Desert Rose

I thought your heart leaked love;  when did venom turn out to be so intoxicating. So extremely alluring;  yet unexplainably excruciating. It was in your lips; soft yet evil, conquering my soul. It was in your touch; hidden beautifully in that romance. Like a beautiful thing it came; Then a sense of falling and an eventual cease. I am free now.

It was all about order then; But she doesn’t know until when. When did that pull towards love and chaos take over? Or maybe was chaos always the constant? Her world now moved too fast. She missed the shades of each sunset;  She no longer felt her toes kissing the earth beneath. It was no more about order; But chaos. It was like being the moon afraid of the vast sky; but loving the way it held the stars. She yearned for peace from all this mayhem. But she didn’t realise that she invited it; Because she was too wild to feel alive when at peace. To be reckless; To consume. To be wild ; To be her. Chaos was its own kind of beautiful.

They wrote love letters like bed time stories and stacked them.  Those stacks. Reminders to never forget. They swam in a sea of open ended sentences.  Sentences punctuated with her scent. But did she know then, that the gravity of loneliness smelled the same as well. Broke. They rebuilt. Broke again. The 'lost cause' wrapped in 'remember when ' and 'what could have been' ;  all in an 'if only things were different'. And she's lost. Dizzy. Lost on that less traveled road.  He was like a December. Serene. He was the morning cool.  And she no less than a fool for mistaking glass for the openness ;  mistaking the calm for content. To awaken the lost, silent dreams ; wanting to gather hope and spirit ; those stacks found a place elsewhere ;  those bed time stories were put to sleep. Forever. 

So I came across a little something lately that was pretty interesting and I was unaware of. Maybe you already know about it but never the less, worth sharing for those like me :) “Love stories” are often associated – at least in the popular imagination – with fairy tales, adolescent day dreams, Disney movies etc.   Beginning in the early 1970s with the groundbreaking contributions of John Alan Lee, researchers have developed classifications that they believe better characterize our romantic predispositions. The patterns unknowingly expressed by respondents culminated in a taxonomy of six distinct love “styles” that continue to inform research in the area forty years later. The first of these styles – EROS – is closely tied in with images of romantic love that are promulgated in Western popular culture. Characteristic of this style is a passionate emotional intensity, a strong physical magnetism – as if the two partners were literally being “p...

All that turbulent past ; to times moving way too fast. All that bow and arrow ; that made it right at my heart. All the wrongs and mistakes ; that saw immense growing up. All those trials that seemed right ; which turned out what I call my life now. All those moments of clarity ; which was just a mere weak illusion. All those questions with no answers ; but just my endless and tired gaze. All that waiting for greater purpose ; which is more about whether I care to hang around. All that turbulent past ; to times moving way too fast.

It is the fire in her eyes ;  And the flash of her teeth ;    The swing in her waist ;  And the delight in her feet.   It is in the reach of her arms ;  The cross of her hips ;    The stride of her step ;    The red of her lips.      It is in the arch of her back ; The ecstasy of her smile ; The ride of her breasts ;  The grace of her style.  It is in the click of her heels,    The sway of her hair,    The palm of her hand,    The need for her care.     A woman. Phenomenally. You should know ;  Just why her head’s not bowed.    She doesn’t shout or jump about,  Or have to talk real loud.    When you see her passing,  It ought to make you proud.  Because it is her. Phenomenally. Courtesy : Maya Angelou

She : What is your take anyway? He : It is one's decision. See my idea is very simple. You being an individual have your own way of seeing things and deciding the right and wrong. She : True. He : I was raised being told that certain things are absolutely evil and till a point I even believed it. When I moved out into the world, I met people who were raised differently. Anything is like that. If you want to do something, do it. Just plain and simple. Not to show anyone or as a burden. But with joy and the feeling of RESPONSIBILITY. She : But what if you do it irresponsibly and hurt a few in the process? He : That is what I am coming to. It isn't easy at all. This is applicable only if you are independent of the action. The moment you engage someone into your freedom, it is your responsibility to ensure the other person is also equally respected and gets to be part of the game in all aspects, simply because it is a choice that was made.   Like i...