Knowing love, I can allow all things to come and go, to be as supple as the wind and to face all things with great courage.My heart is a open as the sky

It served its purpose - providing smooth sinuous cursive, allowing for doodling dexterity and contemplative chewing. When sleep stole the many lines of poetry my pen would recover them in the morning. When not only the page but also my mind was blank the pen would instinctively strike out on its own. This particular pen was my favourite; I cannot revive it by shaking what little ink remains to the tip. I despair to just tossing it in the bin. Yes, it served its purpose but have I properly served its worth?

She woke up everynight!that wud be quite an understatement considering that there were no nightmares to bother her.She woke up because she was in love with the night.The street lamps wud burn even at that hour and they cast a lopsided shadow on the floor of her room.She loved this nocturnal tryst which allowed her to make love to herself.She even felt that this act wud be able to conjure up the spirits she had locked in some dark corridor of her mind.Where sunlight wud never reach she knew the dim light of the street lamp wud visit ,then she wud pull it by the scruff.She wud free that spirit and make love to what remained.She remembered having preserved a dead moth in a small box at age five.She wud open its lid over and over again and snap it shut at the same instant,fearing that the moth's spirit wud be released .It wud flap its ugly wings and batter her body with fresh wounds .She would bleed .Blood always frightened her ,coz it was reminiscent of that hidden spirit she wud unleash everynight.Blood conspired with that spirit secretly .Somtimes when her lips seemed to red she wud bite them with such pressure they wud nearly lose their colour and shrivel like a reticent porcupine.It was an art she had mastered over the years.
She undressed slowly ,one garment at a time ,she still had time in hand.the spirits wud get back only at the brk of dawn.She traced her fingers,first her neck ,the small of her backher breasts and she came across the first gash .It was the shape of a moth.She pressed it and there was a sharp pain,she loved it all the more.Her hands moved to the inside of her legs.Her eyes closed like a bleeding accordion and she could see the memories of another day
Her little doll lay crushed in one corner of the room.She wanted to save her daughter,just a few dys back she had taught Mariana to lisp her name.Mariana ....her child...........her daughter-the only one who cud read her silence .They said she had been born without the power of speaking but words were written all over her face ,only Mariana cud read them.And now she was losing her .No ,she wud have to bear the pain.........
He was coming inside her with renewed strengthevery time,her body had lost its defences and everyminute some new vessel seemed to burst inside her body to ooze out a new blood stream ,Mariana watched her with eyes wide open.WAS SHE LOSING HOPE TOO?she tried to force a smile which seemed to say,"hey honey! everything's gonna be all right.The alram rung in the next room and she knew she had passed her test.He wud spare her daughter
She lay there in a pool of blood,her moist fingers cltching her daughter's hand.Her tears had tried up by then leaving an acrid taste on her lips and moonhalf moon shaped crusts on her lids.The first rays of the sun strreamed into the room and cast aneerie glow on the pool of blood that lay at her feet.She looked up and saw the face fof her father.............................................

how cruel
to hang the fluttering heart
in windy purpose from sapless branches
Bare from season's ceaseless care.
The sudden view
too wide ,too xquisite
in its painful beauty
Heartless to
awake a yearning whose birth is
the recognition of freedom,
But whose life learns conscious waiting for it’s end.
Callous to change horizons
on thoughtless impulse from four walls to four winds.
To teach through casual surprise that even small hearts beat hard
against their cage of bones
Reckless to tempt those wings
with visions of soaring-- the dust of a hundred miles alive in tangent gusts.
Foolish to underestimate the will of the sparrow
She plots. Her schemes like song are borne to One who knows-- And counts her dear.

Like an unspoken parable '
like a silent prayer,
like a sacred tulip...
swathed in the redness of my blood
I
know u will always be there
my vulnerability will always be put to test
Yet like the foetal blood
that oozes from every pore
of my womanhood!
Your fire will burn in me
to light up Gluttony's funeral pyre
You were the wine skin that burst to flood
the Khartoum of my soul
You filled up my barrennsess with a son
an imaginary icarus whose follies i made my own....
Today and everyday
for it is in U THAT I WILL LIVE ON,
in life ...... in death
and in unwritten gospels
on roads less travelled and those that never will be
I will live on!
for my ashes will rise to unite with urs
like a dazzling phoenix by fire....