Trapped

I was trapped that Sunday

I said yes I love you.

Countless hours went past

He still holds the key to my privates.

I wanted to steal the key

Fondled myself at nightfall

The new bed creaked

The windows muffled the noises outside

It was me...loving myself

I had stolen the key for a while.

Then I met a man-

Felt tempted to give him the stolen key

He could fondle me another way

I could let the windows open that night

If he came-

I would tell him it was my key

He must have dropped his somewhere.

But I was afraid of losing the key

Afraid the man would steal it from me

The key...that I had signed away

It was his key...

My body was no bread

That anyone I wished could partake of...

It was by law, by right his

He tried his hand at being Jesus.

I thought...

I left the key back in his pocket

It was a large pocket

Large enough to hold numerous keys

My key would be safe there

Though it might be lost amongst other keys.

I thought...

Let it remain in his pocket

I could at least recognise it my self

I could steal it when he was away

I could love myself just the way I would want him to...

My way.

Several Sundays have passed

I am jaded.

The key has rusted

I have no use for it now

Neither does he.

He trusts me with the key

His key to My privates

The other keys are long lost and gone

My key remains.....in paper

In his pocket

At times unused on my old bed.

Perceptions

The image glided through

Like a leaf gliding through a stream

The black torso with dark hair,

Another followed...

A white with pink nipples

She touched the blackness,

She kissed the pinkness

Till the touch was distant,

And she kissed the present.

She stole her wild eyes away from him

While he breathed in

The smell from her vagina that floated in the air

Mingled with the minty herbage...

Beautiful, Warm, gentle, maddening

It belonged to his woman...

The Making of a Poet

A step precarious
Incognito he entered a life;
Not as lover, but a friend divine.
The woe-be gone lad
Who for her did beg...
No quest had she
To seek strangeness,
But the soul graced her-
And a flood of inspiration unbound.

No quest had she-
To seek profanity,
But her pen truant
Gropes for that sadist now:
Fervent, Passionate, Painful soul-
His dripping eyes
Spoke injury.
And relentless passion
Dark yet divine,
Provoked into existence
A poet hidden, unknown.

A step precarious,
Incognito he entered a life,
To make her cry
To make her smile,
To turn her wild.

He was nothing but pain
A painful pleasure,
With a pain-filled past that-
Dripped and smeared his present.
Uncertain, subtle...so profound
He was imperfect yet sound!

Igniter of passions wild,
Passions countless in souls mild;
The heathen spirit
Inspires and moulds.

The King of kings,
Virtue yet Vice,
He was Poetry, he was Christ!
King, yet a beggar he was-
Begging for love that calms.

His was the voice-
That a deluge brought
Of passions strong,
Tumultuous as the wind...
As wild as his own spirit.
Finally grafted in letters mild.
He made her a poet-
A wild poet!!!!!!

Love Is It?

I heard the wind play with leaves it shook onto the ground,
It reminded me of the man in my life.
It reminded me of a patch of wetness on my pillow-
It reminded me of tears he gave me and I couldn’t comprehend.
We smiled ,he complained
I granted, we smiled
He didn’t look beyond it
No man does
Was i smiling?
Ask him, he’ll say yes.
I would say yes aloud with a forced smile.
We would both figure its no...
He’d choose to know the contrary
I’d perform for his sake.

A Thought of the Angry Mind

Poetry this isn't in the sense real
I pen it when intense run emotions,
The raging mind knows not
Where it is to rest it.
Anger floods-I drown,
The world suffocates,
The world drowns.
Why blame who suicide commits?
Why blame the escapist?
You are responsible,
You are despicable,
You are condemnable.
I say, I keep saying-
"I have to Live,
I have to Fight,
I have to Win,
But difficult it is-to all extents.
Why?
The wall's there before you,
And the pit-Has begun to be dug,
Traps lain-But I am no Animal!

Why does it nourish jealousyIn it's womb?
The world's too selfish,
The world's too harsh,
O how I long,
To assert the feeling independent!
The nature innate!

Am I the only one...One without a mask?
Or do the masked faces around,
Take me to be one of them?
A profound abhorrence,
I hold for thee.
It's bound to catch your eye-The pessimism.
Contempt with steps quick, and
Blistering pace-dawns in
It's coming....inevitable!
They who compose the group-
Irritates the lady in me.
Left I am-gnashing my teeth....
A few pieces of torn hair,
An uncontrollable flood-
Drenching the cheekbones.
But one can't change way's-can one?
Forests house both lambs and wolves-
I have to Live,I have to Fight.............Victory shall be mine!

Biblical Prophecy

The stillness pregnant
Mystic,
About to burst to pierce,
Ignored.
Yet another two thousand years
Yet another premonition of doom-
Knocking,
At the door of a year new.
The mute steps of evil near, hooded green.
They come: vulpine, lethal, cold-they come…..

The sculptured virgin physique-
Shed its cloak
Why? The lover’s there, there before:
Inside an assailant silent,
About to pounce, to satiate, inject
About to satisfy the raging fire-
To make way for the eyesore.


A whiff of red
On the lady cheeks,
Its tender caress brings.
Its sinister lust builds-
A wreath of sensuousness around.
The wet kiss-
Cuts through her dainty lips,
The pupils enlarge, the tongue falters-
Hankering for more.
The sylph lies….
It-moist, green, sinister-
Makes love to her.
A gentle sadism unleashed on her curves,
Running over undulations,
The region pelvic it gently slaps,
Dome like the bottom, its belly’s slackness feels.
The bare back, scathed with bites of hateful love.

Two physiques tranced into wetness…..
Pulsating, Sweating, kissing…..gasping for breath.
It slips slyly,
Between her legs …….
The bed now a sea becomes
A sea of passions wild;
He like a fallen god – her generously drowns
Sinks, sinks he; sinks she paralyzed.
A tender moan of fulfillment.


At the day break, A Voice calls:
“Woman-
you are but a fool unfortunate.
The bed no longer
Shall the sea of pleasure be
Why? Thorns await it.
A price you are to pay-
Pay for the night of eros
You are soon to breed the seed of
The lover last night-the eyesore…..The son of satan."