Archive for the Prose & Poetry Category

Dust of Stars.

Posted in Archive - All Entries, Prose & Poetry on November 14, 2007 by meera

Black velvet cloak
Thrown over the skies
Diamonds, like stars
Strung on crystal string

Luminous, glowing moon
A deep orange now
Smiles on them
Among scattered star dust

And then quietly
Perfumed wrist to lips
“Still, beating heart
The stars are still asleep.”

And me.

Posted in Archive - All Entries, Prose & Poetry on October 1, 2007 by meera

I sit here in a room in school, filled with strangers.
Two groups of graduate students, discussing their presentation.
I know only one girl, she turned to look at me, but I was too late to catch her eye.

The week has been a whirlwind of things and such.
I didn’t really realise how deep the emotions ran,
and how much I missed.

The one week mid-sem break came and went, in a flash.
I didn’t even have time to breathe. I loved, I thought I loved, I thought I was loved,
but by the way things are hanging, I don’t know.

I miss, of course I do, but the cracks are widening,
I don’t even think I can bear to see your face or hear your voice.
You had been too nice to me, and you’ve taken away everything.

I don’t blame you though I don’t think I ever will.
But when I stop to catch my breath, I wonder why, there is
meanness in your words. What happened?

I want to march ahead to another world.
Where I get assignments done on time, where my heart and eyes are dry,
where I read more than I need too, and I score spectacularly. Simply spectacularly.

Again I sit here, 30 minutes to the start of lesson two.
My nose clogged, body warm, cheeks flushed and head aching.
6 more hours till the day ends, till life here goes still, and till I stop thinking about you

and me.
(it’s time to let go, i think…)

Star Crossed.

Posted in Archive - All Entries, Prose & Poetry on September 24, 2007 by meera

Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie,
And young affection gapes to be his heir;
That fair for which love groan’d for and would die,
With tender Juliet match’d, is now not fair.
Now Romeo is beloved and loves again,
Alike betwitched by the charm of looks,
But to his foe supposed he must complain,
And she steal love’s sweet bait from fearful hooks:
Being held a foe, he may not have access
To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear;
And she as much in love, her means much less
To meet her new-beloved any where:
But passion lends them power, time means, to meet
Tempering extremities with extreme sweet.

Romeo & Juliet

I carry your heart.

Posted in Archive - All Entries, Prose & Poetry on July 18, 2007 by meera

I don’t believe I have not read the poems of E.E Cummings before. What a terrible waste of all those years.
Fell in love with this instantly.

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Song of Solomon

Posted in Archive - All Entries, Prose & Poetry on July 3, 2007 by meera

I came across a few lines on a film today, and I did a quick research. The beautiful verses I heard belonged to what is widely accepted as a book of the Hewbrew Bible. It has since been through various intepretations, like all texts and literature, being read as an allegory of God’s love for the children of Israel, as an allegory of the relationship between Christ and the Church, and as a representation of eros (erotic love) and agape (self donating love), ie. the two halves of true love, giving and receiving. It’s content is also believed to be used heavily in Sufi poetry. While I belong to no religious group that inteprets this text at a metaphysical level, I am human and I am woman, and I felt very deeply reading this song. It had greater effect when it was being read out slowly, but there is just something in there which tugs at my heart and makes me long. It is lengthy, no doubt, but it is truly, truly beautiful. I have edited some bits out and placed the ones which truly move me. Read it slowly, and interpret it the way you want to, and imagine the moments.

The song of songs, which is Solomon’s.

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine.
I have compared thee, O my love, to a company of horses in Pharaoh’s chariots.
A bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me; he shall lie all night betwixt my breasts.
My beloved is unto me as a cluster of camphire in the vineyards of Engedi. Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes.
Behold, thou art fair, my beloved, yea, pleasant: also our bed is green.
I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys.
As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste. He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love.
Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love.
His left hand is under my head, and his right hand doth embrace me.
I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes, and by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, till he please.

My beloved is mine, and I am his: he feedeth among the lilies.
By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.
I will rise now, and go about the city in the streets, and in the broad ways I will seek him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.
The watchmen that go about the city found me: to whom I said, Saw ye him whom my soul loveth?
It was but a little that I passed from them, but I found him whom my soul loveth: I held him, and would not let him go, until I had brought him into my mother’s house, and into the chamber of her that conceived me.

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead.
Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that are even shorn, which came up from the washing; whereof every one bear twins, and none is barren among them.
Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, and thy speech is comely: thy temples are like a piece of a pomegranate within thy locks.
Thy neck is like the tower of David builded for an armoury, whereon there hang a thousand bucklers, all shields of mighty men.
Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies.
Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee.
How much better is thy love than wine! and the smell of thine ointments than all spices!
Thy lips, O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb: honey and milk are under thy tongue; and the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon.

I rose up to open to my beloved; and my hands dropped with myrrh, and my fingers with sweet smelling myrrh, upon the handles of the lock.
Thy navel is like a round goblet, which wanteth not liquor: thy belly is like an heap of wheat set about with lilies.
Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins.
Thy neck is as a tower of ivory; thine eyes like the fishpools in Heshbon, by the gate of Bathrabbim: thy nose is as the tower of Lebanon which looketh toward Damascus.
Thine head upon thee is like Carmel, and the hair of thine head like purple; the king is held in the galleries.

How fair and how pleasant art thou, O love, for delights!
This thy stature is like to a palm tree, and thy breasts to clusters of grapes.
I said, I will go up to the palm tree, I will take hold of the boughs thereof: now also thy breasts shall be as clusters of the vine, and the smell of thy nose like apples;
And the roof of thy mouth like the best wine for my beloved, that goeth down sweetly, causing the lips of those that are asleep to speak.

I am my beloved’s, and his desire is toward me.
Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.
Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it: if a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be contemned.

Our Song

Posted in Archive - All Entries, Prose & Poetry on June 26, 2007 by meera

The music flowing through my earphones and into my heart and being brings me to a world.
A world where only you and I exist.
Where you hold me by my waist, and swing me around.
Where I laugh, with my hair blowing madly in the wind, my head eventually landing on your chest.
Where I close my eyes, and feel your fingers through my hair, as we smile.

I suddenly realise that that was only a vision, and here I am on the road again, with my earphones plugged in.
But it doesn’t matter. I am smiling. Your love for me makes me smile. Your crazed love. You make me smile, for no reason at all. And it is then, my steps are light, my head is light, and I feel beautiful. Truly beautiful.

Lay me down, Take me whole.

Posted in Archive - All Entries, Prose & Poetry on June 25, 2007 by meera

Through the course of our lives, through the daily grind, we come across a few songs that sink into our souls. They hit something and want you to believe in unconditional love. The ideal love. Most of the time, it is songs in Tamil, my mother tongue, that do me in. I will shamefully admit that my Tamil is not as good I want it to be, but I understand and I fall in love with the lyrics, and fall in love with the idea of being in this state of ideal love.

Recently, I’ve been listening to these songs which have a village flavour to them. And it’s just something in the lyrics. Like magic. It’s those songs with magic. Which do things to your mind, heart and soul. You just want to give everything to that one man. You want to do everything to please him. To smell his skin, and touch his face, and graze his arms and take him in. And when you kiss, and his lips press open against yours, you taste him and it is magic. Hungry and satiated, at the same time. And when his grip around you tightens, you breathe deeply and will the moment to not end. You give yourself up. And don’t hold anything back. You will him to take you whole. Everything yours is his. Everything.

You want only the best for him, as you may want for your own child, and you cry and sob to the depths of your heart when that does not happen. Total surrender. Total magic. And it hurts. But you smile at the pain. Only for him.

How surreal. How happy. How contented.

chekirov.jpg
Chekirov, Tender Passion