Subtle Hints

“Trust me, please?”

she says, sprinkling in yearning with a fine hand.
He likes it mildly flavoured, not heavily spiced.

“I trust you implicitly”

he replies.

And she wonders why that hurts worse.

The heart, little glass charm, strung up inside body of dust.
It scratches, chips, it even crumbles but it never gets tougher.

Poisoned wine

Poison,
Was laced into
The first glass of sweet wine you offered me

Since then even water tastes like fire

From betrayal is born vindictiveness
And for those of us who never forget
It is akin to the demon child born of a mortal womb

You will always be the poison in my sweet wine

Pride and Prejudice

Sometimes,
you close your eyes
to shut out the whole world
Pretending,
you’re the only one in it
For a piece
of that illusory peace

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Sometimes,
you close your eyes
And leave them shut
Just to see if,
when you open them
the other person is still there

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Speakers interchanged
But the words stayed true.

Real Passion

The week

What a week!

she winced
Every morning waking up with a bad headache
A foul taste in her mouth and the most unpleasant feeling of all…
That the world was just the way she had left it the previous night
Improved not a whit, insurmountable problems waiting to plague her again
No respite.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

The night

Evening was a haze of cigarette smoke and alcohol
Replacing the daze of screaming and insomnia
Tonight, bodies entangled
An ode to the twisted tango of her emotions all week
Yet, underneath the stupor…

Dad, how could you? Forgive me, ma, just couldn’t take it anymore so I ran away. Leave me alone!

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Morning after

She thought she might’ve been able to call them moans of passion
They were after all…moans…of passion

It was just great sex, wasn’t it?

She shrugged, unhappy realization

It never is.

A night of great passion is always followed by a hangover. It felt exactly the same as every other morning this week.

Ray Of Light

He looks at her from the corner of his eye
Thinking she won’t notice
Secretly hoping she will
So secret, he won’t even admit to himself

She feels his look
Like sunlight, warm on her cheeks
Her eyes stay downcast
Shielded from his blinding gaze
Warmed nevertheless by its intensity

Then it starts to rain.

Pot Of Gold

Her parents say that she was born talking.

Then she discovered writing
English grammar compositions
Stories and poetry
Letters and emails
Chats and instant messaging
SMSes, orkut scraps
Resumes and reports

Then she stumbled onto blogging
And anonymous posting
Even editing and deleting
And much later, private publishing

But silence is yet to be learnt.

Gold-Digger

Happy birthday!

Paper rustling, excitement tinged with apprehension
Glittering, blinding.. sheer intoxication

I can’t accept this, it’s too expensive!

So what? It’s just money.

Too much of it!

It doesn’t matter, there’s plenty.

Exactly.
When it is about something else,
that matters more,
even if there’s very little of it,
I’ll be delighted to accept.

Afterglow

When we kiss, do you close your eyes?
Or are you looking over my shoulder to see if someone better comes along?

I keep my eyes open,
checking if you close your eyes!

How come you don’t trust me?

Because you don’t trust me.

How do you figure that?

Because you ask too many questions!

Turnabout isn't fair play

She picks a gob of mud and aims carefully
Splatch! It spatters down his clean (too clean she thinks) face

Then she sits back to sip her drink
But it makes her choke

Arsenic!

…she thinks in panic

And so the loquacious one is silenced

But it wasn’t fair play!!

Are her final unspoken words

Turnabout Isn’t Fair Play

She picks a gob of mud and aims carefully
Splatch! It spatters down his clean (too clean she thinks) face

Then she sits back to sip her drink
But it makes her choke

Arsenic!

…she thinks in panic

And so the loquacious one is silenced

But it wasn’t fair play!!

Are her final unspoken words