Willingly falling, crawling, dying in love…
The fabric of your saree races to my hands, as I wrap it up on my hands and let its wet porous color touch my skin creating imprinted flowers.
At that moondust, at tender 6 years of age, things never changed, you came, you went, you looked at me, I looked at you, I smiled, and you went away and I hold on to your imaginary cloth. I try to smell it, there is pretty much the air around me smelling like you, as you pass by the aura, the bonds never shatter, I believed in it, still do, still lay, in deep waters, sinking…
In love, falling, standing, dragging my soul to love you, not once has the thought of giving up occurred. When boys my age were riding their raging hormones in their teen times. Kissing skin and licking saliva of all kinds, taking in that musky scent new-age lovers love to feel and smell. But How can I? My part of teenage was always defined and predestined by you…
Caring in solace, emptying my heart in space, I watch you, unearthing in more ways than one. Leading to my frail musculature you came following me in college, in dreams, sorrows, and emotions. Are you there? Can you hear my voice glittering in the moonlight? Bouncing in darkening waters, dense infiltrating vices all imagination turning wild…
I follow you while the moon lights the dense darkening aura alongside light glistens in your body, like a shining Mermaid with golden fins and bluish tinct deep-seated neck, and bulging voluptuous body, all thick in the right places. As you look at me in the commotion and deep ecstasy. I hold you by your sides and kiss you gently while exploring your body.
The screens are dark and dense and the water is too hard to watch. Nothing is transparent and it seems like I am drowning in your love. Love that is majestic, quintessentially of hearts, beyond bodies and shine, even if its bodies, it's like curled up experiences of nondefining situations. Almost merging in flesh and bone and being nonentities of non-identified beings…
Someone is calling me, Is it you? Am I falling? Yes, I am but in your love. In huff puff flaky winds, I am losing myself…..
“Ma! What happened?” I yelled.
“How are you?” asks, Dr James.
“Nothing, you are all fine”, says Ma, I head outside to wait in her car.
Ma comes out of Mr James’s private clinic while I waited for her. We take a long trip back home. These are the free times I like pondering about you.
Ma asks, “Hey Ryan! Do you still have thoughts that you had in your childhood?”
I know Ma won’t listen if I tell her about you, she doesn’t understand. Nor the ghosts and tigers and lions I see killing and eating her flesh. But I contend you are with me, sitting right next to me.
Cosmic Context: This poetic expression is about our own muse we create through our imagination drawing her lines, lengths, hairs, and face. The narrator here is in love with his own imagined muse that he has structurally assumed in his mind. He is so deeply invested in it that despite having gore thoughts about his mother being eaten by ghosts and animals, he does not accept he has a strange kind of Schizophrenia or acknowledge that he is interacting with make-believe characters. More so, when his mother asks about the reiteration of uncomfortable thoughts, he simply refuses that statement and emboldens his mental health issue by imagining his muse.
Thanks a lot for taking some precious time out of your schedule to read my work. If you like it, you can read some of the other writeups I have linked below. I hope you have a great day! Thanks for stopping by!!!
