With spring fading away and summer sun shining, there are clouds that are creating noise seeking attention because nobody seemed to talk about the beauty of rains and winds that spread heavenly aroma. When one is in love, one is crazy. And rains bring out this eternal hopeless romance within me. On days when I am chasing my dreams and looking at the dreamcatcher by my bedside with the sound of the rain and soft humming of the wind chime, I am reminded of you. You’re not here with me and sometimes you are a figment of my imagination. This perfect soul mate with whom I want to share my Rumi with. Sometimes you seem real like a fairy tale. You are the butterfly kissing the flower that my heart is and then flying off in the garden with your pretty yellow wings. While I am the sunflower and sometimes I look like a daffodil dancing in the rain when you slowly suck my nectar leaving your footprints all across. This tale of love is as bizarre as this unexpected rain. On some days romance doesn’t sound so vain. Close your eyes and let my love reach out to you through this rain.
Why should I do things that I do? Why should I listen to you?
Why should I solve economic applications of matrices when I want to caress my beloved’s tresses?
Why should I pursue masters in economics when my heart belongs to Ghalib?
Why did I take this up, if I want to give up?
Why am I here when my heart tells me to go elsewhere?
I am here because I have desires. I have desires to be rich on my own and enjoy luxuries with obligations to none. I am here because norms don’t let me switch from economics to literature, such is a future lecturer’s eligibility structure.
My head and heart are always in conflict, I love economics but technicalities get my heart hit. It doesn’t like getting hit you know.
I am Arjun from Mahabharata on the battle field. Indecisive, Insecure who doesn’t know.
I seek my Krishna in vain. In the end ,I only have to end my own pain.
Mary Shelley’s Diary
8th july 1822.
I killed him.
He didn’t die a natural death like he wanted but he died making love.
Ah! I fulfilled his last wish.
Even broken in body as he is, no one can feel the joy my spirit feels. The starry sky, the moonless night overwhelms me for my HUSBAND IS DEAD.
He, celebrated “love poet” was a Bloody Rapscallion.
And I, a vampire.
Sucking that life out of him while giving that hickey on the neck was such orgasmic pleasure. He couldn’t satisfy me while he was alive, but he did while dying.. how I wish he was dead a few minutes later.
I, wanted to stab him in his heart and rip all those four chambers apart. Ha! Such a cake walk it would have been.
I wanted to be the fishwife instead to my sea otter husband.
As the clock strikes 12, when midnight comes, it brings all those spirits in that graveyard alive,
I dug his grave, tearing his flesh apart gently (with love like crimson blood) and suck all the blood left in his body for no rum would quench this thirst.
Pages in PB Shelley’s Diary fill themselves with crimson ink.
9th july 1822
Mary, my fishwife.
Naked she comes to my holy grave with her breasts shining bright in moonless night.
Her soft hands holding a bewitched dagger in a night as dark as those wishes in her eyes.
Mary’s heart was a dark deap ocean of cryptic conundrums.
That cold steel sharp edged dagger ripping my flesh apart.
My body didn’t feel a thing for she thought I was dead. But I am not.
My spirit still hovering around.
Oh my flesh, my own flesh, woman whom I loved and whose love poisoned me.
Comes to me naked with wild eyes.
She stabbed my heart exactly four times, cutting out each chamber delicately and placing them in jars.
I killed her first beloved.
And she took her revenge.
How did she know? My spirit still wonders.
I stay here on this earth until Mary unites with me in Death.
A hickey had power to put me to sleep,
I’d embrace her in death and her soul shall weep.
Picture courtesy: Vaibhav Raghuvanshi
When I open my eyes,
I see the sky.
When the eyes close,
I feel the earth.
Opening them again,
I sail on waters.
I feel the ocean’s depth.
I don’t know what’s better
Logic reason and watchful mind
Love mystery and heart that is blind..
One is power
The other is bliss.
Every second there’s a conflict.
Roses on the skin feels like heaven
But the thorns along give a glimpse of hell..
I guess the blind heart works this way..
Vulnerability gives a juicy taste..
However, money currency bricks are tempting too
Outside I’ll be a rich goon.
King crimson comes to my mind..
On the outside looking inside..
What do I see?
Life is a glorious mess
For a layman like me..
Head v/s heart is all that I see.