Dear, forget about our lips.

They have gone to meet each other. Let us stay aside and watch them.

Do you see how sweetly they hunt for one another?!

Like two butterflies flowing through the dark tunnel of the world.

From my lips, opens a lascivious moon Which has been carried as a ring by my tongue to your tongue. And then, both get sealed and stamped by the beautiful wedding of our lips, With your fluffy cheeks that gently resides like a bird in my palms.

The poetry, glow as embers and bleeds in my mouth, would come to your lips like a nomadic dog with broken dictions.

It is your lips : Where the colour of light pink and light red get vanished from the realm of painting and live as a slave in the drunkenness of your lips.

Meanwhile, my lips touched your lips with a drop of my soul. Where all my kisses run like squirrels, to bite the fruit of your mouth.

The dawn has arrived. It’s time for our lips to part each other.

But, they lay like two strawberries slept with smooch melodies.

Dear, tie your lips to mine. For that my heart will set out roots to my lips to live in profound madness under your cherry jelled saliva which would soak my lips before it get dead by your lips invincible sweetness.

Now, our life becomes red roses Where the dawn rained like sugary-snow-powder followed by our kisses, which fell as saffron threads upon our lips.

And there the smooch melodies, continues.

I give you not a material called love. It is an ink stomped upon your heart.

I do not ask you to be my lady love. Instead, a perfume to make as your flower And, I then give you petals Which climbs to ripe the rare sweetness That is hidden on your silk wrapped lips.

Every day and night, you keep me wet. And, whenever your stealthy glance longs to see me The bud of my face will get enclose by the coyness of the petals.

All the women in the world, would feel envy by your cleopatric eyes…!

Picasso would faint! If he sees the painting of the black crow of your hair branched like a bough upon your celestial face.

As the flakes of wind drizzle over me, Your nicotine fingers, keeps me warm dear.

Shakespeare is a Strawberry. Neruda is a Mango. Keats is a Watermelon. Shelley is a Pomegranate. Eliot is an Apple. Pound is a Lemon. And you, the seed of all!!!

The verse of my kisses, nested as moon droplets, when it fell as feathers to your sweet body.

Now, it had remind with you as an unopened wound. And each day, each hour It will speak you of my presence Only, if you forget me.

It had a charismatic aura blend with lush fragrance all around “Pudhu vasal”. A village of eighty abode huts, situated in the southern part of India. The huge majestic Tamarind trees stood like a pillar ahead of each huts. The sturdy Teaks and Cashew trees was highly significant and ubiquitous in our village. Even though the village was noticed for its lovely atmosphere, the people in the village would always had their own illicit doctrines when it comes to caste, a contagious disease which was innate in their blood.

Two caste is highly notorious in our village, X and Y. The former sect, would always had a repugnance over the latter, went crazy over one song from a movie called “RENAISSANCE”. This movie created a havoc, in the district of ‘Ariyalur’ at the time of its release in 1998. Love marriage was considered to be a great sin indeed in these sects. For this,

The village folks dig out the red from her husband with laughter

Which made the curse of her life to end in slaughter.

Her saree draped in white

When the blue was still in night.

The cold staccato of the white from the miniscule teat

Had burnt the blue with heat.

Then, she ran and hides like a thief into her own house out of flak.

And, the white became untouchable by the black.

The pang of fire tied her body with wire

Then, she trembled like a worm caught in fire.

As it was the time to sweep out her pregnancy

Where the same red gushed without poignancy.

The red prisoned me even I got the freedom

And, the folks invade our hut like their own kingdom.

As they were in the verge to accomplish their goal

One among them, accidentally kicks the milk bowl.

Which washed the red by its colour white

And, I lay unchained between my mother’s legs, quite.

After having lost her husband, “Jayaraman,” some of the cousins, of my mother “Kalyani,” tried to dominate her by giving vibrant orange sarees. But, she stood firmly in white. White, is the colour of valour, wings of the freedom, epitome of purity, liquid of my life and the divine light of chastity. Later, she smiles at a flower that sprouted from the heart of the earth, which was “Purple” in colour.

Teachers are the best books in the library of your soul. Each rack holds a beautiful gem. Living with dead-drunk longing is a student. Who keeps them as rare as golden-baby into the womb of his heart. They dazzle like a pearl under the ocean of knowledge. Where the fish of society wraps them below the net of pride.

They make their parents to cry in pride. Who sits like a dew drop on the grass of their soul. All this happened of teachers, who filled with intense rain of knowledge. From them universally emerges a glossy gem. Which makes a sweet enigmatic love with Earth’s heart. The blessed one all around here is the student.

A relationship as pure as mother’s love is, seen between the teacher and the student. But, certain fuck-pluck stupids failed to understand their pride. Through saccharine words they melt out our heart. Then at one point, their words born as fire ball which serves as a light in the lamp of our soul. By its divine flash we become a gem. We then, fortunately smeared with the perfume of knowledge.

Then to everyone, sprinkles a flavour of knowledge. There from the soil wake up an another seed named student. Who becomes a gem. And, the place of intellectualism dance with pride. This adds a profound satisfaction in everyone’s soul. Of this, sprouts a leaf of inspiration in others heart.

But, some corpses are breathing with hollow heart. Their smirk will powdered into the teachers burning radiance of knowledge. And disappear from the realm of their soul. But, one who adore them as their crown is student. Who will make his teachers to live in pride. And, he forever cherish his master as an integral gem.

Everyone will turn into a gem If they work hard with dedication in their heart. Then the world will speak your pride. By defining your invincible knowledge. Which still keep you as a student. In its vast soul.

Teachers hold their pride like gem. And their soul will lives in everyone’s heart. By reflecting the legacy of their knowledge in every student.

It was extremely soft and delicate, when I made my ‘Jadgkommando Tri-dagger’ to dissolve like an ice by slitting, the throat of “Dr. Psycho”. I then, took my dagger, from the doctor’s half-opened neck, which was wept in blood and I would always love to call my dagger as ‘Little Hitler’. I opened the door to the entrance of the lift, descended to the ground floor of the ‘Lavanya Apartment’ and kicked off my ‘Royal Enfield Thunder Bird 500X’. There was neither sound nor decorative lights. But, only a grave silence, except the terrific sound of my bike. I was completely drenched by the forty-five minutes of incessant rain when I reached my home, which is a decade of streets away from the lavanya apartment. The home that I had been living was a modern hut. Otherwise, a puny shell. I unlocked the door and the insides of my home was pitch-black always even in the morning. Because, I felt that the electric current would burn my home if I have the electricity. So, I removed the connection of the electric circuits. There is no kitchen, no rest room, no windows, no television as if it looks like a heart with empty soul. It was a minimalistic home with one bed, one table and one door. I placed by black-coat upon the corner of the table, lay prostrate upon my bed. Probably a simple one covered in murky sheets. The door, the bed and the sandal wood scent that present in the table, all evokes me of the blissful days I had spent with my girlfriend, “Maple”. What kept me dead-drunk to her was, her thin lips and the half-wounded-moon, chiseled in her mushy cheeks. She is short, but has a dire curvaceous physique which would cuts you to the bone with ease. I would always like to call her as ‘Couplet’ for which she spouts her lips with anger.

During the month of December, 2019. Maple used to visit me at my home. She was wearing a pink flared skirt with a cardigan over a white T-shirt. When I opened the door, I was startled to see her standing like a tulip flower in front of me as dew drops of my soul scattered like rains, in her honey-tinted face, smeared in virgin petals. I greeted her. It was the happiest moment of life, when my home was overwhelmed of Maple’s mellifluous voice. “Your home looks like a dark museum, where I am the only fortunate girl to buy you for granted apart from your minimalistic life”. Maple trembled like a leaf out of coldness. I am sorry dear. I couldn’t have anything that comforts your trembling.

“Let’s have some sex”, said Maple. “Come again”, I said. She drew even closer to me than before and whispered with an enchanting tone, “Let’s have some sex”. That was the voice which rustled like a fragrance into my ears. She made the scales of her clothes off in a blink of an eye, unzipped my black trousers. And, with my white shirt, I stood like a light house in the oceanic darkness of my room where she ate my shirt as if a wound through her mouth. Later, we then lay like two-naked-pearls wedded with love’s sweat inside our dark room. I tilted my head towards her and said, “You are Beautiful”. Suddenly, a red rose sprouted from her lips, smaller than my little finger. Nearly, thousand times I would have been calling her, you are beautiful until the dawn of the next day. The more I said, the faster it sprouted and she literally buried my body with red roses. But, the blooming of the red rose started to wither when she saw a mound of love letters which momentarily made the bed to float in the air! Maple sat on the floor, took a letter dusted in bitter scent. She unfolded the letter and flashed the light through her cell phone where she traced out the words : “Remember Me?”, I am your sweetheart, “Candle”. Please save me. I’m dying here. My nerves were cracking down when Maple looked at me with tears after she read the letter.

“Do you really love me?” Maple asked. “Truly”, my love. But, it made me clear that she was not convinced of my words. She put on her clothes, opened the door and Maple was shocked to encounter the another version of herself, who is doing an extremely heinous brutal sex with “Candle”, my first girlfriend in my life. There was no movement in Candle’s body and in her face, except the eyes which is dripped in blood by looking at Maple. I was lying naked as usual in the darkness, eleven inch away from the door where Maple was standing. When she shut the door inwardly after encountering the obnoxious trauma, I was dozed off by the thoughts of “Candle”, whom I met in the train exactly at the midnight. I occupied the berth opposite to her. She slept like an innocent child. What prominently arrested me to her was, her golden anklets encircled in the waist of her milky-white feet. “I moved her beauty inch by inch through my words”. Before it reaches her face, a powdered moon, I was striving for oxygen. As my words go nearer and nearer, my heart get choked and I fell off from my berth. She woke up and asked, “Is everything alright?”. “Yeah” I said. We know really each other well as we were classmates for twelve years. Then, during the three years of our college life ( 2016 – 2019 ), Candle used to write love letters to me like “Sylvia Plath”. We stepped out in Egmore from the Chennai Express and it was 6am when Candle gave me a book as her gift for my Twenty-first birthday.

Maple was in chaos. She woke me up after a peaceful slumber for six hours and it felt that all the sides of my brain were once broken and mended then. When I opened my eyes, I saw Maple opening the door and I tried to follow her. But, as soon as I tried to reach her, I found myself soaked in the dark smell of the blood. After a few seconds, I came to realize that I had been trapped into the well, full of human heads floating like coconuts all around me!!! The well which I had been trapped inside, exactly looks like a ‘Reticulated Python’ with wide mouth. It made to feel that I have no connection to the world. Above the well, I saw a man who came with a heavy sack and started to pour thousands and thousands of human heads into the well over me! The old man said, “The more I pour the heads, the more you reach the top”. Thousands turned to lakhs and lakhs into crores. Finally, when I came out from the next moment of the well, I saw my girlfriend, “Candle” who had been turned into a cat with fish tail! She jumped upon my head and shouted ‘STUPID’. Suddenly then, “Maple” leapt out from the wall, who is really a dog with long human hair! She cuddled my legs and started to shoot out her cervical fluid which washed my legs and she asked, “Could you love me now?”. Candle shut my mouth with her paws. “This time I’m going to fuck you hard”, said Candle to Maple. Probably that was the sound which would break the world into pieces!!!

Now, I am all alone lying on the floor inside the dark room. I feel a burning sensation in the nape of my neck. I notice a pair of legs behind my legs, unusually longer than mine. I then, turn my glance on both the sides of my hands where I get a hand as big as log of wood behind me. I tumble down suddenly and flounder. I have been awestruck of seeing the book, which had been given as a gift by Candle, is now blazing vigorously, which shows the shadow of my body is breathing with an opened head. As I opened the book, I read the voice of Candle : I am not your girlfriend, Candle. But, your mother “Cucumber”, born with perfect human structure. And the one, whom you celebrate as your girlfriend, Maple is your “Son”, who was born out of your mouth with snake’s tail. I had the pleasure of raping my grandson! She furthur syas that, the incidents you experienced before and which you have been experiencing now by reading this book, all took place in “THE REFRIGERATOR” for which you considered as your room utterly dark, with no electricity, no bed and no table since one year of your birth. “Thank you Cucumber”, I said to myself. Unexpectedly, I experience an uncanny situation as the words in the book has been transformed into shimmering golden-ants and they are oozing like a river from the book then enter into the unclosed mouth of mine which had been slit by my ‘Little Hitler’. Ultimately I watched the last ant in the colony, before entering into my mouth, read my name : “You are now dead, Neha’!

If there is no ink in the pen… Don’t worry, my love. I’ll dip my fingers in the blood of my soul, To write a poem for you!!!

You have come from neither mountains, nor flowers, nor rivers, nor oceans. But, carrying all these in you for me.

I first buzzed my glances. Then, I made you to be bloomed By opening your cylindrical petal, Where, I saw a face with golden-thorn in it. A flamboyant physique, coloured black. It was the day of my first night. You: My pen, gifted me a poem, through my delicate fingers, wrapped in erotic words until the final sweat of your ink!!!

I was dishonoured, diseased with solitude until you enter in me like a ship and tore the oceanic rust of my mind!

Now, I am yearning to see your ancestors. Who produced, Shakespeare and Milton to this world. And, wherever I go, I carry you, my ancestral beauty, in your heart. Every day and night, I get aroused by you and insert you inside my finger where, we then, play with poems!!!

Oh my celestial flower….! I still wonder, how could you contain my soul in your blue-ink goblet!!!

Tomorrow will be the season of true love. And, my age will depart through flute by flute from the mouth of nature. And, I fell like a leaf on the lap of your epitaph, under the tree made by poetry, where my eyes closed forever.