Evermore(Lamenting part I)

Infallible...you are,
and my imperfections are at stake!
vanity, pride all human mistakes
but you and your composed aristocracy
sweep with grace such blatant fallacies.
infallible,you are
and I fell
only I fell
and I only fell.
I fell and for you I fell
but infallible you are!
such cold perfection exists alone,
in deities etched,
in cold ,staunch stones.

Evermore (Encounters part I)

People, there wanderings, there chatter
all to pyres,
they irk my being

and irk my ire.
in the lost and found of love pure,
I ask them first'

where is pure desire?

each takes to the other's name
and they conspire it is not the same.

I found you in the whilst of shades
with your dark lady
her poise,  her grace.
entwined in the mane of her endless curls

you played, you fumbled and you turned your face.
(such a lost, lust lover, and such innocent greed)

I played on my tunes,
 and the the people were charmed

and your lady sprung to feet

though you sat disarmed.
not a praise worth your lips do part?
and the sheer ignorance of your love for art.

the art besides you took my hand
and led me in your beautiful lands.

Oblivious to your passions deep,
oblivious to what all you keep,

oblivious to your enchantress
I fell and failed to impress.
and you with sheer indifference

led chaos in the sheer constants.

I have led men and the higher men

each beguiled to there innate sense,

I seduce not, I don't entrance,

I enchant no spells
Nor prowl or prance.
I merely reduce to rubble all.

egos and their mighty falls.
I have crushed them once,
I'll crush them again
but to be swooned at your steps,

I never feigned.

We yet again drew a collision,

for my tryst at the stage,
now had to be weighed

and with two mere provisions

you offered me to write my fate.

a blank paper and ink

and I laughed at such a childish challenge
your aide drew out a well cut blade.
my hands not fidgety, my mind not stalled

but the doubt that rest above it all,
you who never praised my best,
have put me to an indefinite test.
would it be enough to defeat

your insolence at our first meet.

I did write and well in time

and with the courage of a a wild in own territory

 I threw my work disowned

and waited for praise and flattery,
 he took it then from my hands

and raged through it (if only he could understand)
and said hollow words just of the rhyme
so much for passion, so little for my time?
till you , swept the once blank page

and drew out meanings from words en-caged.
my verse had found its worth.

in the first few encounters.

Lady of Pain

This blog is the result of the inception of an idea that grew on my mind, body and soul. Swinburne's Dolores, is not just a verse, the church could have deemed it satanic in it's approach owing to the controversial nature of the creation and the creator but the sighing and panting followers of visceral purity  would agree to the theory.Pain in its glory and pain in its absolute form, more intense, more stark and concentrated in this existence than all other diluted emotions and the sensation of them .

 A sudden wry smile appears on the face of that dark ,enclosed character that I am involved with. I need not say that such mystery, such puzzle, a collusion of pain in pleasure and the art of the balance lie within the depths of the embodied feminine fate.Leaving aside the realms of Paganism and the19th century zeitgeist that might have inspired the poet to come up with the inscriptions, I could enliven these aspect in the 21st century with the examples that are incarnated in the myriad shades of feminism. Women and pain seem to have had an eternal relationship, not just the naturally endowed gift of it or the unnatural myths  that a fragile frame brought along but the sheer ability to incite and induce it. I do not blame my kind for the Sadomasochistic behaviour, I love them for it.

A man would spend a lifetime of cold logic and reason in a struggle to avoid any inconvenience due to pain, then finally his fears catch up with him and the very Ice Man approach freezes him in a hollow meaningless existence, sometimes they seek to break it or the escapist that they always are they create a pseudo comfort of some skewed kind that spells the end for them.
They blame women of being perennially miserable, bringing emotional hysteria and inflicting it's ramifications upon them but they do not realize that women are no strangers to pain, they have long known the latent threads of bliss and how to invoke them through the shock of a spasm.For a woman all pleasures come through pain or pleasures lead to their darker counterparts , the onset of a carnal bliss or the satisfaction of motherhood, Sacrifice at one stance brings success in the other. Deep passions, deep bliss, deep pleasures come through deep sacrifices, intense pain and a acidic penance that dissolves all that is impure. The moderation and balance that the wise seek also lies within this pendulum motion that oscillates from one extreme to the other, balance is not static it has to be dynamic.

A woman embraces pain, chooses to let it dwell in her because she knows that her pain is not some punishment , nor has she been guilty of it( yes, I rubbish the theory of pain as rendering of guilt or the fire fueled by sin). Pain is as much a part of our essence as the quest of pleasure, in fact if there were no pain the quest of pleasure would be meaningless, to know light you need to suffer dark and not just suffer it but live through and develop an intimate understanding .

I have always believed in a higher being, some people chose to avoid that aspect or well absolutely nullify it but I believe in it. In my understanding that higher being dwells within us, there is a science to explain this inexplicable being but it lives within, it has to be brought out from the shackles of the superficial , it needs a chiseled weapon to scrape of the tatters from above and that chiseled weapon is pain. How will we know our own extremes, the range or the lack of it if we deny to explore one side of ourselves?

Desire and Love, Passion and Detachment, Pleasure and Pain , an indisputable cycle,  rather a strong and lasting relationship. Strangely, a woman is capable of all..She rests in her pain, smug, diabolical, silent and inviting with all such connotations drowned in the mystique that surrounds her being.