Poetry Poesy

I break rules. I decide for myself: Sometimes it backfires, sometimes it pats me on the back. I lie. I topple over to the dark side( there's a fine line between good and evil, light and darkness), 'Cause I'm no saint. I lust after. I crave for things I should not. I escape. I close myself off when things fail to go my way. I quarrel, I aim at hurting you more than you could ever hurt me! I'm like a thick curly hair-- unmanageable, incorrigible: Never straight, never perfect; Stray, messy and windblown.

[pistachioddiana]

i'm a mollusc under spotlight an edition poked and prodded beneath the vigilance of a dozen high-definition concaves they see what you show them, an imposter, an illusionist an imitation of something imaginary a rendition of a role long forgotten

© PistachioDDiana

All Rights Reserved

[pistachioddiana]

THE FULL-STOP IN OUR STORY

“Hey!” I hear him say as he stands silhouetted in the doorway of the attic. His voice gruff and heavy as he struggles to chase away the remnants of a deep slumber he has just woken from.

I do not turn my head from the bay-window when I speak. I do not need to. I can see him clearly in my peripheral vision. Well, as clear as it may be under the playful effect of the warm yellow hue of the lampshade suspended from the ceiling just outside the attic’s door. The light has been weakened further by the outstretched tendrils of shadow slithering out of the garret.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I whisper as if afraid to dislodge the blanket of a quiet solemnity I am wrapped up in. The silence strains between us, yet we have nothing to say to each other or even to ourselves. We are just two bodies held asunder merely by a wooden threshold.

*

My wandering thoughts paddle three and half years back.

One New Year’s Eve, amongst thousand twisting and gyrating bodies we found ourselves swaying in each other’s arms: my bosoms pressed against his hard chest, one muscular thigh rubbing against my core, droopy eyes fixated on lips just shy of touching. That’s the night we somewhat sealed the deal.

*

Now I look at him, and all I feel is emptiness; the kind one feels when dry heaving after violently regurgitating their stomach’s contents. His touches make me want to shrink back into my shell. His voice smothers mine, reducing me to a dumb deaf creature. His obsession feeds on my soul, day and night, like some parasite.

One night, he wakes me up to mumble in my ears, “I want you.” My heart leaps up to my throat, not in pleasure or anticipation; it is a pure feeling of dread. He lowers his mouth towards mine. His sleep-meddled breath humid and repugnant with stale alcohol, clogging my windpipe.

No. I don’t want this. I can’t do this, I shriek in my head but before I could say anything, he thrusts deep inside me.

It would not have mattered anyway. No matter how many times I tell him ‘no,’ he always has his way, doesn’t he?

---

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[pistachioddiana]

D E L I R I U M

We have been walking for hours now

Or days may be, or years, even centuries.

The tick-tocks of time here are gagged

The sun burns too hot in itself, and then

Obliterates like a burnt out poodle of camphor

When the darker of the two sisters conquers

Chucking the other down into catatonia.

We trudge past the driblets of aquarelle-lives

Like two wayfarers midst a stage of vaudevilles in fast forward

They laugh, they cry, and love, and kill

Interspersed, coinciding

We hold our arms out to touch, to feel

To dip our fingers in their rippling bodies

But slowly they zoom out, flickering relics of fata-morgana.

We've become two ghosts of each other's graveyards

We leave a trail of black sand behind us

I face you, and track the river on your vellum-chest

You cast your eyes down to search the route on the atlas of my belly

There. I can see its hump full of twinkling lights and vegetation

While the river huffs out a blob of spit through its big-lipped snout

It turns its long curved neck around towards its own back once,

Perhaps to peek at its depot of cellulite citadel

And plods about its course of journey downhill.

The Summer's gone, the Autumn's gone

The Winter's to come

But the charioteer ebbs away into a cosmic glitch

And gets buried under the ever-growing piles of silica.

We have been walking for hours now

Or days may be, or years, even centuries

And we stencil our aged lignin with tooth-chisels of History.

---

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[pistachioddiana]

Our thoughts gush out like blood from an untreated wound;

they rush across in a mad fury

while our mind is like a petulant child, latched onto the nectar of  contemplation and reverie with its baby-mouth:

it delves into the past to raise a hot tornado of sighs for the faceless dead and the unnamed guilt

and it crawls about a nebulous future, perturbed and meddled

it gives a wide berth to what needs to be done, what's right here, right now

like a whinning school-boy who would rather play with his mates than do his homeworks in the weekends.

The mind is somewhat lost

but amidst all its self-made chaos

it does reach out with little grabby palms to be pulled out

it wants to fly free

and as its legal guardians, it's upto us to take the mind by the hand and gently reposition it in the present and on the meandering pathway ahead.

---

©PistachioDDiana

All Rights Reserved

[pistachioddiana]

GO WITH THE FLOW...

[pistachioddiana]

REVELING IN PAIN

I’m obsessed with pain.

I have a winding tunnelway on my body

a map to a treasure-trove.

When I jaunt through those overlapping strips,

I feel her sitting cross-legged

fingers posed in a chaste kiss of Air and Space.

Pain braids my thoughts in twists,

clothes a subtle darkness to my being

shimmering in and out

And from that giant oval black

a flock of nascent worlds takes flight.

I sit in this ramshackle greenhouse

weaving a majestic wreath of words—

Coronation of a Poetess.

My grave-pals shimmy down the aisle

with garlands of bones and thorns.

I’ve embraced pain and managed to keep

the red door firmly shut on Death’s face

‘cause pain breathes me alive;

pain levitates my spirit midst dull happiness.

Am I a masochist?

sweet Agony!

Milk-fangs puncturing my pregnant flesh,

little talons like surgical blades

slit my stomach in fine slices,

wobbly mouths cooing out an incantation.

Born are the children of my labour pain.

---

All Rights Reserved ©PistachioDDiana

[pistachioddiana]

YOU AND I

If you wish to go,

Go.

There is a crack in the door,

You see. A crack that

Can fit you through

No. It wasn’t there before

I carved it two nights ago,

When you slept with a frown,

To set you free.

We are limping 'round the room

Breaking things in our way

You dial me with a fossil

On the outskirts' payphone

Hello. Hello!

A traffic on the line

But you, mi hombre, are not. Not

An electric pole or a fig tree

Or ribbons on my pigtails

Or even my favourite pillow.

We dance about in box-steps

Where I take one step forward, only

To shove you two steps backward.

___

*It often happens, we get so attached to someone in a span of time that we can't even imagine a single moment in our life without them. But sometimes we are unable to do anything but to let them go. 'Cause if anybody wants to go, the more you'll try to hold on to them, the farther they'll slip away.*

All Rights Reserved © PistachioDDiana

[pistachioddiana]

Our thoughts gush out like blood from an untreated wound;

they rush across in a mad fury

while our mind is like a petulant child, latched onto the nectar of  contemplation and reverie with its baby-mouth:

it delves into the past to raise a hot tornado of sighs for the faceless dead and the unnamed guilt

and it crawls about a nebulous future, perturbed and meddled

it gives a wide berth to what needs to be done, what's right here, right now

like a whinning school-boy who would rather play with his mates than do his homeworks in the weekends.

The mind is somewhat lost

but amidst all its self-made chaos

it does reach out with little grabby palms to be pulled out

it wants to fly free

and as its legal guardians, it's upto us to take the mind by the hand and gently reposition it in the present and on the meandering pathway ahead.

---

©PistachioDDiana

All Rights Reserved

[pistachioddiana]

Yeehh!🥳 My very first post on Tumblr.

My blog is going to be all about poetry/prose-poetry and mini-stories, whatever whenever comes to my mind. Each content here is independent, i.e. there is no consistency or linkage between any of the contents. 'Cause that's how my mind works, in total disarray. 😇

💕