Just cooked up a story, so that I could share a few lines from my favourite poems.
“I could meet you now,
And I would wish this scar
To have been given with
All the love
That never occurred between us”
Reading this in a very subtle voice, he paused. He was lying on the cold floor, on his bare back, and she on the unkempt bed gazing the damp ceiling.
Her long hair was dangling from the edge of the bed, and he whiffing her jasmine hairspray.
“that was not squeamish, for a change. I like it” she said in a somnolent voice.
“ would you care to write about something I gave you, for me to linger on, long after you go” he cut in.
“oh come on, you still thinking about that, we have chosen different walks of life, and you were supportive….”
“ever since you got you call from business school, there has been this void” he said in a broken voice.
She turned her face towards the floor to catch a glimpse of him. Her hair straight hair that curled at the bottom looked like baby snakes trying to spread their hood.
“you cant do this to me” her eyes slightly moistening up. “here, read one for me from this”
He flipped though the pages of Pablo Neruda and halted at one
“how you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
My savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running…
My words rained over you….
I want to do with you what spring does with cherry trees…”
It was a humid afternoon, and summer rains were about to kiss the scorched sand. He looked at her, and broke into a smile. So did she.
“why did you go over to that shabby guy and told him you were awe struck,listening him speak”
“because I fell in love with the Prince Hamlet, he was then” she said with assertion.
“and not that guy who looked at you with retarded eyes and muffled mouth?”
“certainly not, why would I?” she said slyly
“Bitch you are” he said with love in his eyes.
“go on, my bastard, I’m craving for abuse, don’t make me beg” she said in a put up sad note
It had started to drizzle, the sweet aroma of the sand filled the room. The damp ceiling formed patterns as the rain came on heavily and looked like the blotches in a shrinks card.
“that bird with bright feathers that crept into my dreams and gave me sleepless nights has let herself loose. life isn’t going to be the same.”
“its not, going to be the same for the bird herself. She loved being smothered and pampered by her beasty master. But Life gave her bigger wings to add more to the brightness and she has to go” she added to his train of thought.
He broke into laughter. “Poetry is never your strong point huh” he taunted
“Poda chekka. Ninte oru dark sarcasm”
“you love it, don’t you?”
“ I love it when it come from those lips that hide behind the jungle of a beard you fancy” she paused . “Nemo, I’ll miss all that” she said in a low voice.
“o, my drama queen, chuck the sadness..how about, I’ll buy you some ice cream?” he said pulling her cheeks to a makeshift smile.
“I’m game after you read me one more poem, how about the cinnamon peeler ?”
“if I were a cinnamon peeler,
I would ride your bed
And leave the yellow bark dust
On your pillow…” he went on in his rugged deep voice through which she saw her Prince Hamlet.
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