Sunday, February 05, 2006

Asking you out on a winter night

Tell me, if I asked for
a part of you tonight, would you
let me take a sip of that thunderstorm
raging through the shores of your heart?
Tell me – I ask you
for your city of dust and ashes, those
congested streets that you love, the ideals
of your forefathers; your dream, dark and looming,
transcending bodies and time... your dream,
dark and looming, that lends you blood
and wings.

I ask you for the hunger of your people, rising,
like a ghost in the colour of your eyes;
for your chaotic memories, crowded
with scruffy old men, shrivelled women, children
with begging bowls, lives lived
and died on footpaths, closed-down factories whose
rotting gates reek of blood. I ask
for your path of fire – pre-destined – scrawled
over a piece of paper.

And I ask for your whirlwind evenings, the usual games,
cigarette-end conversations with ladies
with strange surnames; your nights
of careless passion; and the
emptiness singeing your soul, as you walk
out of yet another lover's door on a stagnant dawn.

And at a rhythmless moment - you look
behind, your head tilted like half-sculpted
marble (the rest of you still
undone), your hair thick sheets of rain
over your shoulders, and your reflection
filling you with the bitterness
of a disenchanted traveller, who realizes
that the horizon has eluded him
again. And at
a rhythmless moment, when you think
your soul defeated and lost – I ask for those thoughts.

Tell me, if I asked for a part of
you tonight, would you let me hold
your hands, moulded from centuries of soil
and song? Would you place them – expressive and
warm – on my hips; would they
melt, with a drowning
madness, within my flesh and self?
Tell me, if I asked for a part of you tonight,
would you let me
a part of you?


Tiny Black Cat said...

So, that's your life now, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes. A jumped-up copper to the nobs and a nob to the rest, eh?

Pg. 16, Feet of Clay, Discworld - Terry Pratchett

Erythrocyte said...

oshombhob bhalo kobita. phete gechhi. and this is no hyperbole.

Tiny Black Cat said...

ooooh rimi'di, thankoo! you finding it "oshombhob bhalo" is big unexpected reaction, especially because one is pretty much in awe of the honed writers of the creative writing class. was studying marxist theories at school and che guevara by interest during that period, if the memory doesn't decieve - tar'i side-effect eishob.

reply korte ektu deri hoye gelo... ei blog'ta check back kori'na oto regularly, plus exam'er jonno net off chhilo.

My Cenotaph said...

This was really nice...different from the kind of rhymed stuff that i write...but it was absolutely amazing! i especially like the last bit!!! u should write me!