Three Poems

After a very long time these poems came to me. I am writing poems again. Touchwood!

Making Love
Making love is like
Savouring a magic trick.
You are awe-struck till
you learn how the magician
conjured a rabbit or
a silver spoon up his sleeves
and you know, it was not what
you expected when you first saw
him under the soft light
wearing a green sweater.
You close your eyes and imagine his
unclothed body. But you did not
envision the mole on his chest, the
cut-mark on his back, and
how his thighs are so small.

Making love is like
Savouring a magic trick.
You know it’s just a trick
But you believe it and
applaud the magician.
You close your eyes
and imagine that perfect body
that perfect kiss
that magical passion.
And when it’s done, you
applaud the magician.

Making love is like
Savouring a magic trick.
You do so because you
allow yourself to do so.

Making love is like
Savouring a magic trick.
You make love to yourself.

Considering Borders
Let’s play a game
You and I
Let’s play a game.
You stand there facing me
And I’ll confront you.
You draw a circle around me
And I’ll draw a circle around you.
You draw another, narrower
I’ll draw another, narrower.
You draw another.
I’ll draw another.
You draw a circle and slice my toe
I’ll draw a circle and slice your toe.
You slash my feet
To fit me in it
And I’ll slash your feet.

Let’s play a game
You and I.
You dig a hole
And I’ll dig a hole.
You bury me alive
I’ll bury you
Alive.

Let’s play a game
You and I.
You kill me
And I’ll kill you.
In the name of the lines which aren’t drawn yet.
In the name of the prophet who isn’t born yet.

Let’s play a game
You and I.

Sour Grapes
My friend
He’s practical, worldly-wise.
He did not believe in love
Until he met her.
And after the heartbreak
Seventy five bottles of rum
Twenty six select curses
And three weeks of sleepless nights
He’s practical again, worldly-wise.
"Love, like happiness," he concludes,
"Is a conspiracy by the capitalists
To make you stop being a human.
Happiness, like love, is like being in heaven; you are
In heaven only when you are dead.
And when you are unhappy, unloved
It means you are alive. You are breathing.
Breathing is painful…

Grapes are indeed sour.

— Dibyajyoti Sarma