Fret Not

Oh what is it about you,
That shakes men, poets too?
All it takes is a minute of behold,
For us to want you like a child?

We worship your form,
Building dreams on our mental farm,
Not of despicable thoughts and fantasy,
But of platonic talks and a cup of tea,

I seek to hold not your body,
But the soul that it embodies,
For something this form holds,
Must be purer than gold,

And yet you shy away, moving afar,
Your cheeks rosier than ever,
Sliding your veil and folding hands,
That breaks my heart, not daggers or spears,

And still I advance,day and night,
Like an insect towards light,
Oh is it to my death, my final doom?
I know not, but fear not too,

For I know I shall let no harm,
Befall upon your precious form,
Men like me,
Are dust upon your feet,

So fret not, damsel mine,
And hand me your heart,
I shall bathe it,
In the saltless tears of my soul,
And lay it upon the bed of my spirit,
Singing and playing a lullaby,
With the strings of my soul.

Written on 10:52am, 8.3.2017, edits at 12:10pm on 27.3.2017

The Wail of the Flesh

As clothes to freezing bones I lie,
Stretch'd, squeez'd by her moving limbs,
Housing her twisted nerves and tubes,
I'm the seat of pain itself,
And that of that carnal pleasure,
That evil joy that he seeks,
Lying wrapped beneath the sheaths of my skin,

I am the sitter and the seat itself,
Holding all within myself,
Served as meat upon the plates of men,
And as flesh upon his bed,

I'm the mouth that eats and speaks,
The form of her beautiful face,
Of her bosom that selflessly suckles,
And also his sturdy frame and muscles,

I'm the colon that digests and spills,
The organ that beats and pumps,
So it pains me to call her heartless and sore,
But what do I do when I'm hurt and low?

Oh she treats me a whore, she who wears me,
To dress up and present to those who see,
She hides my pains like they were her own,
Dressing my pimples, painting my skin,

She bends and wrings my every part,
All in an attempt to win his heart,
She peels off chunks of me,
Selling them in exchange for love and glee,

Coating my skin with colours and soot,
She treats me worse than her cheapest boot,
Peeling off hair that stands on my form,
She stacks me in that template she so wants to fit in,

I'm shaped, chiseled to be an object of yearn,
Abused so she can be abused in turn,
Oh do I blame them for seeking this pleasure I store?
Or her for putting me in a prison within another?

Wondrous that I may be,
I try my best but fail to see,
How pleasure hides so snugly within,
Tucked away beneath a fold of skin.

All this agony and I still keep her warm,
But one day I'll be wrinkled and worn,
Sagging below like a bag of cloth,
Under the weight of my wretched wrath.

I considered titling this as 'Ode to the Flesh' but wanted it to be a first person's account and changed it to the current one. I wrote this over three days, between 22nd and 24th March, 2017, spending a little time each day. This is perhaps the longest time I've taken so far to write a poem. I'm used to finishing one off within two to three minutes and the time this one took came as a surprise.

A line I had to hold myself back from adding:
She bends and wrings my every part,

All in an attempt to burp and fart

In A Black Dress

You caught my eye, as you came down,
Wearing your stunning pitch black gown,
Bearing a smile, beautiful and wide,
You kindled in me, delight I can't hide,

The hallway turns, with an open mouthed glare,
At the dazzling beauty those stairs bore,
While you walk towards my way,
Your eyes, though, looking away,

You're nervous about the way you look,
Utterly oblivious to the people you shook,
Oh won't you look at me, your man,
Who's tried to look the best he can?

A necklace shines upon your supple chest,
But the neck that bears it shines brighter, nay, brightest,
Tripping hearts of men and women alike,
Yet meek in all your allure,

Your dress is black, but your eyes darker,
Matched only by your locks that're longer,
I could stand here, watching you all night,
But I'm ushered by loud ticks of the clock of my heart,

And before I know, silence sweeps in,
Oh where did it go, the heart that was beating?
I see now, as you walk past my critter,
It's stuck upon the tresses that trail your splendour,

I follow suit, floating along,
Dazed by your hair, gorgeous and long,
Oh all I seek, this night that your mine,
Is to be lost in those tresses, for all time.

1:32pm on 3.3.2017 at C504, H13, IIT Bombay