Art on Canvas

Art on Canvas

Fingers digging deep
below the blemished skin;
tickling the untamed loins,
teasing the cervix;
they leave their mark;
letting elixir-like ecstasy flow through the veins;
blood rushes –
a rhythmic beat of the heart –
thump-thump-thump-thump.

More words of prayer are muttered to the abandoned gods;
as we explore the peak of our pleasure –
in hunt for a treasure –
a well-satisfying, self-devouring essense
found in
in the cauldron of blasphemous thoughts
where blood boils, and breathing turns rapid –
a continuous, rhythmic pant.

The flesh aches;
the backbone – a machinery
pursuing the unfathomable depths
of yearnings –
a humble act of exploration.
The palms clasp tighter against each other
as the heavy breathing now descends into
exhalation of cigarette smoke;
soaked in desire a puddle of liquids –
so pungent –
drip through the slanted surface of the sweat-soaked skin,
and form a puddle on the mattress-
art on canvas.

***

Art by Ivana Dostal.

 

Past Midnight Realisations

Past Midnight Realisations

Sold my new blue jeans,
and bought a new pair of white shorts
to last me the entire summer.

***

Killed my cat,
and let the silence sink
in the dampness of my room –
the clock ticking coherently on the wall.

***

Smoked a cigar,
flicked it in the dustbin –
waste papers burning –
the letters never posted.

***

Broken promises
that were made in moments so aesthetic,
that a painter would fetch colours,
wash his brushes,
setup his canvas.

***

Says Rahim:
break not the threads of love,
for they cannot be mended,
and if they are,
the knots remain everlasting.

***

Candle wax melts
on the bare surface of skin;
the wait for you never ends.

***

Be stubborn, my love,
for you castle will be besieged
with the swarm of my kisses.

***

Only the smell of rain
seeped in the moist garden soil –
earthworms wriggling,
can replace the absence of your smell.

***

When the trees are laden with fruits,
you would find me high up on the branches,
plucking the well-ripened fruits for you.

***

Just the effort to be near to you,
is similar to extracting honey
from a beehive in wild –
body bare, fingers trembling.

***

The sound the sea makes
with the gush of its waves on the shore,
is similar to your footsteps passing by.

***

The devotees ran out of incense sticks
when they had you –
your idol
setup in the temple in gold.

***

When you became an atheist,
the Gods rained thunder and storms,
and flooded the city –
many died,
many perished.

***

All the notes taken
in the six semester of the course
were not sufficient to describe
the charm that you hide behind your smile.

***

Poetry has its branches extended
in the gutters
where the human soul drowns in misery.

***

In the sky,
the supersonic jets flew,
to escape from the sound of your laughter.

***

The pages of The Bhagwat Gita were turned
again and again,
to repent over the sins
committed in your love.

***

I’d trade
the purpose of my life
for a mere word from you.

***

My lovers gave up on me,
for I was too busy
admiring the shape of your anklets.

***

Art by Gil Cohen.

 

 

 

Casually Daisy-ing Around

Casually Daisy-ing Around

A Daisy that you are,
so little,
so freshly bloomed,
that when a starving mountain goat
sees you on the frosted, naked cliffs
and sniffs your well-crafted petals,
decides to starve —
dies.

Oh, would you not
turn your gaze at me
and shower your fragrance —
invite sunlight into my dimly-lit room;

would you not sit at my table-top
with your feet dipped in the water
of my golden vase,
sipping sunshine?

A mere gaze of you —
from you —
has me plucking at the many flowers that I see —
she loves,
she loves me not —
not that I have anything to say to you,
oh Daisy, my dear.

***

Find the art here.