DARK WITHIN

There’s a history of heartbreak
tucked in the creases of her eyes,
a museum of the moments, 
that she’d watched just pass by her
and each tear that escaped her, 
held the things she’d left unsaid.
So the words she’d never spoken,
stained her dampened cheeks instead.

US TO WE! 

Your eyes 
Are like two windows
To a quaint 
And charming soul.

Your lips
Two fine-carved doorposts
To a fragrant 
Sugar bowl.

Your cheeks – 
Frames of perfection
‘Bout your 
Painted-perfect face.

Your eyebrows – 
Wisps of beauty.
The adornment 
Of your grace.

Your neck
A fragile tower
From one treasure
To the next.

Your shoulders
Cap the wonder
Of the form
That has me vexed.

Your breasts
Pillows of pleasure
On a frame
Of perfect grace.

Your belly
Soft, inviting, 
Beckoning me 
Down to that place.

And when
I cup my hands
And bring your pleasure 
To my lips,

I reel 
At the narcotic
Of your moan
And bucking hips.

Your love
Is like the fragrance
Of desire
To my soul.

Your heart
Is like the treasure
Of my heaping 
Ice-cream bowl.

Your lips 
I find the keyhole
That unlocks 
My wildest bliss.

Your body
The nutrition
That I take 
With each sweet kiss.

And when I think
In wonder
That this woman 
Is my own,

I shake my head
And thank the Lord
For this 
My Bone of bone.

#bigeyes. 

I WOULD NEVER WRITE A POEM ABOUT LOVE. 

I would never write a poem about love-

But on that night you showed me

There was nothing left to write but love.

I would never write a poem about love-

But on that night as your drunk words played 

Sweet inviting rhythms in my drunk ears,

You showed me there was nothing left to write but love.



I would never write a poem about love-

But on that night as we took turn on a single bottle of wine,

As my dried lips touched its edge- wet with your wine flavoured saliva,

As I hoped it was your lips instead,

You showed me there was nothing left to write but love.



I would never write a poem about love –

As I bid you goodnight,

As I wrapped you in my arms for a hug- tight,

As I pulled back from you and whispered;

            ‘may I taste your tongue tonight?’

As you leaned forward and closed your eyes,

And you opened your mouth,

As I reached for you and parted my lips too to finally open yours,

As I grabbed your waist,

And I pulled you even closer,

Our groins joined together,

As everything became nothing;

As everyone became no one,

As you became the one,

As we became one,

As our mouth found each other,

And I finally sucked your tongue soft and slow and then harder,

All at once, so tender,

As everything around us on the roof top blew like firework in the dark,

In the city wherein it’s forbidden,

You showed me that if all of these were not love then this is not,

And I still have not written a poem about love

#PillsandPoems 

BLACK WIDOW ART THEE

I have been referred to 

With numerous names,

I have been spoken of,

For playing mind games.

I have been called

An opportunistic,

Who uses her womanly wiles,

To get her way,

And get away,

With people by using smiles.

If I wear bright colours,

A bungle, a bindi,

And a pair of earring,

I’m said to have 

Taken pains

To look good and dress up.

If I laugh aloud,

I have no shame,

If I don’t I’m a snob,

If I’m independent,

They think it’s due to my job.

I have had enough and now it’s time,

For me to raise my voice,

I am, a widow, I agree,

But I was never by choice.

I’m not a widow of opportunity,

Nor a tissue to be used and throw,

Neither am I a damsel in despair,

Nor a broken bow.

I do not need any shoulder

To cry and lean on,

Do not think I’m emotionally weak,

I don’t need another ‘someone’

I really pity 

The people who see

The smile on my face for their notion,

They can never see 

The pain within me,

For them my heart isn’t open.

Not that my life 

Is centered around

What people think and say. 

I live my life,

On my own terms,

I follow my own pathway.

I am still married 

To the man I love,

Even if I’m called a widow,

My heart knows

That he knows it too,

Because my soul tells me so. 

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#PillsandPoems