Tag Archives: Romance

About wit

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Dearest,

Somehow, I hope you are taking a little break from work at this time to read this. What are the chances you are online now?

When I woke up this morning, I was brightly smiling to your face. I knew you were the special one for me, even though that could have meant different things if one were to analyse it. I told you how I was ready to spend the rest of my life with you. You smiled with so much warmth in your eyes, I almost dropped a tear onto my pillow. Usually it’s my saliva that wets it when I sleep. But you never complain about my drooling, the way I never faulted you for snoring, both of us despite different head/neck positions we had tried. It’s just our queer romantic thing, I guess.

You then asked me what would happen to our love after our lives on earth.

I replied I did not know.

Really, who knows what comes next after? Who has gone and returned to tell us, and why should we believe him/her?

You then sweetly tugged at my warm succulent cheeks. The kind of cheeks a masculine man should not have. I swiftly beat your hands away, telling you sharply not to patronize me. I told you I knew what you would say next. You looked condescending as you smiled lovingly at me, telling me not to be presumptuous. Even now, I can hear you laughing sarcastically at me for judging your look as condescending. I retorted that I knew you would call me shallow. You would say I don’t usually analyse things properly. You would not exactly use the word “shallow”, but would every letter imply it. You act at times as though you understood everything. You had once told me it was just the way your countenance was, and that you really did not regard yourself as very knowledgeable or wise. You should know that your body gestures are important. I had often told you to look in the mirror as you practised your facial expressions. You can never become perfect at understanding or manipulating people if you could not understand yourself, or control your own expressions. Then you tell me that to be more romantic I had to learn to look at issues more closely and clearly. How do you do that! You are so amazing for managing to link intellectual wit with romance.

So, let us be clear.

We had a hot argument this morning because of what would happen to us after we died? Or because of what would happen to our love? Or because you wanted to romantic with words? Or because you wanted me to have given a better and more romantic answer –if only I had thought more deeply of course! Well, how about: “We will never die because God would never want a love like ours to end?” Or, “We would still continue our love in the next realm?” Well, you and I know that you’d sooner throw the second answer out as a painful cliché. You’d then pick on the first one, asking how God would break a core rule of mortality just for our sake. Then the discussion would still hit the rocks!

Am I looking at issues more closely now? Have I been right in my analysis so far? Am I smart enough for you to respect me now? Am I right enough to match your wit now? You know that in a twisted romantic way, I am fatally drawn to your mind?

Because I really need to. Somehow, I am convinced you are the one for me. And we have to be a complementary match.

Will you tell me something different now? Will you be warm towards me? Or will you tell me I have yet again totally misrepresented you, here in the face of the whole world this time?

Well, that would even be if you happen to be online now.

 

 

Fatally yours,

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Explained -The Mad Village Poet 11(End)

Jullunder: monkey drinking coca-cola

Please refer to my post @ https://ifeelshadows.wordpress.com/2012/07/16/my-idyllic-village-experience/ for a background to the story.

Original(O) :The city was becoming crowded
With the less-hairy members of my species.
Explained(E): I am at it again, pretending as an ape. As an ape, I regard human beings as my relatives. At least, science has shown that they are the next to me. One little thing science has blundered in, is saying that they are AHEAD of me in the chain. But, I am waiting patiently for when their lesser intellligence will get the better of them; and they will wipe out themselves in their violent and selfish animalistic fevers. A nuclear war dance would be a good way to send them all reeling off the stage. And I’ll have my day.
O: They laugh at my afro;
I mourn for their baldness.
E: Naturally, these deluded humans think I have more hair than I need.
(Incidentally, as a human, I actually had quite a lot of hair on my head -the typical afro style. And people never seem to say enough about it.)
Some of them have discovered their nakedness, but unfortunately can never grow back their hair no matter how much hair-growth formulae they use.
O: At least they have carved out a new niche.
I shall call them humans.
E: I have, at least, given them what they want. They always seem to be obsessed with recognition and some sense of importance in itself. They always seem to be crazy about identity(irrespective of whatever bizarre thing/belief/ideology they really stand for), worth(even when they are not useful to the next man), carving out niches and being different(even if this new niche is a self-destructive, no-good niche). This identity-thingy or title seems to be a different drug of addiction in itself, to them. They want to be KNOWN for something. Anything!
O: Now, I hope none comes back
To interrupt my solitary forest meditation;
Begging for some hair-growth formula
When they can’t keep warm by being “on heat”;
E: Humans are so ashamed of themselves that they never seem to tire of finding new ways to alter their biological make-ups. Some want to live forever and would spend their lives to purchase an anti-aging cream even if the active ingredient of that cream is monkey soup. Some want to change the basic colours of their skins.
These humans claim they are free-thinking free-will beings. Yet they have become enslaved to doing as their mind pleases.
Little wonder they can’t keep warm by being “on heat”. Little wonder they get high and dry seeking pleasures and whatever else their FREE minds desire. It’s a freaky cycle of knowledge/enlightenment – thirst – search – acquisition/”satisfaction” – realisation of further desires. They get all and they get nothing in the end. Still left cold!
I’ll probably humour them and do them a favour: in my solitary forest meditation, I’ll cook up an afrodisiac that can keep them “on heat” for as long!
O: And are desperate for some meaning,
Which is to be found only in monkey soup.
E: And, after all their search, they will realize that none of what they got made any real, lasting sense.
Maybe, they will at last come bow at my feet and I’ll teach them -the fulfilment in simplicity and realising one’s place as a creature.
O: It is midnight again-
My period of peak activity;
Ears stretched taut, hairs standing alert,
Nostrils flared, lips set,
Eyes unblinking, fingers feverishly working.
E: Just as written -my nocturnal self!
O: The mad village poet goes to sleep on his laid egg;
Hoping it would hatch by morning into the mad city poet!
E: Yeah! The eggs is hatching already. This being the last of the Mad Village Poet’s rants, The Mad City Poet is coming out of the shell soon. I can feel the baby kicking in my tommy now.
Thank you.
Epilogue(Original):
Couples hanging out on Friday night,
A transaction that comes with a “minimum wage” agreement.
Pity if either one is an economist;
Then the other will be a charitable social worker!
Epilogue(Explained): It’s Friday night, and the mating ritual of the humans reaches a climax. It needn’t be said that: even the so-called romantic love is still a two-way thing. It’s a kind of business transaction. It’s not as pure and selfless as they make it out to be.
Shame! Considering that in our ape kingdom, you needn’t be a father to the fruits of your royal oats sown! You don’t even have to give the she a banana to buy her butts!
The sad part of OUR people’s animalism!

Reality Of Shadows.

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A secret admirer I can’t see. I got to know of him through my friend who told him about me. She met him recently where she travelled to. She had gone to help me get this rare item from a store; and along came a man who was interested in the same thing. Somehow, at lunch, they ended up talking about me. (I hope she bears no grudge.)
He would write and say all these wonderful things to me. Well! Things that could pass off as initial wooing. He was very smart; it was like he understood a lot about women. Maybe he has had quite a trailer-load of personal experiences!
“Stop thinking like that, girl. He is not a left-over from the love’s garbage trailer.”
My friend said all these sweet things about him. She also said some not-too-magical things. (I hope it was not to keep me from getting too involved with him.) That way I was happy he was for real. There was a little dose of reality to him.
I got convinced to give it a try. I sent my phone number to him. He called almost immediately. Our first conversation was wonderful.
Over the course of a short time, we grew very close. He would send bits of his person to me. I don’t mean his flesh! He could send a picture of something he drew today; a photograph of his home growing up. It seemed very real to say I was falling for him. It was very fun.
I know it’s probably cliche to say a man should be interested in a lady; but, if you experienced what I felt, you would love it.
Before long, I was telling him what I was eating for dinner, I just got out of shower, and sending the pictures of my new hairstyles and dresses to him. I DID long for his approval. And when he gave it, my night was warm with the sun. I bought his favourite perfume so I could have his fragrance all over me when I slept.
He genuinely appreciated me. He wasn’t rich, but he always managed to pull off some surprise gifts via delivery services at times.
I know that it pays to be safe. But it also pays to live life out and true.
It has been three months today, and I am yet to see him.
I have heard of tales of internet sex predators before and I know a lot of harm results from virtual romance. I have been asking to see him, but he stays quite far away. And for some reason, he always couldn’t make it to come see me. Amidst all he told me about himself, he didn’t tell me the exact house address. Work always kept me tied, so I couldn’t go see him. At a time, I thought I would bail. But when I considered all he was and did, it felt so much. He was giving me so much I couldn’t imagine running at a loss. I also couldn’t imagine anything worth holding back from him. Oh! So he would swoop down on me one night and ask for sex, and I’d refuse?! (I silently pray he is a gentleman, though; I hope I don’t have to wiilingly give away my body before marriage.)
It has been three months now
And I am becoming worried.
Initial disappointments at his inability to show up…
Then little wonderings and worryings…
To little doubts and fears…
Some skepticism and suspicions…
Mixed with deeper longing and patient passion.
Moments I sit and think…
Moments I worry and fret but couldn’t make sense of all the questions that kept me awake…
Moments I analyse and look to reason…
Moments I just go over the messages and recorded phone calls to re-live the reality of it all…
Moments of desire alone on a cold bed, drunk in your fragrance.
I reach out but I can’t touch you…
I cry but I can’t feel your eyes…
You seem close in my heart, but an abyss away…
You are real, but you are also unreal.
I’ll go anywhere to see you in full form…
I’ll do anything to scale the wall separating our worlds…
I’ll give anything just to HAVE the whole of you. And soon, please…
And I’ll be running with loving-meek fury to tear the thin veil between this reality and your reality.
I hope you see this wherever you are.
You are the shadow that colours my light; the dream that makes my reality blind.