i have been spending a lot of money lately. however, given the current state of economy...thats a scary thing and i am going to revert back to being a little kanjoos. A lot of pujo clothes have been bought and 3 perfumes. 2 Dior and 1 CK. And I feel so rich and pampered. I always knew I will be able to love myself the most. However, I rarely smell myself....right now sitting in Confucious, I can smell me...and soon i wont be able to...and there is none around who will say "you smelling nice!"

musings

Sand-filled day dream froths over
like my scented tea cup in this mid-afternoon
and new places blind me white
and I scatter and run over like bees

My life (for my premankur)

And what kind of dream is that

Purple turtles

Turning into a rich lady’s wrinkles

Crows tapping a tune on her face

My summertime quilt freezing me

And before I wake up I dream a dream

And what kind of dream is that.

My happier friends back home

Happier, gaier, Caffeine-addicted.

Defy age and march on

And what kind of dream is that

The young yet cynical insides

Turn out to the first wrinkle

and wake up to a middleage.

And what kind of dream is that

Silly girls play with helium still

And love turns into ‘Ok’

Passion into nonchalance

And what kind of dream is that

Life carries on step by step

Soul-mate turns to cinder

July turns into autumn

And what kind of dream is that

And what kind of dream is this?

 

 

 

time is moving

only too slow

and my intestines rot

with every passing minute

without work

Orange blossoms cling onto my morning skin. My very intelligent dog  lies, panting after a walk with her father, my father. My mother is trying to time the tea, so as to coincide with my coming out of the bath. My sister enjoying the sleep i awoke from. My extremely disgusting cabmate gives a missed call. Orange blossomed haze helps me refocus. Till i reach work and the day begins to unravel.

twilight

Greener Grass on the other side

Mowed down by dirty kids

Heavy clouds have moved over

My house glows of the evil within.

kiss the girls

Pink stairway to Shelob’s lair.

Paved with honey and milk

Glazed with 1000 prisoner hair

Rose red blood downs made of silk

Shelob, mighty Shelob walks on knives

its sharp edge pulling closer the dirty net

1000 pretty milk maidens mock their own lives

With dead eyeballs brushed under the carpet.

Pearls (‘o wisdom)

Drop

From your palms (rough)

From your lips (strangely white)

Your skin smell of melons (bodyshop)

Your hair smooth and curling (dove)

Pearls (aforementioned)

You drop carelessly (as careless s you are with money and..tax)

I pretend not to notice (cos you love more those who loved you less)

I have a wooden box (mahogany)

Filled with your mouth, your brain, your heart and soul (as for your body.....)

Along with your pearls.

My wooden box is heavy and aches with the posthumous love ( you know I am just kidding myself)

Your pearls (of love, caresses and unconditional affection)

Pink and grey (like the salt water ones you loved)

Rest within my melancholic box. 

My Morrison

Rebound

let me

lie on that piece of your skin tonight,
the rest of the world seem so bright.
dark skin, dark hair.
let me lie with you tonight.

will you refuse,
if i let my mouth linger
on your breasts.
will you pull at my hair,
will you urge me on,
or will you push me away?

will you cringe?
if my ungainly broken heart
calls your name out.
will you reply.
will you shut the door.
will you.....will you..
lie with me tonight?

let me seek refuge tonight.
in your hard soft mouth,
lover be mine
once tonight
and morning we can breathe again.

let me seek refuge in your
cold warm island tonight.
shelter be mine.
once tonight.
and morning we can be friends again.