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 Jun 2017 Sanjukta Nag
may i please
love you
touch your hand
meditate its slender form
feel each of your fingers
study their shape and bend
wanting your entire hand in my mouth
dreaming of you
clutching hard and desperate
that i may shed blood to sweeten your day
like dark berry jam

tattoo you with inky hooks !

may i please
brush your face with o so tremulous a touch
catch your buttercup smile and languid honey breath
caress your hair like a soft kittens sway  
be entranced by your glistening aqueous lips

brand you
with scalding iron !

your every move
a charm
that tumbles through echoes canyons
my heart a vaulted moon quivering
your every glance scorching me
sizzling like bacon on a hot tin roof
while moistened pink tongue
licks across pearly whites
sending bolts of scintillant refulgence
booming  through me
shaking me to the floor

scar you with daggid cutlery !

can you feel me breaking for you
your eyes, synagogues for worship
vanishing at you feet
you sweeten crests soul
do you see through me like a window
your pinned butterfly
foot slave
ticker tape love machine
printing staccato
marks and remarks
may i love you
may i come close
may i fall at your knees

open your throat
that willingly yields
veins and rivulets of red blood kisses
flooding me like child birth
into arms of love

waiting shaking
through the heart

may i please
love poem
 Apr 2017 Sanjukta Nag
I go through the day,
Putting forth a happy display,
Living out my life
Like it were just another picture
To be made and played
By fervent, cheering crowds:
Only it’s my own reality
That I am not allowed
I don't  feed into you
I  feed myself
I look gazing
into space
Closely watching the minutes
Time  wanders by
I  stroll many miles
Over land
and over the seas.
The waves toss to and fro
The clouds are grey
Clothed with sadness
Letting loose the fallen stars
They drop one by one.
The moon has gone to sleep
She shines no more
The sun sinks below the waters
Light is no more
Men groan  
Women wail.
The trumpets sound.
Seven scrolls are opened
Many  left to their own device's.
The earth  has  become its own worst ememy. .
at times
we write out verses in a rush
    what we are feeling
believing this is poetry

we may do well to keep in our mind
how the grandfather of romantic poetry
defined his writing at the time

    powerful feelings
    recollected in tranquility

which means,
    in short
that just to let it all hang out

    is not poetic

only when given shape
by rhyme rhythm or meter

we recognize that personal experience
can be an image of much more

    an effort of how we admire
    the wish to articulate human desire
The "grandfather" I refer to is William Wordsworth. in his "Preface" to the LYRICAL BALLADS, the programmatic anthology for then new Romantic poetry.
 Apr 2017 Sanjukta Nag
the less said, the better
letting go of love.
Just decided to try this (interesting) challenge.  I like the idea. It's good practice for not saying too much in a poem.
I am you, you are in shadows of me.
Ever dipping, tangling in synchronicity.
I smile knowing yours will follow,
No longer do I ever dance with sorrow
 Apr 2017 Sanjukta Nag
You shouldn’t be there
At the back of my mind
You shouldn’t be
My morning and waking hour thoughts
You shouldn’t be
my 11:11 mantra
You shouldn’t be
my wish upon a shooting star
You shouldn’t be there
It’s very unconventional
You should be here, right here
Right beside me, here in my arms
My entry for Day 4.
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