I do not have the luxury you see,
A foreign soul in this ancient continent
to dance my wiles away.
See my worries accompany me as i sip this drink….
The hopes of my parents sidle next to me,
intertwining their aching fingers with mine, drowning all else as i try to loose myself in this dance.
My only escape,
Your mouth on mine…breath on skin…sweet respite.
i do not have the luxury to linger in this sweet place…
For i am burdened by my parents prayers
dragged even to the concrete jungle.
for you see, my respite has no place here,
in this foreign continent i tread on.
I have learned to wade into the shallow waters of pain.
To recognize my reflection in its murky waves
letting my body, weighless to its power
surrender to this undulating will
I bare witness as my ego sinks to the bottom,
feeding the ravenous hunger that fill it
dying a little from this unwanted surrender.
I claw at life,
searching for respite.
Hoping against these insistent waters
to find revival in its depth.
for nourishment to fill my soul, in this place
Once upon a time,
I carried spring within me;
revival and renewal grew harmoniously in my core,
birthing hope on the daily.
For i housed Gaya.
Now My curse makes its home on my shores,
Making camp, as it tears gleefully into my soul.
For How long will you stay?
For how long will i entertain this guest,
serving tea and sweets to this thing
will i be held captive in this place like the prayer beads hold captive ones blessings?
Is this home?
or will my soul find freedom
taking flight like the birds of the air do?
Am i forever to be courted by this thing,
making a home,
sharing its bed like forlorn lovers?
My mystic will you stay silent?
Will you rob me of respite.
Relieve me of this curse
The land of the free danced giddily in her minds eye as she tried to center her thoughts. The images lured her in their superficiality and zestiness, forcing all humility to the side. She wanted it. What laid beyond the borders of the waters that ran through her veins.
This lust followed her as she walked confidently to join the winding line of bodies eager to enter the white bricked building that held the fates of those eager to taste the shores of the promised land; America.
Now here she stood. Window 5. Staring at the face of the bearded man with skin like colour of a plump ripened tomato.. His hair the color of wheat, was brushed carefully to the side away from his red face causing his red cheeks to stand like prized trophy. A cream shirt with beige tie matched his emphasized redness. He looked like those naked round babies with wings that lined the pages of history books- Cherubim she thinks they were called. This cherub had kind smiling eyes that spoke before he did. In that smile, her faith was reinforced.
“Your documents” the kind eyed red man said.
She watched as the turning pages competed with the sound of the air-conditioning on full blast.
She scanned the faces around the air-conditioned room, sweating as they laid silent entreaties at the feet of the one they served.
Stamp. She smiles.
“I’m sorry but you do not fulfill the requirements for an American visa at this time.” The smile slowly crawled off her face. You are welcome to try again in a couple of months’ time.”
Window number 5…
His cherub smile followed her home, like an unwanted companion
GIVE ME BACK MY LIFE!
Give to me the passion that unfurled within and burned the ground in its wake
the tears that broke many a heart…
Give me the years of hope laden breaths,
the odes and prayers that escaped my lips,
whipping my spirit into shape.
Cloak me with my pride,
that i may be armed against the tyrant lips of the outside.
Give the love that was once mine;
a brief moment, lost in time..
Give me court to glimpse his eyes to satiate my soul
to drown in that soul that so engulfed me.
Give me my life
for i do not recognize the footprints that follow my shadow
“The passion in your hold consumes me,
breathing life into my aloofness
when you stroll towards me,
leaves me gasping for air.
to breathe you in
to make your air mine”
image retrieved from http://iconolo.gy/sites/default/files/imagecache/h516/prabuddhaDasgupta6.jpg
“The fire you kindled within me
building in intensity,
burning ever so strongly.
Till all that’s left
are the scars.
The sweet scars
that spell your name”