grief

Posted on | October 23, 2006 | Comments Off

nights spent waking alone have a strange effect…somewhat crazy,somewhat sane…i feel sometimes a maudlin kind of eroticism coupled with a tendency to take my own grief in my arms…for alone at night,it acquires a human form…warm,understanding,caring and…….loving.my grief does not ask me why i am clinging to it…it clings to me just as hard..as if understanding that i need her..and may be understanding that she needs me to..and so she loses herself in my warmth,as i lose myself in hers’.and sometimes one of us puts up a shoulder for the other to cry those unshed tears,and through dry eyes we bawl our hearts out..

at times,my grief is vengeful..when i ask her why i need her..then she can conjure up a wrath worthy of…who?…of her…and she;like me;turns impulsive,cruel…and lashes out at me with a hithertho untasted violence..then it washes over me with a violence matched maybe by only the angry waves of a mad crazy sea raving and ranting and thrashing its head against rocky cliffs..

but mostly we are at peace with each other..i might one of these days tell her that it my be better if she had the boobs of salma hayek or the face of amrita rao or the sensuality of sushmita sen or the wackiness of mallika sherawat…i know it would not mind because she knows that i know that she is just fine even if she is nothing of the kind and i would hold on to her with equal steadfastness if she were a hobo..

and still my grief is sensual..i can feel her caress my cheeks in the dark of the night,when dead tired i switch off the lights and turn in..then she slips in between the covers and gently rubs her body against mine in a lecherous embrace..she washes over me like warm water..until i realise that the heat i feel is not her formless sensuality but the incestidunious warmth of my own unrequieted passions still raging inside me calling for the one person who i wanted and who would not have me…tears dont come..they never came easily;but they still are shed,not from the corners of my eyes,but from the depths of my heart…the ventricles pump red hot,acidic tears into the aortas and the carotids carry those tears to the brain where like lithography,the acids etch out her face again and again and again and again until i cry out for no more…and then the inscriptions move out…till i can see that hated,abominated,loved,desired,lusted for face every where…on the walls,the roof,the bed,the sheets the pillows….the mirror.

and then my grief laughs..a moronic,dry,hacking smokers laugh and i feel my head go more and more dizzier until i realise that the smoky hacking coughing ironical bitter laugh is mine…that i am laughing at me in the dark of the night…

i love my grief.it makes me laugh.

i laugh loud at the gods.give me somemore..and more..and more..and more….

till i can’t take it anymore.then i will show you the finger.show you all.

meanwhile;let me laugh again.loud.

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