At the busy traffic junction,
lone woman,
                     in red track suit,
astride a motorcycle,
drenched wet in a sudden rain,
                          wait;
                           ­        *thousand eyed desire,
                                        court her in a hurry,
                                              before the red signal light
                                                           ­   turns green.

Astounding things, await you, but
happen only on the stage of mind,
beyond that is the realm boundless,
all cosmic magic, true abode of everything.

Donning my costume, I am a string tuned,
expectant to start the play I wrote for myself,
on  stage, when the curtain will go up
only that magical moment decides ,

The daily grind is a mere repetition
from morning till dusk and beyond,
In between I peep through the window
and get a glimpse of mind's sky, star studded,

Loneliness my mistress, is a daily visitor,
an age old and true love who never fails to please,
kissing deeply on my lips a few times she leaves,
only to come back and take me to bed with her,

Strangers become sweethearts, on my stage,
in a play we act our roles, emote, overwhelmingly
subtle moments gifted,  I shed my worn out self, a stranger here,
*my dramatic monologue rings out loud, "What are you, life?"

Yesterday night
driving back,
from a party
where, I was
lonely in the crowd,
felt lost, disturbed
by the sound and fury
signifying nothing,
talking *******
little too much,
exasperated,
stopped
at a watering hole,
to feel once again
that I was still myself.
I sat lost in thoughts,
it felt good,
so went bit far, and then,
saw someone like you
sitting alone, looking at me ,
as if to recollect, who I was
with such keen interest.
For a moment
I forgot the time and place
and wondered:
"How could she forget me ever?"
*Someone like you ! how could I think?
there wasn't anyone like you, ever after.

Always saying I love you, baby.
But they’ve only been together a day.
Captivated by the way the
Darkness of each other’s pupils grow
Every time they touch.
Forcing the kind of relationships, but more of the
Groping, that they saw in the movies.
Heated make out sessions in the church youth room, with
Intensity that could make strippers blush.
Juxtaposing every inch of their bodies.
Knowing what to do only because of what they
Learned in health class. Trying to
Master the art of *** and what they call love,
Not caring who knows. Living off each
Other’s breaths. Fabricating
Plans and stories for their parents when they’re caught
Quietly sneaking back into their
Rooms at four in the morning,
Shutting their doors and their eyelids,
Tracing remnant goose bumps.
Until the sun shines into their windows,
Violating their dreams of Cinderella and Prince Charming,
Washing the night from their skin, and shoving their
******* memories to the back and hiding them in a drawer.
Yearning to be touched again, by whom ever the next
Zephyr can blow into their neighborhood.

You remind me
(twice daily)
of your existence
As you ride low on your
motorcycle
               Problem Child
Wild in our street
Exhaust clouded lungs
choking me (up)
Memories collect
in my wrecked collar bones
Little pools of oil,
where you used to park those
dead lips


                                Silence


has never been so deafening
I loved thy neighbor
but faith is no substitute
for fuel
I am broken down
My rusted engine heart
refuses to turn over
But yours, yours
seems to be running
fine

I am forgotten,
As my footprints
melt
in the snow.