Saturday, April 25, 2015


As i run my fingers through
Your lush beard,
As the silken rustling,
Rasps my fingers sensuously
I wonder why, at this juncture,
With the succubus in me
Wanting to consume you do i feel,
Wistfully, the desire for a colloquy.
Bottomless was the despair when medusa like
I coiled myself in the labyrinth of your mind
Where culture, custom, ratiocination dovetailed
To create a structure which named, and shamed
The need i felt for you, by corporealizing it.
Yet it is not your erect penis
Or my queer wet dreams
That emblematize the irreparable
Gulf between you and me.
Nor does your matted pectoral betoken
A space i can crawl into
Like into the womb, into non being.
Alternations of altered desires
Transpose you into my successive loves
Thereby keeping you alive.
But i relinquish you because
Myths are childish nonsense
You are the centre that is peripheral.
At some distant tangent i focus
And congeal gelatinously, a sensation or
A feeling unnameable.
You label it lust
I call it love.

Monday, April 20, 2015


I've been used to a fair amount of self reliance. And that comes from a sense of doubt about things. I have yearned and desired, only to have my expectations foiled, given the indeterminacy of human nature. I am also aware that my self containment is a defence, a cocoon i have sheathed myself in. Frankly if i didn't have this shield i'd collapse completely. A life lived on the meagre recompense of fulfilled expectations is anodyne at best and disenchanting at worst. One finds one's own mechanisms of working through things, even if these are unhealthy .
So when i fell in love this time around i completely disregarded his subjectivity ,perhaps paying homage to my self containment. I launched importunately on a project of his well being which took little account of his own perspective. I was , in a sense, acting out of disillusion though in good faith, or whatever facsimile of it i could conjure up , i was deluding myself. This delusion was not, as i retrospectively gathered, a plunge into the pathological. It was precisely the need to circumvent a more candid exchange would have precipitated that i built up these convoluted layers, knowing, subterraneously, that they existed.
It is my view that a complete unconsciousness from the unconscious is rather illusory. The mind retains, how can it not, intimations of its substratum. It is one thing to wrench open consciousness to confront this darkness and another to close up the petals of self knowledge and envelop being in the smothering embrace of self willed darkness. A protracted prolongation of this propensity may perhaps anesthetize the mind from consciously processing these intimations but they continue to act up, in mysterious and often undiscerned forms.
While my own descent into my darkness had an element of the wilful about it i conveniently overlooked him altogether. I had, in the past, in acceding to the other, experienced a dispossession so bone chilling that i took to consuming vast quantities of alcohol to cope with this conundrum. In order to sidestep this predicament i offset all self abnegation and embraced the maxim of self centeredness. It helped me in many ways.
But his growing detachment and my own mounting frustration drove home an inescapable reality to me. Which was that the doctrine of self centrality, a bulwark for the jaded , could never translate into unmitigated selfishness. That a part would long for that intimacy which only relationality could render possible. That, whether i resented this bitterly or not, the other person, whoever it could be would be enmeshed in my sense of self. I'd have to reconfigure therefrom