i gave you up
you say
perhaps
for that tall handsome charm of his
or those dark eyes and bushy brows
or his deep pungent scent
ascending from a certain depth
i pulled at the hairs on his chest
seeing his face buried between my legs
i breathed out an appropriating moan
so powerful
that hidden rivers burst out of dormancy
i clawed at him,
he thrust into me,
and between the gasps and tears,
that pleasure and pain concoction
i chanced momentarily
upon that promise bearing spring that quenches
evident only to the thirsty
only
in such frenzied, fleeting, consequential moments
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
A phone call, a handstand and a dip in the pool
Today I picked up a phone call. I attempted hand-stands, and bought myself swim-wear. Today I made steps to confront three of my most profound fears.
The phone caller is never a well wisher. He is never a dear friend calling to inquire about my whereabouts or my well being. He most definitely is not simply calling to say "Hey!".
Caller ID does not just indicate a particular dear one is holding one ear open for me. It is a blinking, fear-invoking red light that flashes its angry light in my face, scolding me for the time and space I take to breathe, scathing me with guilt for the audacity to prioritize my needs...a cue for me to run farther away in the hopes of disappearing. If I don't exist then your frustration towards me doesn't exist. Then all is well. Right?
No!
Nadge said "No!"
"No space for fear, distrust and uncertainty here. No, not when your doing a hand-stand." In that gentle British tone of his, he said, "You've got to leave all that behind you, and just do it. And its good for you. All that blood rushing to your brain is simply wonderful for you." He recommended that I start off doing it with someone. Someone who can hold up my legs and direct it towards the wall so I can feel okay about being up-side down. Then he said, "Use the wall. You know it will always be there. So use it to support your legs and move your legs away from the wall a bit-by-bit until you become at ease and find your balance."
Yes! Well said Nadge. I can do it! All I need to do is just ignore that 28 year old voice in my head saying, "You can't do it because it is ridiculous for you to even try when clearly you are needed on your toes to serve everyone else's passing desires. How dare you think of changing, shifting, flipping things upside down?!" Yes. A question and an exclamation at once.
I can do it!?
Today, I was flying with grace higher and higher. Exciting myself by my daredevilry.
One, go...go...go..
Two, good...see....good
Three, don't be scared, Sethu.. you can do it
Four, AaaaaaaUuuuuuuuuugh ! Yeah! :o)
Five, See! Wow! See...
Six, wow am I actually doing this
Seven, Almost...my legs almost touched the wall
Eight, YEESSS! Ooooouch!
On my head, kerplunking like a string puppet whose master ran out to take an urgent piss.
Left.
Relinquished.
Quitclaimed.
Thrown.
Into the dark abysmal waters that contain a fierce gravity.
Zero-X-Posur, it says on my new swim-wear. Yes! No more exposure to those years of scary dreams because I am going to play negotiating game with water. "You let me glide through you in that calming way of yours, and I will trust you."
Yes. I am going to swim. I am going plunge myself again. Not into that dark abyss with an uncertain end, but simply into cool and clear waters. Yes. I am going to take a nice dip in the pool.
The phone caller is never a well wisher. He is never a dear friend calling to inquire about my whereabouts or my well being. He most definitely is not simply calling to say "Hey!".
Caller ID does not just indicate a particular dear one is holding one ear open for me. It is a blinking, fear-invoking red light that flashes its angry light in my face, scolding me for the time and space I take to breathe, scathing me with guilt for the audacity to prioritize my needs...a cue for me to run farther away in the hopes of disappearing. If I don't exist then your frustration towards me doesn't exist. Then all is well. Right?
No!
Nadge said "No!"
"No space for fear, distrust and uncertainty here. No, not when your doing a hand-stand." In that gentle British tone of his, he said, "You've got to leave all that behind you, and just do it. And its good for you. All that blood rushing to your brain is simply wonderful for you." He recommended that I start off doing it with someone. Someone who can hold up my legs and direct it towards the wall so I can feel okay about being up-side down. Then he said, "Use the wall. You know it will always be there. So use it to support your legs and move your legs away from the wall a bit-by-bit until you become at ease and find your balance."
Yes! Well said Nadge. I can do it! All I need to do is just ignore that 28 year old voice in my head saying, "You can't do it because it is ridiculous for you to even try when clearly you are needed on your toes to serve everyone else's passing desires. How dare you think of changing, shifting, flipping things upside down?!" Yes. A question and an exclamation at once.
I can do it!?
Today, I was flying with grace higher and higher. Exciting myself by my daredevilry.
One, go...go...go..
Two, good...see....good
Three, don't be scared, Sethu.. you can do it
Four, AaaaaaaUuuuuuuuuugh ! Yeah! :o)
Five, See! Wow! See...
Six, wow am I actually doing this
Seven, Almost...my legs almost touched the wall
Eight, YEESSS! Ooooouch!
On my head, kerplunking like a string puppet whose master ran out to take an urgent piss.
Left.
Relinquished.
Quitclaimed.
Thrown.
Into the dark abysmal waters that contain a fierce gravity.
Zero-X-Posur, it says on my new swim-wear. Yes! No more exposure to those years of scary dreams because I am going to play negotiating game with water. "You let me glide through you in that calming way of yours, and I will trust you."
Yes. I am going to swim. I am going plunge myself again. Not into that dark abyss with an uncertain end, but simply into cool and clear waters. Yes. I am going to take a nice dip in the pool.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
wisps
like an xray. the bones so vivid
all bones, nothing but bones
bones and black spaces.
black spaces,
empty spaces,
black spaces,
dark spaces,
complete spaces,
completely hidden spaces,
completely hidden spaces filled
with grain, strain, languages, silences, stillness, the flow
of breathy,
cloudy wisps,
shaped
by indiscernible winds
smoky bridges that
entwine word to woven word
and elucidate
the dark
complete
spaces
all bones, nothing but bones
bones and black spaces.
black spaces,
empty spaces,
black spaces,
dark spaces,
complete spaces,
completely hidden spaces,
completely hidden spaces filled
with grain, strain, languages, silences, stillness, the flow
of breathy,
cloudy wisps,
shaped
by indiscernible winds
smoky bridges that
entwine word to woven word
and elucidate
the dark
complete
spaces
Thursday, January 15, 2009
me and my fly socks
wet socks, dry socks, me and my fly socks
not just fly socks
flying high in the sky socks
shy socks, guy socks, plaid socks, tie-dye socks
yummy yummy rye socks,
wet socks, dry socks, me and my fly socks
Thursday, January 8, 2009
the illusion-fusion matrix
in our civil society, we have trash cans in regular intervals of space.
we delight momentarily for what the receptacle represents to us;
- our sense of responsibility to our environment
- our love for cleanliness
- our consolation that there is a logical end to our exploits
we establish in our mind the value of these bins, and rest assured that we have done our part, and that all will be well.
where do those millions of styrofoam boxes that we eat out from go? what happens to the billions of snapple bottles and soda cans? where does all that clear plastic film go?
down the joy ride of the garbage shoot, into color coded trucks, that dump the crap into multi-colored, mult-layered, multi-olfactory, multi-poisonous dumps.
soon we will grow styrofoam trees with green, yellow, orange plastic leaves that will produce polyoxygen for us to breathe deep into our beautiful lungs.
oh how we thrive in this guilt-ridden sense of responsibility, dance in our square inches of clean space in this illusion-fusion matrix of a civil society of ours!
we delight momentarily for what the receptacle represents to us;
- our sense of responsibility to our environment
- our love for cleanliness
- our consolation that there is a logical end to our exploits
we establish in our mind the value of these bins, and rest assured that we have done our part, and that all will be well.
where do those millions of styrofoam boxes that we eat out from go? what happens to the billions of snapple bottles and soda cans? where does all that clear plastic film go?
down the joy ride of the garbage shoot, into color coded trucks, that dump the crap into multi-colored, mult-layered, multi-olfactory, multi-poisonous dumps.
soon we will grow styrofoam trees with green, yellow, orange plastic leaves that will produce polyoxygen for us to breathe deep into our beautiful lungs.
oh how we thrive in this guilt-ridden sense of responsibility, dance in our square inches of clean space in this illusion-fusion matrix of a civil society of ours!
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
a longer way to go
my mother always scolded me for resting my head in my hands while i ate food. she said in my disinterest for the food, i am disrespecting this most divine gift.
so whenever something ails me and i want to lay the burden in my mind upon my own hands, i remember her words and in the respect for the gift of food, refrain from the action.
today again, i do as she says.
i look upon the piece of paper awarded to me for my rigorous study at this acclaimed university and as i read the words "to all persons to whom these presents may come greeting be it known that sethu laxmi nair...." all i can remember are the words my mother once uttered upon the receipt of another such piece of paper...
"don't congratulate her," she said. "she isn't done yet, she has a long way to go."
i look at the words and think well...this is addressed to all those to whom these presents may come greeting...and that person today certainly isn't sethu laxmi nair, because as always...
she has a longer way to go.
so whenever something ails me and i want to lay the burden in my mind upon my own hands, i remember her words and in the respect for the gift of food, refrain from the action.
today again, i do as she says.
i look upon the piece of paper awarded to me for my rigorous study at this acclaimed university and as i read the words "to all persons to whom these presents may come greeting be it known that sethu laxmi nair...." all i can remember are the words my mother once uttered upon the receipt of another such piece of paper...
"don't congratulate her," she said. "she isn't done yet, she has a long way to go."
i look at the words and think well...this is addressed to all those to whom these presents may come greeting...and that person today certainly isn't sethu laxmi nair, because as always...
she has a longer way to go.
my long hair
i wonder what it is about hair that makes me want to chop it off when i'm upset. in the moment it feels like a way to say SCREW YOU to all who love me for my beautiful hair. but then what?
then... i'm sad that my hair is gone.
my beautiful long hair.
so what now? yeah so it grows back. but it grows back oh so slowly; a half an inch a month. so it will take what seems like many millenia. until then i try to love it. this way and that, and no which way does it.
on another day i could probably ponder a little farther and figure out that my hair represents something and that the loss of it means something, and probably that the time it takes to grow back could be a time i can think of as something symbolic and find a way to grow within myself.
but today is not that day.
today i'm just frustrated.
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