"wooers" poems
Waiting for him,
Was like a,
Mindless abyss.
I thought,
This time I should give it a shot.
Add plus venture,
Into a realm full with pleasures of flesh.
Rather waiting to lie in sepulcher.
Thence came the wooers,
On horses, chariots, planes and cars,
Courted me to the foreign lands of brand new emotions.
Greasy, exotic, curious and even obscure ,
To satiate my hunger,
They poured,
And I sinfully devoured.
Ooooh!
A whip here.
Ouuch!
A tickle there.
Aahhhhh!!
The sheer unfolding of their classy work.
Every night lusciously they came,
Wrapped me in an awe of satire, skepticism and imagination,
Not to say of the bruises they gave,
Tears I shed of Anger,Pain ,Love and Hate.
Still I followed them blindly and agape,
Because a new world in me was taking shape.
Of Shakespeare, Freud, Tolstoy, Eliot, Byron, Wordsworth and my then fav,
the great Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
A medley of fantasy, fact-fiction, comedy, realism and romance.
Oh!
What not I chanced upon.
All emphasizing emotion, imagination, scientific and natural thought.
There was no stopping of these gnawing hunger pangs,
None lasted more than a one night stand.
The foolish me, unaware, cascaded in the fatal encounters,
Not knowing the pangs are of soul to reach the supreme ******
Thence came a Seer
The Prophet,
The Wanderer,
The Forerunner,
It was as if he can rip me with his thoughts,
And see my soul through that tear…..
I distinctly remember that divine night,
The moment I held him in my desirous hands,
I was no more in dual fight.
Things started falling into place,
Was no more in that abysmal space.
Still I would say,
It’s a current phase.
This soon would also evade.
New Lover ,
For every new night…
To cut a long story short,
Just so,
Because of your low attention span,
The lover, the poet , the wooer
Was the great
Khalil Gibran.
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 1:05 PM UTC
In summer's heat and mid-time of the day
To rest my limbs upon a bed I lay,
One window shut, the other open stood,
Which gave such light, as twinkles in a wood,
Like twilight glimpse at setting of the sun,
Or night being past, and yet not day begun.
Such light to shamefast maidens must be shown,
Where they must sport, and seem to be unknown.
Then came Corinna in a long loose gown,
Her white neck hid with tresses hanging down:
Resembling fair Semiramis going to bed
Or Layis of a thousand wooers sped.
I snatched her gown, being thin, the harm was small,
Yet strived she to be covered there withal.
And striving thus as one that would be chaste,
Betrayed herself, and yeilded at the last.
Stark naked as she stood before mine eye,
Not one wen in her body could I spy.
What arms and shoulders did I touch and see,
How apt her ******* were to be pressed by me.
How smooth a belly under her waist saw I?
How large a leg, and what a ***** thigh?
To leave the rest, all liked me passing well,
I clinged her naked body, down she fell,
Judge you the rest, being tired she bade me kiss,
Jove sent me more such afternoons as this.
2.9k
i am not in the mood to write...
my head is in piercing pain;
emotions are sore and haphazard;
resistance is doubling its might;
slain eyes are about to rain...
yes, my eyes have been slain -
like two lovers
by a jealous and envious third;
been rid of all chances
and glimpses -
so yenned for, like air -
of you...
they rain clear showers,
they rain crimson showers,
they flood all terrain and
shape rivers -
deep crimson-clear rivers of need,
they let my soul bleed
through their chambers...
i am not in the mood to write...
because - you've both hurt me like hell,
because - you've both played with my feelings;
because you care naught for my reelings...
i am not in the mood to write...
what did EVER i do to you?!
or, maybe, - you're simply a coward
for being a friend AND a lover?!
but that would be
artlessly easy...
or, maybe, i'm - simply - just blind?
i am not in the mood to write;
i am not in the mood to fight;
i am not in the mood for my goodness;
and for backstage-politics wooers...
(c)kRu, 03.07.-13.07.11
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 9:57 AM UTC
I remember all the "chosen ones"
All the ones that caught my eyes
I recall all of the villains
And the classic "nice guys"
I remember all the Romeos
The seducers and wooers alike
I knew all the "we're just friends"
And "love you like a brother" types
I remember all the gentlemen
The ones who held the door
I'm branded by the cretins though
And made of me a *****
I remember so many of the talking boys
The ones who needed to vent
They'd knew I never slept at night
And converse until the blackness was spent
I remember all the heartbreakers
And those few that never left
The randoms that came sneaking in
The ones who thought they knew best
I remember the wishful thinking
And the craving to catch your eyes
I acknowledge the reluctance of letting you go
And at times I never tried
I remember the lessons
And I repeat the mistakes
There're so many fish in the sea
And I only have a lake
Please remember that I loved you
Or I did the best that I could do
And if there's a part of you remembers me
Just know my memory is perfect too
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 1:00 AM UTC
Harvest old love letters
Separate timid words like seeds
Save those for Spring planting
Passion's bulk pull out as meat
Provisional muscle is for roasting
Adjectives become good gravy
Stamps and envelopes licked
A dessert of dearest's DNA
This savoring of paper junctures
Recaptured affection, even agonies
Wooers of commodious cursive
Pen pushed to olden days
I relish reading your languid thriving
Though you are long gone
Reacquainting these letters habituates
Deliveries of your love
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 8:38 AM UTC