So many Mary Magdalenes!

Pardon us, for having done the folly
Of being in this earth as women!
If there is a god, that god will feel guilty
When he identifies how we suffer, with
Our mute desires and passions, with fortitude.
Once we were the springs of passion to the poets;
We were goddesses for lovers who fancied us.
We were cast on their chests as favourite toys,
And were being fondled, as objects of pleasure.
We were laying our heads on their laps; hearing
Their whispers, encharming us with their flatteries.

When we woke up and realized we were hungry
For food, you threw stones at us, and called us prostitutes.
We are Mary Magdalenes seeking Jesus Christ,
To sit at his feet, yearning to wash his feet
With our tears, and anoint him with the fragrant
Spikenard oil, before the crucifixion.
We are the modern Mary Magdalenes……

Passions!

Passion in the mind felt for one’s mate
Abruptly changes to hatred, in the mind,
With disastrous consequences!
It is like the sudden seizure of oxygen in
The air we breathe, convert the world
In the chasm, of a stand still, eternally.
Not wishing for flowers to bloom to morrow
Is factually committing suicide or homicide;
Closing the house of maternal labor,
Inducting, the finale of the human race.

They are not inclined to bear each other
Through the matrimonial link, which now
Bind them, and declare husband and wife,
Till the gates, of the cemetery.
Their wombs refuse to bear a child;
Disinterested and immune to love,
Passion, or lust, not even goodwill.

Such feelings perpetrate, to create a pyre,
To burn and annihilate the mankind;
They are not prepared to make a fire by attrition
In a sacrificial ritual and kindle it,
And sustain it without extinction,
To give out the warmth, for nurturing the posterity.

Those who safeguard that fire and flame
Turns passion, into honoured love.
They are the ones, who build the house
Of humans; for generations, yet to originate,
To live in comfort, in years to come...
How amazing is that, the last hook
In the link of passions, is bonded to love,
In the human mind, and soul;
And in its wake, a bi-product emerges - LUST!

Yester night…

In the middle of a sullen night
The memory of yester night
Vanquished, the avid soul.
And the singing heart is asking me
The scenario and the screen play!
You came as a shimmering glimmer
Of a resplendent cloud, in my dream...
Some reveries, to pour nectar into my spirit.
When you roam, in my reveries, heaven arise
And stoop down to earth, with presents
Of bouquets of blossoms, brought from
A vanished spring, seasons behind.
Like the virtue of my sacred deeds in life;
Intimate moments, churns out ripples in the thoughts,
Chalice of the heart brims with sweetness.
Cloying spring was visible in the dreamy eyelids,
Where, swooned fantasies dangled, quivering.

Those days when love sprouted in our hearts
We forgot ourselves in the frenzy,
We could not contain inside us,
The unreconciled, youngish vigour.
There was only one horizon for us; our desires!
If once you smile, it becomes showers of kisses
In my reminiscence, and in my dreams.
And we share together one passion,
One desire, one aspiration,
And only one ambition…

In wait…

I waited alone in the storm of yester night, and in the rain,
Sitting in the isle, melting every moment,
With all my resources, I kept for you.

I will still wait, in this boiling heat, of the sun
In this evaporating isle of my life,
With my doleful sentiments,
Until you come and rescue me
From drowning in this quandary.

I perceive the countenance of passion.
It is smudged!
I hear the voice of the thirst for love.
It is grueling!
I see the corpse of dreams,
I visualize the hue of grief;
It is all swarthy, and hideous!

Who is standing there in that gloomy loneliness?
Holding a lamp, flickering in the wind,
Cautiously covering the flame without extinction,
Staring beyond the eyeshot into the muddy blue?


Your longings have become wingless butterflies;
A soggy cloud wiping away the rainbow
That you weaved and created in your mind….