THE WEAKER SEX

 

Flight of the raven

Light of the moon

Sign in to magic

Let it be soon.

 

Broomsticks are passe

Who needs them now?

Swift as a thought

Might be the death blow

 

Did you think that you would win

That you had the strength,

Did you find me vulnerable,

Try to get ‘neath my skin?

 

The ink in my eyes

Will darken your world

No sun has been born

To destroy that night.

 

Did my quietness deceive you,

My silence, disarm,

Did you take it for granted

That I’ll do you no harm?

 

I am patient and pleasant

I smile all the time

Did you think I don’t know,

To be oozy, like slime?

Don’t push me too hard,

Don’t step on my toes,

Be always on guard,

I can add to your woes…

 

Flight of the raven

Light of the moon

Sign in to magic

Let it be soon.

 

@Suma Narayan.

 

 

In the pit of my stomach, just above my navel, a hollow grows and yawns and cries to be fed

But the beauty in it is the sheer depravity of the thoughts that cause it

And the number of times, I have to bop those thoughts on the head to subdue them

And order them back into the hell they came from

For if, as they say, heaven is chaste and pure and full of sublimity:

Stands to reason that these glimpses of forbidden pleasure

These visions of subliminal fires, firmly banked, supressed, contained,

Aren’t they clearly from the incendiary reaches of the profanely passionate

And that is NOT allowed, is it?

So when these moods come upon me.

When my breath comes in orgasmic gasps

When my eyes light up with the flicker of fiery flames

When the hairs rise on my forearms, and my stomach caves in

With imagined pleasure on uncharted seas

I know that the frail vessel I am on, and the waters I sail in

Will be neither shield, nor armour, to protect me from the hell fires that burn

With calm inevitability beneath the surface

That I will drown, first,

In a rite of purification and cleansing

And then, be confined to the flames

And my un repentant, un remorseful soul asks me

“So? What’s the difference?

You were burning then…

You’ll be burning now.”

And this is the thing:

If the choice is between burning and ending, in a flash and a streak of barely perceptible glory,

And leading a blameless life, ringed about by the palisade of society’s certainties

I would much rather choose death by burning than death by boredom.

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