Sunday, December 25, 2016

                                       Another Daughter

Long and lustrous it has grown,
Oiled and firmly plaited,
But for the unkempt appearance of her little being.
Her eyes, the shade of melted sugar.
From the depths of dark, shone as tiny sparkles.
Drawing one into its depth of innocence.
Her smile was like a thousand splendid suns,
menacing over the dark clouds...
A streak of light, a bloom of hope
she painted them all along.
Her little feet almost bare and parched,
never really cared of the Earth that much.
For she was the bearer of wings,
that made her fly high..
Her tiny hands were dirty and sweaty,
in them had she once held the catastrophe of rejection.
They said she waited so long,
for her unmarried mother who never came back home.
Dejected, she had waited along the corridor,
a dark marauding soul shrinking slowly without a fight.
No one came, none at all..
Silently they said, she had swallowed,
the melancholy of rejection, the agony of  being unwanted.

Slowlyshe learned to smile.
And smile she did, over and over
mocking at the ruthless treachery of fate,
repressing the agony and pain.
She had looked at me at first with hope.
Hope that I'd stay a little longer,
than the others who came and went.
The others who fancied their selfies and candy cam's,
the others who made her a mocking doll
of sympathy and showering fake lullabies into her little ears.
All gone in a day or two maybe,
misleading opportunists they might seem.

As years pass by she hugs me with love,
and wants me to take her into my arms.
Did I see a tear twinkle,
or was it love?
Two souls we are, in search of one..
another daughter not born in my womb.
Your laughter so tender and precious,
reminds me of the day I became a mother.
To be reborn again and again
into the soft tenderness of love.
Just as she is to me, you are too my child.
Never leaving your side,
for I'd always flutter around you,
with large mighty wings full of love.
A guardian angel in being to all.


Sunday, December 11, 2016

A Scandalous Soul

If I could paint my soul
I wonder what colour it'd be.
Would it be the colour of blood
a shade darker, I believe.
For I've sinned with crimes so heinous, my love.
I thought it was love of course,

Floating in primal pleasure,
you lay by my side.
Catching your breath and reposing in defeat.
Beads of sweat shone on your hairy chest,
pleasure flowed through your veins and lips.
Search I did on and on, for love in your eyes,
like a predator searching for its non-existing prey.
Lust and sin was all that I found,
but you'd said it was all love.

I heard the music so feeble and subtle,
and from my window pane I saw her sublime silhouette.
But when she came out I saw her anew,
her sweet lustrous hair danced by the wind.
The Sun with your might had lit it to flames,
of bright orange and fiery red.
Then, I saw her ripening gently,
and it was by the touch of your ardor.
Finally I found your love sweetheart,
you'd kept it safe from me for her.
My lips had trembled and I'd stooped down under,
as it slowly hit my bosom and tore me apart.

Was it broken pride and jealousy,
or a cry from a soul so pale and feeble?
I'd given it all to you my love,
but then you gave me back in lust when you'd thrust.
If at least in droplets had I received your love,
this soul wouldn't have been painted,
by her hot red blood.
Her hot red blood full of your love.

Sreelakshmi Nair