[I wrote this poem over a span of one month. As the poem is long , I shall post it in parts every Friday. It’s a poem about love but some may find the content semi-erotic. Lest their finer senses be disturbed, be aware and proceed at your own risk.]
Link to the previous part : https://wp.me/p73yZZ-4lM
Part II
How does one write about one’s own heart?
A feeling that lies buried deep inside,
Carried to every part of one’s being,
A constant reminder of being alone, but not,
A dull ache that throbs,
A painful reminder of what could have been
and now never would be,
Memories that would be carried
for the remainder of the life,
Memories that cut deep and slowly bleed pain,
drip, drip, drip,
Freeze the moment and stop time,
exhilaration and it heals.[9]
The moment from eons ago
when we first embraced,
My fingers stroking your lustrous hair,
A wave a satiny black cascading to infinity,
Darker than the darkest night,
Like the darkness from the abyss of a bottomless ocean,
Sweet fragrance of jasmine
wafting in the air from the wavy darkness, and
lost in the depth of those dark waves,
My fingers touched
the graceful arc of a swan’s neck
and I found heaven.[10]
[November 29, 2020]
Pulsating veins in a neck
gently bent backwards
as my fingers traced up,
A beautiful song in the making,
Quivering rosy lips parting softly,
Hint of a pearly whites necklace
showing the tip of a rosy tongue,
As I softly touched those inviting lips
with the tip of my index finger,
A soft moan ensued
and the most beautiful pair of eyes
that I had ever seen,
Opened slowly and looked into my eyes;
And I sank
In the deepest mystery
of those bottomless eyes;
Rendered senseless.[11]
Thin eyebrows arched like a bow
framed a smooth halfmoon forehead
glistening in the afternoon sunlight
filtering through the leaves,
Unwrinkled smoothness that
unable to contain
the beads of pearls of rising passion,
let it flow over the bridge
of the slightly upturned nose,
perfectly angled;
And as it dropped ever so slowly
from the tip of the nose to
moisten a pair of thirsty lips, I gasped;
No salt of passion ever tasted so sweet
to the waiting lips of a thirsty lover.[12]
[November 30, 2020]
© Pranabendra Sarma, 2021
Connect with me in twitter @pranabsarma2020
Fleeting Muse 