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You steep yourself in joy

The moments warmly melt together

Until your smile clicks into automode

And you realize there’s only so much of another’s joy you can handle when you are hurting inside.

Their joy gushes forth and

envelopes your willing heart

but it makes the sinkhole larger…

It makes the hole gnaw away faster

making its gaping maw even larger

you helplessly taste the bitter tinge of woe mix with the sweetness of the time

Your conscience flails in the viscose goo of regret…

And you steel yourself against the tears that prick you with insistence

Because it horrifies you that

you could ever besmirch their rightful joy.

Juxtaposition II

A shared birthday:

She walks into his embrace, gazing into his eyes. She can’t help but glow.

He sings “Happy Birthday” softly to her.

He asks “Do you want a cake?”

She looks at him: “Hmmm…I want something sweeter…”

They come out of their room,

Happily spent.

She takes out a box of indian sweets

All his favorites she hopes…

She presses the candle softly into a gulab jamun in the middle.

“Let’s celebrate both our birthdays!” he enthuses.

He pulls her into his lap, she puts her arms around him,

They sing to each other in boxers and lingerie.

she sings softly, her lips lightly grazing the side of his head with every word. They kiss before they blow out the candle together.

“What did you wish for?”

“You’re my wish come true” she says laughing gaily.

I wish we could do this ever year…

A much later birthday (hers):

They stand over the stove

Looking at a cake slice in a box.

“Why don’t we sit down?”

“Nah, let’s have the cake?”

He gets forks.

“Aren’t you going to sing for me, it is my birthday..?”

“Really?…uh yeah ok…”

“Happybirthdaytoyou. Happybirthdaytoyoudear…”

He sticks his fork into the cake slice and shoves it in his mouth. He goes for a second, intent on the cake.

“It’s good!”

She stands there looking at him.

She swallows her disappointment… She wishes it wouldn’t feel so intense each time she has to do it….

You would think by now i would know better.

The cake tastes pasty in her mouth.

Thank you!!

WordPress just notified me that I have made 500 posts on my blog…and I think how grateful I am to all the people whom I may never meet but still touched my heart with their work and their likes, comments and follows.

I want to thank each and every one of you for making me feel so encouraged and brave enough to share what I write… I thought of writing this thank you so many times and I will surely regret it if it just stays a well-intentioned thought.

Love to all,
Thank you for being the reason for brightening so many of my days! =)

Petits XIV

a relief-ful sleep

a deep pressed sleep

a well steeped sleep

a much welcomed sleep

a tumble less slumber

an uninterrupted doze

now i bring my eyes to close

and sleep with peace on my mind

+++

an often seen post

“be happy for yourself”

“make yourself happy first”

“your happiness depends on you”

“you make your happiness”

“you are the creator of your joy”

a superficial toast to what one wants to be

but without you….i cannot seem to find myself

let alone find the joy sunken low within me

++++

another deadline written in the air

another supposed timely due date

another task for my fickle patience

arduous it is to wait and not waste away a little more each time

To

to envy the sorrows
that have comforts
*
to question the cares
of those who have
ones to save them
*
to search for a
smaller piece
of a gauzy dream
all glimmering with hope
one where joy
is still buoyant
and ignorant
of the troubles
that follow
***
to deny that a whimper
was heard where a
roar was thoroughly expected
*
to seek the words
that were heard in the heart
but were left unsaid
the air still silent
and stuck within
the breath
wishing to remain
inside
and end what all
it had started
***
and to forget what
hope there ever
was of returning
to that little
sad pit of denial

***

manic’s playground

a manic’s playground is            my mind

entrapped within a jungle gym of ludicrous joy

buried deep within the soiled sands of plunging sorrow

an unbalanced act atop the high top

the too quick and slick descent of my                sanity upon the slide

the cloying sweet-rancid smell of the tire swing

as i hold         tight

sickened-spinning-dizzy from deciphering what’s real              what’s not