Here are my thoughts playing with words. Wordplay is an experimental series of 26 short poems, one for each letter of the English alphabets. I realized my thoughts are rather wordy; as the letters descend, the lines turn exhaustive. I do hope you will enjoy this collection.
A sharp pull embraced the closing
of my lips; smokes ranting, translating
her smile into infinite meanings,
as misleading thoughts perturbed my lungs –
“a flicker of joyous ambiance had
peeked from the edges of her eyes.”
I breathed out my lies.
Brevity is the conscious attire
where the world and I dance
In sincere appreciation of all
Cradle me my dear
Captivate my senses,
The bothersome freckles
of the night sky,
and that hooting owl
have taken me away.
Destroy me in your dreams;
Feast on me as if I were your last meal
and stab me a thousand times over.
When the dreams are gone,
Lie to me and love me.
Earlier today I revisited your corridor;
J’Adore L’Eau Cologne Florale
infested the scene, floated the fireflies;
like dust snaring the darkness.
The scarlet traces of the curtains
still danced with the feeble wind.
My eyes caught their every step
and reminded me of your elegance;
and how cruelly the light impeded my gaze
when you once walked down that corridor.
Forgetting the string of cassiterite beads
Sliding down her broken shoe lace,
She walked away leaving a trail;
As if black pearls glistening in the light
Biding me to follow.
Gnaw and bicker at my woes,
My regrets of the morrows biding to be done;
Invite them as leeches to my dreams
Let them remind me
of the many tears yet to come.
I shall jest with them and their woeful tidings,
Reminiscing in tomorrow, in accordance and fear
to a silence that I crave to bear.
Hands folder in prayer
The pilgrims’ chants resounded against
the harsh mud walls.
The winds sharpened the rain drops
As they howled against the restless leaves;
As though, in their own words they struggled
To answer the many sheds of tears
that last restive
for pardon and for peace.
I do not love you with a promise
Nor with a lover’s words to a beloved;
I love you with a silent tongue
And a world open to wonder –
Traversing eons on rifts of sunken ships
and skies torn asunder,
Stepping on wishing wells of shimmering hope
and through lives sewn together.
I love you not as a lover to woe
But as a renaissance of imagination
of conversations and silence,
of lonely nights and empty words
Eternally bound together.
“Jekyll,” she called me,
Wearing that sincere smirk across her lips,
Smugly she tilted her waistline just to the point
Where my eyes would meet and move on.
Eyes lined with mascara hiding that inordinate curiosity
to investigate, to satisfy that thirst of not knowing,
to get intimate to the point of no secrecy,
She ravished in flirtatious taunts as our society dictated.
When the insincere stares poignantly agreed
She expectedly leaned over, nipped my ear,
and murmured, “Show me your ‘Hyde’.”
Keeping her thoughts at the
back of my tongue
I let my emotions sink in.
A time to fear to dream
To recline into a reprise
into songs of despair,
Where memories are
bittersweet behind thin lines of
rising grey smoke;
behind welcomed solitude.
Letting her hair embrace the fickle
touches of my fingers
She laid down her thighs,
bare to my comforts;
Her eyes unassured and conflicted
to the rush of the moment
Fleeting, she opens her lips,
Monsoon echoes through the night
Little drops giving life to the silence –
They fall like an old friend settling
down to listen to my thoughts;
and I tell her tales that I want to hear again,
And I remember that blissful sensation of
stories heard without a word,
Stories that turn the night into a beautiful serenade
Of raindrops kissing me to my dreams.
Never before had a smile wrapped me
with such a fascinated grip.
All the chaos of the road,
the humid smokes rising from the dust
and the bustles of people’s rushed footsteps;
None could refrain his smile
from impeding my heart.
Obsession revered her eyes
As she willfully glanced past my flirt;
Coy words danced on her eyelashes
Rifting through the stoic fragrance
Like wings set against pale brown stares
and I knew for a day,
She was mine.
Perhaps I left my heart on that corner chair
Beneath the three women
as if painted only for us to neglect
and to remain as fond memories washed
within red walls and serenades.
Perhaps it was that smile,
That riveted me, grounded me;
Perhaps it was that henna you put on –
‘the rising sun on your palm’
with my name etched slyly in a corner;
Or that slender stare you carried so precisely,
Yet never coming close.
Perhaps I carefully left my heart, somewhere there.
Quietly her well-crafted words took over.
I couldn’t recall the last time
a voice plagued me as much as hers;
They evoked in my thoughts like a serenade
that was meant to be endeared.
The calm bearing of her eloquence
ensnared an irrefutable aroma
To which my thoughts lay bare in bewilderment –
Her elegance was more than I could bear.
Was it her eyes that spoke more
Or perhaps her lips that evermore
conceded a smile bent like the crescent moon,
restrained and subtle.
Let me be the air of your words
Forever drenched in conversations,
Let my lips hover over yours,
pretending to touch
Immersed in rushed emotions and ineffable desires;
Let them remind me how a lover dreams
For it has been long –
and I have long forgotten
how it feels to fall in love.
Respite never quite caught up;
Those lissome fingers slyly curved to poise
Never did leave my thoughts.
As I drove down with her in that murkily lit road
They haunted me much like the sharp edge of her lips
Instilling a craving to touch, to hold, to breathe,
and a fearful desire to bare my skin
For her nails to carve.
The pain would suffice as respite,
only when her breaths would fog my window shield.
She taught my kisses to lie;
my coarse lips on her eyes to prey on secrets
and my fingers on her bare skin to trace false dreams.
My promises became songs from a sinner’s breaths
and my words whispers from a liar’s tongue.
My words became her muse;
Her love, my lies.
The curls of her hair straightened
as my fingers brushed through;
Lily and rosemary snuck through the crevices of her hair
Perforating the air in an ineffable beauty,
Much like how the dent in her lower lip
captured my breaths.
As she turned to look at me
Her ubiquity rapidly absorbed my senses
My eyes lingered on that beauty spot
dominating her upper lip.
She smiled; the effervescence skipped my words
And her fingers playfully tilted the curves
of her hair behind her ear.
At a loss, I mumbled, “beautiful,”
and therein I remained.
Unless I stopped writing
I knew I would be trapped in that tiny world of ours;
Where waterfalls and shadows
Lay restive to Bourgenvilleas and Plumbagos,
and those Jasmines snuck aroma
as far as eyes could breath.
You stood there like a goddess,
beside the lone Chrysanthemum
Waiting for my fingers to slip in between yours,
For me to hold your eyes
and for my air to fill your breaths.
Unless I stopped, I knew your love would remain
and I would always find you
where the Chrysanthemum lies;
and so I linger; and so I write
Violet seeped through your lustrous hair that day
the sweet dents of your cheeks manifested you;
Your lips spoke without words
Slyly perched against the flounder of your drooped eyes
Breathing in the aroma of the viola dangling from your hair.
I wonder whether you noticed my eyes
struggling to escape you;
or how I intentionally walked past you over and over
Like a child first gratified in love.
My eyes breathed you
and I smell you now in what I write;
and in those flowers to whom you lent your beauty,
those violas, taunting,
flirting with the night.
Words danced on her finger-nails
As she gracefully inked them in;
Scratches lay reminiscent of our lust
Enshrouded in a love yet to ensnare.
She bit my left ear in a reclusive art
Like strokes painting my earlobe;
Her whispers moaned like the bellowing moon
Her voice, like fireflies crowded my sight.
As her eyelashes rifted against the blur of my eyes
I saw repentance of another’s love;
I pressed her tight like a whale on water
Ushering her memories to wade into mine.
“Xenia” she scribbled in that coffee smudged tissue paper;
Her peacock necklace dangling in a hypnotic vibe
As her cleavage peeked through her tattoo engraved chest.
She smelled like olive wafting through the dry mist of rain;
The piercing beneath her lower lip
reflected the godrays of the setting sun
But her left ear decorated in gems snuffed away the stage.
She was sunset, with light and shadows dancing on her curves
that reeled an imperfect beauty hazily peeling away my thoughts.
She scribbled her number in strokes much like
her raven eyes dressed in smoke;
Her chest casually throbbing like a song she refused to sing.
She ended her song with a sly stare along the corner of my eyes
Like sunset crawling into the ashen corridors of an empty church.
She became sunset to my eyes.
Yonder beckons an impeccable ache
For it is the morrow to which I shall lose you.
I will no longer dream of you and I;
There will be no need of monsters
to guard the princess to be saved,
No train rides through villages
neither escapes to the beach;
Those dreams will become graves,
In which, like the dead, you and I shall live.
That ‘someday list,’ forgotten, shall reek in dust
My poems lost, swoon away like the wind.
You shall not know my lips, and I not your smell
You will forget my warmth and I your smiles;
Like so many a lovers’ tale,
I will not love you, and you not I.
Zephyrs spiraled her belly button where my kisses taste her skin;
‘An accolade of unraveling senses cocooned within soft conch shells’ –
Her taste is no different; a symphony of zephyrs beating the waves.
Brushing her thighs conched within mine,
My fingers hover over the crevice of her breasts;
Her hair brisk callously between our lips,
Our tongues whisper and echo an eternity.
I tell her I love her like an old man setting sail into the seas.
My fingers trace her pompous lips, singing childhood rhymes,
Licking the curves of her ears, holding her like rusted emerald iron;
My lips dig deeper, retracing the marks on her skin, and
Her breaths usher like zephyrs, echoing in conch shells with every kiss.
I tell her I love her like zephyrs carrying an old man’s sail into the seas.
– Adnan M. S. Fakir