do you feel me at all
do you feel my hands around your throat
tightening slowly
do you feel my nails on your leg
cutting you slowly
do you feel my heart beating in your hand
dying slowly

Should I long that dark were fair? Say, O song.
Lacks my love aught that I should long?
Dark the night with breath all flow'rs
And tender broken voice that fills
With ravishment the list'ning hours.
Whis'prings, wooings,
Liquid ripples, and soft ring-dove cooings,
in low-toned rhythm that love's aching stills.

Dark the night, yet is she bright,
For in her dark she brings the mystic star,
Trembling yet strong as is the voice of love
From some unknown afar.
O radiant dark, O darkly foster'd ray,
Thou hast a joy too deep for shallow day.

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

Shall I compare you to wonderful things?

I’m not so sure.
Likely you’d find it
Slightly off-putting
Or maybe emotional,
Too seriously gossamer
Like a blueberry muffin
Dressing up
In a bride and groom cake topper.

So I guess
To hell with you anyway
One day you’ll have a box full of
Printed concert tickets
And all of silicon valley
filled with e-mails
Random statements exchanged for nothing
Placeholders of what we might have actually
Said
To each other

Letters that smell like incense and lotion
And sketches that smell like beer
Are outdated
But kisses in a library are better
Than *** in a dance rave.

And you’d rather be someone’s lover
Than to be loved by someone.
Or be preferentially bombarded by
Tones alerting you of some alternate reality
Because I’m just talking to you without intention
but that’s not true
and I’m not wires and gears
and maybe you should find
someone you can write checks for
and I’ll die
without finding a soul
to love me in a poem

I filled the ocean with fire,
I froze these blowing winds with one touch.
I walk along this fiery tide,
this icy breeze is not enough.

I followed the smoke and danced,
beneath these ashes though I can't..

Release this guilt from me,
It could fill the seven seas.

I followed the smoke,
and it followed me.

I danced with the ashes,
and they danced in me.

Cuba, where are your wings?
Have you lost your umph?
Coconuts, bananas and sugar cane,
all taken by the time you get there.
Where are the lines on the highway?
Simple lines which guide you.
An oxcart here, truck there, person in uniform, whoah.
Watch out, do not speak out,
do not look like you are full.
Confusion lurks in the dark.
The light is coming, it has to be coming, the matches are
in the next delivery, just wait...
wings and matches are coming.

I asked my inner writer,
Is your prose poetic?
Or your poetry prosaic?
And my inner writer asked me,
Are you traditional with modern values?
Or are you modern with traditional values?
Are you an introvert who loves to express?
Or an extravert who loves silences?
Are you an optimist who sees the clouds?
Or a pessimist who sees rainbows?
Are you thoughtful with some light-hearted ways?
Or humourous with some sober ways?
And on and on and on and on
And on and on it went.
I'll never ask my inner writer
About writing
Again.
-Vijayalakshmi Harish
24.09.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

He walked away
But he looked back
What I would say
If I could have
I miss the days
Before gone bad
I miss the way
We were not sad
You cannot stay
Well that is that
It's your choice babe
I hope you're glad
Choice I would make
Wouldn't be that
But it's too late
Too late for that
He walked away
But he looked back.