Smells of bouquet
Lands on her dress

Laces and Braid
She catches each breathe

Air of romance
Seen on her dance

Pink and red roses
Fall upon her hair

Femme, my lady
She's a beautiful femme

The Lady in Red Satin sits before me,
Asks me, “Dear, how long is it going to be?
Before I lock lips with you in eternal glee,
And we run away from this place, wild and free? ”

Her lips are sure luscious, as juicy as can be,
But I keep my restraint and tell her, “Not now Honey,
Because this place is so beautiful, it has lots that I haven’t seen,
I have dreams too to reach, can’t you just see? ”

She frowns at this, says, “I’ve been waiting for long,
For a kiss from you, from the day you were born.
I’ve been with you, my dear, all through your life,
All through your strives, like a faithful wife”

“I know that, my dear, don’t you worry”, I say,
“I’ll come to your arms, and sleep in it one day.
But for now, the only thing I can say,
Is that, I have dreams to reach, that I cannot cast away.'

I stop talking to her and resume chasing my dreams,
This lady is impatient; she can’t wait for long it seems,
So I treat each day, as if it were my only day,
Because, this lady named Death, could kiss me any day

She sang the trot like she owned the narrative,
as if she was singing about her inner most secret.

-The  lady who lost her lover
The place where she met him
The Place with the Camellia flower

It was a place of summer and ray bloomed
while it matched the radiance of the two Paramour
and a reminder of their internal chest thumped in unison

In the street where they first met she stood alone
fatigued with no more breath to give
Many nights shed her tears by the Camellia flowers

Now the flower leave crumbled
The petals showed it's red bruises
and falling like the tear drops

When will the lover come back to her
To the lonely Camellia Flower
When will he come back-

The song ends with a grasp
as this German lady song ends with her whisper
To the Korean Trot song of the past

To the song "Lady Camellia!"

lady of the river indus
they killed you in the evening
they killed you out of love
and the stains that they couldn't wash off of you
they put your head in the water
and let you struggle for breathe
they waited for it to reach your lungs
to fill your mouth
to wash off the words, and emotions
and demands you made,
from mother sindh,
lady of the river indus,
you shouldn't have done so,
you should have let it be,
for they killed you in the evening,
but they could not **** you in my dream.
and now I shake, and feel I'm drowning,
above are the heads of men, surrounding
telling me they want to wash me,
and remove the mud off me.

Maybe this death marks the stake post
Of a past life...
Something that says act right
Or make them chain fight

A pregnant woman cries in bed
Why me is all she says
She was having twins and she lost one
In her head she can't believe he is gone
As time passes her sadness deepens
No more partying on the weekend
From now on there would be no fun
Staying awake until she can see the sun
She's been through this before
But this time the pain is too much to ignore
Her baby doesn't let her sleep
She tries to no avail so she weeps
However, she loves her baby
I would call that being a real lady
She's stressing hoping everything works out
Cause right now she has many doubts

it's hard not to bump into ghosts in
your house. you've been here
fifty years, or more, and there's
time caught in the marigold
wallpaper; minutes stuck between the
pages of the books you keep
but never read.

you're the unwilling curator
of your own museum-
you have stacks and stacks of
gardener's weekly,
- could build a fort out of them -
but instead sit in the middle looking
lost. you ask after people who've been
dead years, and perhaps it's because you've
seen them in the mirror.

(outside is the tree your
husband planted in the 60s,
spliced out of two and thus
unique. you stare at it sometimes,
and maybe you're wishing for
something-
or maybe it's just out of
habit).