Tuesday, March 13, 2012


The tides washed away everything but not the foaming mouths of her wounds.

The yawning of her legs is the subject of my poesy. My unspeakable loneliness mingles with the blood running down her thighs; escaping into the turbulent distortions of that which doesn’t exist. Ripples of ecstasy erupt into piteous cries stifled in my presence as I feel her screams burning the back of my throat. She will not speak to me. We who were joined at birth are now separated by a taboo hemisphere of identities. But I must speak.

Who am I?

Poesy will not satiate the void of this utterance. Must I then slither into the seductive coils of prosaic nothingness?

I am the centre of the circle. The coiled serpent that cleft the heaving ocean and milked ambrosia from poison is now twisting and transforming into a fountain sprouting new meanings –words for which are yet to be conceived. Simply put, I am that which is not.

And she is my beloved.

How can I tell you of the night when I spoke to her underneath that ancient tree in her courtyard? Our whispers permeated the thick moonlight that hovered over the leaves and burdened them with a million drops of dew. The sound of water splashing on the cold floor disturbed her sleep and she woke in my anxious arms with a yearning for conversation. We spoke, as we still speak now, in that language of gestures and emotions that so perplexes our eyes. Soft stealthy words are meaningless when that which is corrosive inside you demands oration. I was spitting venom and she was gathering flowers and we were together for such a long time that one cannot remember when the dream ended and the day began as I opened my eyes to see him at his window with a cup of coffee in his hand. And yet she sleeps besides me now. She is draped in the flesh of my imagination but her unblemished form was forged elsewhere in some celestial catastrophe. She speaks my voice and sees my blindness; she breathes my oxygen. She is besides me, around me, away from me and yet inside me. She is me and I am her; I am Lopamudra and she is nobody.



Yash said...

A very thoughtful and interesting piece of work.. :)

anarya said...

after long time, i saw your post.