Dreams of her that flame me.

We are walking on the street. It’s a sober afternoon. I am bored and she looks at me and says, make me cum. We plan to go to my room. We haven’t slept together before this. We haven’t even kissed. We reach the room and there sitting on a chair, is my mother. We sit on bed and I start talking to my mother. There is another boy in the room but I cannot remember who. We look at each other to make sure the moment is still there. I am shuffling stories in my head. Looking for something perfect to say to my mother that would make her leave the room. At this point, even two minutes alone with her would be enough. I finally ask mother to make us both a cup of tea. Mother exits the room. I lock it. She strips. Bare naked. I am fully clothed. She falls on the bed and spreads her legs. She has a small cunt. There is no teasing, no caressing, no kisses and no time. She giggles at me as I approach her. My head falls into her lap and I begin to eat her. There is no moaning. Only her thighs rise. Her stomach fluctuates. The room breathes. And she asks me to keep going. When I stop. She doesn’t cum. She laughs. We hold each other for a moment and I wake up.

 

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Love in the Era of Confusion

I am excited to announce that an anthology about love is out on amazon for sale and it contains a short story written by me. Titled ‘Silence is innovation’ . Its been a feely process. Filled with anxiety, anticipation, cold feet and utter self doubts. In the end, I am just glad and grateful to be a part of it. Here is the link to it incase  you would like to read it 🙂

http://www.amazon.in/Love-Era-Confusion-Anthology-stories/dp/B00OHNF09C/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1413307284&sr=1-1

loveconfusion

We Bloom.

What she thinks
When she sinks
Into the skins
Of her lovers

What she discovers

When she looks
The other way

A tree with orange birds
An orange bird with blue and green colours

I see her in black and white
Sometimes

In purple
In yellow

In every rhyme

Sometimes

I am that lover

Sometimes
I discover

What no one has
No one will ever.

∆

We never.

I am a distant constellation
Her eyes revolve around me
Like satellites.

Intentionally
Planted in my orbit.

She sinks
Into
Pretentious
Intentions

Divided by her past
Added by her present

Subtracted from her purpose
Deviated from her path

Fooled
Naive

Excessive
Spontaneously

In and out of love

She happens to be here
Tomorrow who might have her
By their side

No one can predict
Her abrupt strides

In which she covers the diameter of this city

Lovers
Poetry
Women
Men

They all have access to her
Oh what a pity

And then her mother tells her

I am here to make sure
That you fuck with others
Not with yourself.

∆

This and That

I don’t kiss you enough because I haven’t seen you enough. When I kiss you I can’t see you when I see you I can’t kiss you when I hold you I can’t see you. When I see you I can’t hold you. When I see you I can’t kiss you. When I kiss you I can’t be you. I can’t be you I can’t see you. When I am here I can kiss you I can see you I can hold you I can touch you everything at once. In my mind. When I write about you I can’t feel you when I feel you I write about you. When I am you its enough when I am enough I am you.

∆

Fantasy science. Real dream.

I have never before experienced such quantum living as I did in this dream. I have just woken up from it and already I have this urge, this longing to go back to it. My whole being is still floating in that magical, mystical dream and I am here, writing it down.

There was a man I had never met before.
He appeared and disappeared by choice alone. One moment he was standing next to me, smiling at me and the next moment he’s gone. Like a magic trick. He could transform the water into mud or leaves into time. He could lift me up without touching me and I wouldn’t feel the weight of my body. This man could teleport. He could transcend this real world with no effort. Just instantly.

There were two other guys.
Following me everywhere. They were friendly and homely but one of them was constantly at my back and I had a feeling he wanted to get into my system..through my spine.

I followed these kids
They were spying on trees.
The trees were walking and they were talking.

The master appeared and both of them vanished into the thin air.

The master told me about some red roots.
He was wearing a black coat. Glasses. The way he sat and spoke to me reflected discipline and control. He was very welcoming. Maybe he is the guru/teacher I have been meaning to find. Maybe I will find him.

There were others around
Kids from annunaki.

Beautiful. Intelligent.
With powers I can’t describe.

The dream ended with me spitting a bubble gum on the ground.
It was blue.

∆

“There are no lucky numbers. I am all the luck myself.”

There are some moments that change us completely.
They alter our lives dramatically.
Once you have been a part of that moment, you realize there is no going back.

Your mind is new.
You gathered perspective.
The inside of your brain re-wired itself and gravity melted into inquisitiveness.

For her, it was when as a child she saw a painting made by Picasso. She stood in front of the painting and tilted her head a little to the right in exquisite delight and with gleaming eyes. That was the first time she felt a sense of amazement. Perhaps that’s where her relationship with art began.

Until she slowly
became art herself.

If Hemingway collaborated with Fitzgerald to write a story filled with existential musings and lovely ambition. She would be it.

She is a mirror reflecting my madness. Curing me of my ordinariness. Lending her originality to the space around me.

She feels like an accumulation of all the novels she had ever had.
Her heart is the thin paper that has the ability to contain oceans of emotions within it, stories within it.

I am one of those stories.
She reads me.
She writes me.

Telepathically Together.

She gave me words to eat for lunch and for dinner. She packed her silence in cardboard boxes and piled them up somewhere in her room. When we were in her room alone one night, I asked her if she would open one of those boxes for me.

That night
We ate silence from the same bowl.

And took baby steps towards telepathy.

She fed me warm muffins while I drove around the city ignoring the signboards. Paying attention to nothing.
Turning on instinct.
Following trees.

We were found
By the street lights

We were lost
In the right manner.

She taught me
How to be

I write for her
She cries for me.

We rely on telepathy.

∆

Resisting movement.

Sophie wasn’t an unhappy person. She knew how to constantly cheer herself up. She would paint, she would sing along to her favourite artists. Anything to keep herself busy because the only thing that would bring her spirits down was emptiness. In her house alone, Sophie came face to face with the emptiness she dreaded. She was unable to paint a nice picture, her mind wasn’t inspired by anyone or anything around her. She was loosing her interest in things that once gave her life the perfect momentum. Was Sophie burnt out? Was reality being condensed into a day dream of boredom and inaction?
These questions depressed her even more. She wanted so much to be like her old self again. Her old self that always looked forward to the rain so that she could drench in it and feel pure.
Instead, she now stayed indoors when it rained. Her windows were locked and the curtains were drawn.
Sophie turned off the yellow lamp
And got into bed. Alone.

She stayed up with her eyes closed till the morning.
Another day had begun.

∆