops
while I shape lines. If you resist, and I guess
you will, for your ego's still shy, it is with
solemn triumph that I shall announce :
Oh dear, the Goodbye's all mine.  

Inside

Dead night. Piano and stars, suicide notes and moonshine. I had been staring at her too long - silver lines dismantling, merging, bending; her body unraveling itself, a story decomposing. Trick light. I looked away, faraway, where lines and dots don't hold meaning anymore. Into space, ceaseless and open. 

Of course I love you. 

The birthday cake was smelling

strange, too much candlewax and salt - 

I knew I could trust you. Never wondered

why you cried.    

Candle flame. A shawl burning red, the laughter in her eyes. Should I call this resistance? Revolution? Love. The maze on her wrists, my kisses on dried scars. Does she not remember the parties? Grand turn-outs. Exquisite cuisines, from the most exotic, the most improbable of cultures . I tried. I always thought there was a gleam in her eyes: pale, but promising redemption, promising to fight the pain; the pain, invisible, permeant, born in images she could never describe.   

Of course I love you. 

Bright day. Another dainty robe, 

hair in place, bracelet grace. Just

what the doctor ordered, I say. 

You don't think I fought those 

bullies for someone else? Smile, 

it's not much, just more than a small

face. 

I always knew I was wrong. She wouldn't understand. I couldn't let her escape, dissolve in the vapour outside, lost as one more shadow wanting to find the truth, the lie, the concrete in the blur. Maybe I didn't understand. I never believed in stories, in myths she drowned while I shook her, while I tried to reveal that this is the real world, this. The dust. And the pills, always the pills. They came in all sizes, fuzzy colours, perfect shapes. Capsules of hope. 

Of course I care.  You think

there are ghosts in your closet-

now isn't that fantasy? Ghosts,

decked in sparkling pain, you might

say. Always the stain of memory-

let me help you lose it, here, 

let me love you.   

It was difficult. I lied to David about the bruise beneath her left eye. Only time I hit her. I saved her. Down, in the dusty cellar, cut off from the blaring monotones of pleasure, observing her sketching life with fingernails. A clown, a four-legged animal, and thumb-prints. She giggled after I hit her.  

It was you, when the clock struck

two, the notes rhyming true. 

My heart resounds this

time- for once, I know you are

one of few. Of course I

love you, of course I do.  

Chopin. Random notes, soft, loud, filled with an unkown, unexplored passion. Black and white. Pity, I never thought she would play, never half-expected her to lift the lid and bear the sound. I thought she would yield to the suffering she finds in every minute particle in this house, in what she wanly terms confinement. I had to protect her. Her protection was entrusted to me, and me alone by some alien consciousness pervading our relationship; if I let her go, if her road to emancipation had to be paved in my absence, away from my iron exterior, I would be crushed by the guilt of allowing her to lose herself, vanish into the jar of invisibility, into the promise of absoluteness.  

There are times when you

say it too, in whispers and

half-sighs, in the void of sleep, 

in the life of dreams. Of course I

love you. There are times when 

you..  

It might rain early morning. If I touch your neck, and find the coldness creeping down my fingertips, chilling my heart while I breathe : I shall only be certain that one more death for me, is one more life saved, one more light withheld in your bag of darkness. Cannot sleep. Cannot sleep. 

Let's See. Sandwich?

I woke up early today. Sipped my Glucon-D. Over. Lying down is a pain. Not a backache. Neck sprain? Nope. Arse mole, eh? Probably. No, not really. The time has come to pull my act together. Lying up? Pun. I was wondering if I'm trying to make sense of life. Having said that, I think I need to take a leak. Back to business. The regularity of naturality. Ooh. I write to liberate myself (from?) , structure my thoughts (why?) , and try to understand why I exist ( oh really?) . It all boils down to desire (of? for?). Emancipation of the soul (pseudo-intellectual?). Every moment, every miserable moment ( I mope? I whine? I, pessimist) I think I deluded myself the previous moment. The vagaries of memory. But, it's not just that, is it? Ranting is a pain. I am a pain. Arse mole. Prick. Swell. Prick. Pop? I wish.  

Actually, if I think hard enough, I might classify myself as an adventurer. Not the usual adventurous sort, sadly. In a more profound sense. Very good. Very deep. No fluids? Sorry, I'm not allowing anyone to jump. Crack head? Sure. There's a bottle of water staring back at me. I can look through you. Through your guts, into the other side. Continuum of space. In beginning lies the end. Vice versa? Don't dare. I don't waste time. I waste water. I waste electricity. I should not. O Conscience My Conscience. Pull my scrotum free. Don't you get it? Desire. It all has to do with desire. From the mid-torso? No, not that, not always that. Biologically, a large part of it. Filthy. Of the lowest, most ruthless primal kind. Involves back-biting and vertigo. Spin, spin, reel, crawl.  Fall? If you squeal. 

Speed burst. Sometimes, I feel I'm beyond how I express myself. That I'm not doing half-justice to the profound expanse that I am. Delusion? Oh, come on now. Words constitute the biggest limitation to my heartfelt enterprise. My weakness (my strength?). Words to express, but not enough, never enough. Or probably, I don't know enough techniques. Invisible, covert brushstrokes to spice up my canvas. Knowledge? Depends on what I'm trying to say. Why? Simple logic. Study, imbibe, build and then, express. My voice is gestating. Let's give it some time. And space. Impatience can only result in a deadly miscarriage. Slow, slow. 

Ideas > people? If I separate the idea from the person, does it not render the person dispassionate, dull and utterly inhuman? But if I have to understand the idea, is separation not only important, but necessary? I'm too naive. I can only ask questions. Curiosity of the innocent. 

I don't quite see the end. Not in my short-term future world. Thank you.