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A word came out of my head

And wanted to go on a tour.

I told it to fit into my poem,

“You’ll see so many books,” I said.

“No,” said it,

“I want no poem!

They do not give me life,

They do not give me body.”

I told it to become a scrabble test,

And it laughed at my face.

“I want no-one scribbling me around,

I hate to be deciphered, I hate to be known!”

Finally I said, “Ride on the back of my mind.”

It thought a bit here,

It looked a bit around,

And said:

“That sounds all right.”

And then it rode with me,

And then I forgot about it.

Today when I looked at you,

I found a knock at my brain-door.

“Can I come out now,” the word asked.

And when I said yes,

It ran to you.

Love.

The seductress

Every little curve of her body
was made to cast a web
on the men who looked upon her.
Each smile of hers
was designed to trap her admirers.

And admire you will,
For she is the enchantress,
The supreme seductress:
You cannot resist her,
You cannot desist her.

Him, her and me

I dance to the tune he composed for her,
I chase the dreams he saw with her;
I walk the roads they paved together,
I relish the love they shared.

I,
live with them,
And they,
know not who I am.

IF...

If all troubles could fly off in the smoke of the cigarettes I blow,
Ah, life would be so easy.

If the tears could drown in the pegs of alcohol I down every day,
Ah, life would be a bliss.

If the smiles could multiply like the virus in the computers,
Ah, what pleasure living would be.

If you and I could be together with no regrets,
Ah, that would be a fantasy come true.

A married lady's plaint

What did I wish for?

A smooth skin rubbing against me and arousing me,
A soothing touch sending shivers down the spine,
Warm smell of you as you hugged me,
And a night of romantic talks.

And I got,
Your grazing beard on my chins,
The touch of your sweaty palms on my breasts,
The stink of tobacco from your mouth as you slurped on me,
And you snoring away after withdrawing from within me.

I watch the flickering moonlight
And dream of another man.

Unique sorrows

Every human,
Has a sorrow of their own,
Like their unique fingerprint,
Like their own memories.

And while there are tragic faults,
Up there for all to see,
Every human is cursed,
To live with this one unique sorrow.

There are sorrows we can share
And lighten our heart's burdens,
But this sorrow is just for us,
Ineffable and unbearable,
And yet just for us.

My song

I sang a song
That no one heard,
But it was sweet music to me;
It had all my little pleasures
And all the pains there could be.

Its words were my story,
Its music all my feelings,
Its rhythm was from the heart,
Its rendering, the soul’s dealings.

A smooth breeze went by as I sang,
And I thought I heard it whisper,
Then I realized she took my song along,
To sing to faraway lands and to the river.

The river gurgled, and it was my song again,
The ocean rumbled, and there too I heard it;
And when it rained, the pitter-patter
Sounded just like the rhythm I sang.

No one heard my song,
But there it was – everywhere;
It was sweet music to me then,
And sweeter still it is, now.

The pleasure of pain

Laughter has lost its meaning.
It shows its face for no reason at all,
And cuts through the pain I so badly desire.

To feel the stab,
To hear the shear of the skin,
To see one’s bleeding heart –
Ah, the pleasure of self-mortification!

A sadist
A masochist
Oh, call me what you please,
But I shall always cherish that pain!

For pain is deeper than pleasure –
It touches you not where it loses feeling,
But deep within where you shall be wounded forever.

Pain is the only eternal emotion.
What is pleasure but a passing fancy?