Ramayana as told by Hanuman

Found in a furrow she was, my Goddess mother,
by the king, the man who craved a child,
and yet, the reason for her birth was another.

My Lord conquered the greatest jewel of all,
the most precious heart of my Goddess,
when the massive bow of Great Shiva, he did haul.

Sonnet - Now and Then.

In the midst of sunshine, grief gripped her heart,
Smiled outwardly but, silently cried.
For between the two she was torn apart,
to remain one’s lover or another’s bride?
One whom she had cared and loved so deeply,
Seen steady in life’s each stormy twister.
Now the passion, that once was so fiery,
was turning into a frigid blister.
For he did break her heart, time and again,
by the distant coldness of his absence.
And now stood another before her, plain,
simple, ring in hand, thus she began to tense.

  However, the distance ‘tween now and then
  was much too large to simply smile and end.

Tease.

She peeked out from behind a mish-mash 
of randomly arranged pictures,
Her voice echoed like a whiplash,
like a mother’s sharp-tongued strictures.
And yet suddenly, it was barely a whisper,
a whisper of forgotten promises…

She was hauntingly beautiful,
flowing around, smoke-like.
To his heat-filled gaze, like a crucible,
she was unyielding, precarious as a spike.
She gazed at him with wonder
and with a hint of a smirk, she was gone.

The Life That Was.

An image so subtle, almost indiscernible,
and yet, branded in my memory forever.
Clear like a scene from reality,
hazy like the uncertainty of a dream…

The swirling splashes of colour,
The breeze that felt almost real
The wings that were my flight
The music that was my heart
And the face that was comfort.
It was fantasy… my fantasy
Abstract to the artist’s brush
Filled with lines for God’s pen.

The Sin.

Icy mists obscured me from the world, from myself
I still walked on the road I knew not the destination of
The winds that came in blew away my restlessness
Yet, all I could see was emptiness swirling around me…
Was the world reflecting my heart?

It felt so wrong…like running away from a place like Guelph
My every possession was a reminder of the sin I was guilty of
I had taken what was not mine to take…oh, the recklessness!
I could have had her; her love …all I did was make her flee…
She was the fragile paper I shamelessly tore apart.

The Secret Meet.

She ran away to meet him on the sly,
Heat on her body, twinkle in her eye.
He pulled her gently towards him,
She came even closer, on a whim.

His gaze locked with hers, 
reflecting his intentions to err.
She wanted to tear away,
But she couldn’t…in his arms she lay.

He tucked away the hair framing her face,
Every action, an attempt to win this one-man race!
She came closer, softly grazing his cheek,
Blown away, like jelly he became weak.

Sexual Harrasement

You took advantage of my loneliness with your lustful knife.
You touched me such, even your handshake seemed slimy.
And then you whispered in my ear, said “try me”

My screams that night were shriller than a fife
But that wasn’t enough for them to see red
or to stop you from pulling me to your bed.

Lemon.

Going away was never easy,
It was never bright & breezy.
Any contrary illusions were in vain,
as each step away was a pain.

But there was something now,
hanging in the air like a bough.
Something that seemed crazy,
and yet was intangibly hazy.
Something that urged me to walk,
run or skip, away from the stalk.

Must Be Hard

Must be hard. To watch from afar, cloaked in the oppressive shadows of silence, forced to support. To watch as silent tears rolled down your cheeks, the emptiness of your eyes revealing more than words ever could. Must be hard to keep secret your pain from the world, as under the guise of patriotism, your young ones would go to fight. To fight a battle not theirs, to slay an enemy faceless. Only he has a face, a mirror of theirs. And while those back home rejoice in the cosy comfort of their homes, reducing your pain to sheer numbers, you pray for mercy, hoping your own will not become another statistical point, another name on a list, another stone in a graveyard.

Must be hard to see the passion in their eyes, and sometimes the weary emptiness of a soul grown old.