She is a character perfect
for my work of science fiction,
chosen after much research
on unreliability of reality
as one knows does exist,
it's even more true of her.
In a hurry I concluded,
"What a  luck, I chose to write her
as the character of possibility!
                              then, how quickly
                              the class I expected of her
                              went totally to seed.
                              are we opposites?
Or, is this reality not shared by both of us?
what can one say about a situation when,
my own creation fights against my writ,
No, I am not in the same league as Luigi Pirandello
this is the result when commonsense is delineated
by a hallucinating mind, caught in love net.Zilch.

Her cunning eyes
he spied, slyly write
the usual evaluation note
any guy is familiar:
"His eyes are right there
where the difference lies
grazing my curves
as if it is all his;
on the edge he is, I am sure
his eyes are heavily laden
with lust".His eyes,
are they any less?
"She has decided
in an instance to extract
a big price, need to conceal well
emotions like an unfinished sculpture,
till the exact time to unveil"
he gets his report, immediately acts,
her face falls with a thud.

A castaway in the island of failed loves, my heart
moved in jungle pathways, lived alone in caves,
I sold it to a courtesan who courted it steadfast
never had I felt such an ease in my days dark.
Love is a clandestine merchandise in market places
by lovers, men and women of charm and magic
mixing power and allure, when the price is just right.

The street of our evenings was full of laughter,
my love life there saw many sunny seasons.
We walked hand in hand and my sweetheart was eager
to please me as my heart was full of  love's languor
the meaning of love was still obscure for me and her,
though we thought it was nothing but love, that
kept throbbing in our every vein, it really mattered.

To the tune of Blue Danube, we would wildly waltz,
the sad thought it brought, made me weep inside.
if the world is so wicked let's die together,
and I see her dance away totally inebriated
footsteps sounded near, we lost  true interest
pain was chasing us, all the way from behind,
we were disillusioned, love slowly got drifted
gently  dissipated breaking our hearts.

As I cross the corner of the street alone,
with my heart bleeding, often the girl for the day in tow,
I feel the pang of a heart, seeking my love waiting
the courtesan who kept watching me, her glassy eyes moist,
all these days of wandering, eventually our eyes met.

I sold my heart to the lonely courtesan, she wept, received it.

The dark eyed painter, made me her canvas,
winter was still lurking in her fingertips
my skin sizzles when her fingers wearing ice shoes
walk over it in a frenzy rarely seen
to get me readied for her work of love.
in the dull prancing light when we walked
back from the beach listening to the waves
roaring in sadistic delight
                                            she saw a serpent wriggling away,
chasing her illusion as before,I found, it was just a tangled rope
freed from fear, she came running
embraced me with boundless joy, said
"How would I survive in this world full of  riddles
of serpent and rope mire one in every single step"
"Maya, my dark eyed charmer, you are my world"
I saw her power ruling my world, I have no escape
unless we decide.Extending ******* she asked:
"Which one, serpent and rope or snakes and ladders?"
closing my eyes, I touched one, my fate was decided thus,
while we undressed each other and got ready for a skinny dip,
I was in a trance gone far beyond the reality's front door.

I was sold to pain
in a slave market
that  didn't  look like one,
auctioned by a civilized crowd
of people just like you and me
in everyday life,
posing as my comrades, acolytes or lovers.
I stood firm on my ground
unrelenting even in pain's intimidation
and said, what  Valmiki
                 the first poet found,
        "Grief gushes out in verse"
                                 and I sing
                                        alone.

Sickened he was by her bad word choices, special need for
incongruous expressions,words spelled the way she likes,
blanks that can never be filled, invented quotes, fabricated realities,
thunderous "****" repeated in intervals, as if  each an inlaid jewel,
and then, having no fixed meaning for that favorite word of hers,
nothing more than an intention to denigrate ******,
                                                                ­                   and women as a whole,
a subconscious compulsion, strangely included, her's also in it's ambit.
He understands her compulsion for such expression thus--
fulfillment of some innate need, an expression of her own worthlessness,
resulted from some grave injury of the mind that happened,
sometime early in her childhood, one could guess.
He took the decision to mark her "UNREAD" for ever
with deep anguish of course,after reading her many fine and sane pieces.