Do not read further; these lines are not for you.
They are just precipitates, like curdled milk
Lying, forgotten, in my frozen shelves.
I do not conceive you in my mind any more.
I do not remember your smile, the glimmer of love
That shadowed your eyes; I do not recollect your face.
Warm, was your breath; moist, your lips.
In my large palms, your breasts hardened.
Your fingers trembled as you sought me
Your legs parted, inviting, in submission.
As I ran my fingers over you, your body hair stood up
As if in protest, as if to resist, but in vain.
How was I to know that your cries were in joy
How was I to glean that you burnt in ecstasy?
I never could, you know, submerge myself
In the so-called sublimity of love.
Not untrue in my love, but I couldn’t
Accept that the sublimation of my love for you
Lay in this act of making love.
Making love? I was in love, why should I make it?
Yet I wonder, what is it that I loved in you?
Was it the person or the persona, the mind or the body,
That I had desired more; maybe both, maybe it is that
I wanted it all, with such a hunger, such an appetite
I had – I wanted to eat, if I could, suck you in
So that you spread and flowed all over and inside me,
So that I bled you, my sweat stank of you
My lips and yours one
My spittle and yours one
Me in you, you in me
Mine and thine, indistinguishable.
Now you know how much I had loved you.
*********** Balachandran V, Trivandrum 01.03.2011
so intense and sensuous. I have not read anything like this for quite long time. I cant help wondering what was the inspiration behind these verses :)
ReplyDeleteQuite power packed words and intense.
ReplyDeleteNo questions about the inspiration behind.That is irrelevant, I guess.
@B: Thanks! There are two distinct phases in my poetry; if you have read the poems in my published collection, 'Signs of Love', as the title suggests, most of them were of this genre, of intense passion, interlaced with sorrow of loss and a weird kind of detachment. I was always fascinated by the detachment that men and male of the species of animals sometimes have during the act of love making. There are, at the same time, a self-immolation as well as standing apart as a viewer.
ReplyDeleteI wrote this one yesterday night with a few drinks under my belt and browsing through some of the old poems.
Believe me, inspiration to poetry need not necessarily come from real life. All it needs is a spark - and the rest is - imagination, fantasy.
B, I would like to give you a copy of my collection and would value your opinion. All I can say is that some of the poems are quite interesting!
@Anil: Yes, the inspiration is irrelevant. What I would ask the reader is to identify with the protagonists and - enjoy! :)
ReplyDeleteBala,
ReplyDeleteWhat I loved in this poem was that you have captured the most complicated behavior of the male species in a subtle way. Kudos to you.
We(females) often try hard and delve deeper trying to understand the detachment the male species have during/after the act of love-making; whereas the female species have a totally opposite behavior and thus the failure to understand thats how male and female emotions are designed.
It would be an honor to get hold of your poems. Please do share them with me; I am sure it would be a different reading for me and that I would get an opportunity to read interesting ones.
@B: Listen to these lines from 'Lions Copulating', by Richard Eberhart:
ReplyDeleteWe caught lions copulating on the plains
Of Africa. Our Landrover closed in,
I pressed so hard on my 8mm. color film
I almost lost this gigantic naturalism,
Trying to preserve it for my friends and astoundees,
But saw the King of Beasts with his head high,
His mane imperial, no expression on his face,
Prodding in and out of the great female
As if he were a schizophrenic dualist
And had to put up with his baser nature,
For his great face had no expression at all
While his lower being worked mechanical,
Then he fell away, and stood off, and lay
His full length on the ancient earth
While the lioness with a sumptuous gesture
Rolled over as I have seen other females do
In the perfect surfeit of her animal nature
And took ease as if nobody were looking on,
And after an interval of valuable rest
These great beasts of the African wilds
Stood in their historical posture of superiority
And ambled across the limitless plains in silence
Without a thought of the lucubration of man,
Trying to signify their big natures in empathy.
The 'detachment' in discussion is worth some deep pondering! :-)
Bala,
ReplyDeleteI got reminded of something I witnessed.. But these two were butterflies; unlike the majestic beast in this poem, these two were lovely; fluttering; one pursuing the other.
I managed to shoot a picture with my point and shoot. But it was not good enough; a DSLR would have been better. That was one moment when I cursed myself for not having a DSLR. Though it wasnt obvious; the rule applied is the same :)
Here is the picture - http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_yzi75AMjh4s/S9_jOlyZV7I/AAAAAAAAB8M/YbZv9wip8LQ/s1600/DSC05623.JPG
@BSaw the picture; it could be a moth, I am not sure.
ReplyDeleteI see a deeper sensuality or an element of deviancy in it.Don't misunderstand me, I meant it is too passionate to be simply passed off as a love poem.You have the strength and desire to keep the fire of passion burning brightly in you.That is why you could fantasize! It is nice to know that there are people like you who understands and enjoys the fact that these feelings, wants, and desires are beautiful and meant to be shared.
ReplyDeleteBut then,it is not the age,it is the performance that matters !
Doc: I always say - See the poem and the poet separately. The best way to enjoy a work of art - whether poem, novel, movie or sculpture - is to focus on the work of art - and forget the artist. The connoisseur identifies with or rejects the work; if he/she likes it, he/she recognizes something of him/herself in it. Forget the creator, he is just an instrument.
ReplyDeleteNow, assess the poem without seeing me behind it. Love and passion are universal,nothing new there. This poem is purely physical; perhaps it touches the spirituality of physical love. In the beginning it says that the man does not remember the woman; her eyes or her smile or her face. So, there is no slobbering about how great the love was.
The rest of the description of the act is actually the man's desperation about his inability to express his love; he is not happy that love-making expresses it enough; he senses and is puzzled and frustrated that however hard he may try, there still remains an element of him, a separate, silent spectator of the whole gamut of love. There he admits his failure to be complete.
There are bound to be prudish readers who would frown at the not-so-subtle description of lovemaking. Those who would find it "gross".
Physical love has been elevated to spiritual heights by many. I doodle.
"While the lioness with a sumptuous gesture
ReplyDeleteRolled over as I have seen other females do".
Isn't there something complicated in the species we represent ?
No flattery , if I'm asked to vote , I would vote for the verses of yours and of the poet on the great African plain, second only though, to "Irrauman Thambis" lines.
And if someone passes prudish comments , well it is hypocrisy and incapacity to feel.
beautiful painting
ReplyDeletebeautifully penned thought sir....
ReplyDelete"Making love? I was in love, why should I make it?"...... very true..
Regards,
irfan.
@Irfan: Thank you and am glad you liked the poem. I saw your comment in one of my earlier posts.
ReplyDeleteWriting about love and love-making is itself a delicate matter; to publish it for public view - well, I did have some misgivings because even in blogspace, even after a considerable period of familiarity, people tend to be stiff and cautious and sometime react negatively( or keep silent) on such topics. I sense this from the non-response of several of my blogger friends! :)
In this poem, the physical act of loving is merely an extended expression of the wholesome love for the woman, though in his introspection and self-doubt, the man suspects that he failed to achieve the totality of love.
Thanks for the comment once again.
bala sir ,a little embarassed to comment .:)))But really too good.You have expressed the feelings of ecstasy very well .Very sensuous and in fact you have revisited the true meaning of "Love making"
ReplyDelete@Raji: Thanks! Glad you liked it, in spite of the embarrassment! :-)
ReplyDeleteApart from the intricate passion exteriors,this is one poem that shouts nothingness.The unalterable nullity , the absolute acknowledgement of oneself,after going through the journey-perhaps love ,anticipation,lust or a melange of all these-that you were and are experiencing this nothingness...just the void.Thank you B,for once again made me walk through the lines,inhale the void and enjoy silence here.
ReplyDeleteLike always, like a beam of laser, you have pinpointed the core... How come you can unravel what I try to cover up? :D. Thank you, D, for your comment, your insight!
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