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 Mar 2014
K Balachandran
Winter, tricky entrapper,
cozy cuddler, night fiddler
nuzzler, tantalizer, whistler
sharp nailed cruel lover
seasonal unfailing seductress,
sprawling on the bed cloth of December,
rolling over a few months either side,
I would never take her for granted.

I see her peep through
the window curtains,
spying at the warm days eyeing me
and waiting for her to climb down the steps;
she is jealous, as she wants to linger
playfully riding on my back.

she seeped in to my blood stream,
like the narcotic effect of grass,
before I  know it happens
little by little to make me
forget my other loves completely
even without my permission.
Her wiliness is stealthily at work,
to monopolize me fully
separating me from others
yes, winter is cleverness clad in white.
Now, I am at her mercy, completely
my fingers, chest and lips strangely
enjoy the cold caresses, she gives each!

I realize, she has taken over-
my body and paints my mind's canvas,
with bubbling hallucinatory white,
she wants others tightly on her leash,
my other loves complain:
"you act just what is her will
you always wear her fragrance,
on you what an influence she wields!"
can I help when winter my darling,
brooks no excuses!

She exposes me before others
I look like a pusillanimous one,
cowering and cringing before her
none, even my true love, has
such absolute control over me
like she exerts, it's a secret
but true that I wriggle to get out,
of this white net she tenderly knitted-
for my comfort, which is,
pleasurable I think, to an extent,
yet difficult to accept at the same time.

Let us part before long, not to make
our relationship much complicated,
I'll wait, till the next season arrives
you are in my list of periodic partners,
I'll be ready with warmth in my heart,
for your eventful visit, that leaves
an impression far too long to ever forget.
My life is not your little garden of flowers to pick and

Pluck parts of me from.

Love Me, Love Me Not, Love Me, Love Me Not, Love Me, Love Me Not,
Love Me.

I can't Smile happily as I watch you approach with your greedy hands
Empty once more.

How am I supposed to Smile while you Peel away my layers of

Good Intentions.

It gets old Waiting on a Maybe
And thats the only word that
Tastes Good
To You

You Breathe Fires of "Perhaps"

You ***** Potentials and Possibilities

You Craft Nooses of Love and Affection

Why is it that you begin writing love letters
And
Create Spears Crafted with
Loving Hands?

Why is it that your words are
Purple
With Poison?

They are thrown out and
Spatter
Like Blood.

Leaving your own crime scene of
Confused Tears
That Beg for More
Behind You.

Why?!

Just Tell Me What
Broke
Inside of you that you feel like
Your Sticky Games
Hold You Together

Why is your stomach always
Hungry
when I offer you the Food off of my Plate

What is Fading the Color from your Eye?  

That Grey is not
Indigenous
to the Eyes that I
Memorized and Learned.

How has your picture faded?

Why can't I just
Paint them back The Way They
Were
?

Maybe, Only Because
God
Didn't
Give
Me
The
Right
Colors

Why Then, Do I Spend
Day and Night
Mixing and Remixing

To Find the Perfect Shade of your
Joy

Maybe you just aren't
My Masterpiece
To Create
&
You Will Never Be
Finished
While the Brush is Still In
My Hand

Maybe All Along it has been
My Hand
that Held the
Knife that Scarred Me...
Maybe Not You After All

Oh Maybe Maybe  Maybe

How I Hate its Non-Commital Nature.
It ***** Knowing it's over.

— The End —