Breaking gender stereotypes

To those women,
The one who impatiently taught me how to drive with ease and sold to me, my first car.
The one who helped me see the regularity in being inclined to whiskey over wine.
The one who handily fixed my dresser after my movers, Two Men and a Truck, messed up its drawers.
The one who supportively held my hand as I mustered the courage to ask a guy out on a date.
The one who effortlessly trained me to get under the car hood for minor fixes.
The one who blatantly raved about Amazon’s bestselling vibrator.
The one who casually defied the institution of marriage and remained single.
The one who passionately made a grand career with unflinching persistence.
The one who methodically rolled my first joint.
The one who apologetically took a day off from work to go and watch her favorite IPL team play in the stadium.
The one who unemotionally reserved one night stands for sex only.
The one who simply refused to learn to cook or give up on the comfort of eating out.
The one who naturally sported loose, ill-fitting clothes and despised make up.
The one who excitedly walked into the medical shop to buy Rum and Raisin flavored condoms.
The one who plainly dissed the idea of washing down heart break with a bucket of ice cream.
The one who calmly excels at and enjoys working a lathe.

 

To those men,
The one who unabashedly ordered a raspberry pink cocktail at the bar.
The one who eagerly walked into the kitchen and made a meal for his family after a tiring day.
The one who comfortably sat in the passenger seat without the fidgeting itch to drive while I sat in the driver’s seat.
The one who extraordinarily chose to pursue a career in nursing and made women feel comfortable at the Ob-gyn clinic.
The one who sentimentally sports a baby pink breast cancer ribbon tattoo on his wrist along with a magenta t-shirt.
The one who audaciously fell in love with a woman who was older than him.
The one who consciously chose to be a home maker while his woman pursed her career.
The one who tenderly shed tears when in pain and needed a hug for consolation.
The one who trustingly sought my advice on stock investing.
The one who brilliantly put forth his opinions on Jane Austen’s work and dissected the multiple layers of Mr. Darcy’s character.
The one who fairly took no offense when his date suggested they split the check.
The one who bravely spoke about the trauma of child abuse after years of silent suffering.

 

Five Elements – Fire

He asked me to log into Yahoo Messenger.

He ordered me to turn on my webcam.

My heart fluttered with ecstasy. I hadn’t seen him for two days.

 

His face was pale, as always.

He picked them up one after another and showed them to me.

The dark blue denim jeans.

The grey and white shirt.

The wine red tie.

The dusky brown wallet.

The woven black bracelet.

They had been carefully collected over the past two years, the tangible evidence of my undying love for him.

 

Oh yes, and the journal too.

My journal. To him. That told the story of us from the day it had all begun.

 

And then, silently, he set them on fire.

With the really sleek, rose gold cigarette lighter.

The lighter that demanded from me, my dinner for two months before I could afford to lay my hands on it.

 

How was it possible that all the salt water brimming in my eyes was incapable of dousing the fire?

As I continued to watch the evidence slowly melt away, I couldn’t necessarily tell the exact color of that brightness.

 

Strangely enough, he hadn’t laid a single finger on me.

Simply yet.

On his balcony floor lay my heart.

And my soul.

In a pile of ashes.

Without a point of resurrection.

Five Elements – Wind

She stood by the parapet wall.

Dark clouds descended and cold air ascended.

Chill breeze brushed her hair away from her face.

She gracefully placed the Gold Flake Kings in her mouth and tried to light up a match.

The wind around her blew out the little fire.

Neither had she been a customary inhaler of this morbid smoke.

Nor was this her initial choice.

 

**

Her mind floated weightlessly into the past.

Propelled by a flurry of memories.

Willing to reach stagnation only when the outline of his image intensified.

The picture of him inhaling and exhaling toxic grey air.

Her dearest memory of him was the deep sense of melting perfection she experienced when her lips met his for the first time.

Soft and intense, so infused with nicotine.

Choicelessly she swayed from aversion to appreciating its flawlessness.

She no longer wanted to taint her lips with any other type of kiss.

 

**

Now all she had was his brand.

She had turned from passive to active.

The taste of nicotine in her mouth.

The smell of smoke in the air around her was her only streak of connection with him.

It lead her to believe they still belonged like a song in the wind.

Even if it was for one fleeting, unrealistic moment.

Dodging the misty air, she struck the match again and cupped her palms to light her obsession rolled in brown and white paper.

As her lungs got a shot of the polluted air, a whimpered cough escaped from them.

Hopelessly they looked at their neighbor, her heart and inquired,

“Why do you do this to us? Isn’t it easier to simply let go?”

 

Her heart whispered,

“Oh, how could you two possibly fathom. To love fairly and incessantly is all you know. Left lung and right lung, you were born together.

Raised together.

Fell in love.

And became soulmates.

What do you know about loss?

My loss.

The permanent loss of the only heart I effortlessly connected with.”

Her lungs drowned in another gust loaded with tobacco.

Inching towards their doom.

Her heart reached elation and looked at them.

“Lucky bastards, even in their death, they go hand.”

Then. Now. Beyond.

THEN-
With every beginning I wished for the end,
How could eight hours seem like eternal.
Across me, you sat, just shy of a brawl,
I could tell we made each other’s skin crawl.

New, lost, and defeated I felt, as if I were stuck in an abyss,
How strangely my loneliness had meticulously creeped from red to swings.
And yet, I reminded myself that I left the old and chose the new to serve a specific purpose,
So I tugged along grudgingly with no remorse.

Anger, jealousy, and greed are a few innate emotions,
Hatred strangely surpassed and triumphed them all.
I realized, what was worse than your abhorrence,
Was the way you looked right through me like I was transparent glass, with pure nonchalance.

One unexplained, bitter-sweet gloomy winter morning, for me your eyes searched,
In tolerance they waited and watched. Until upon you, my eyes, I laid,
Your unflinching gaze conveyed volumes, and yet, no words were said.
But confusingly enough, when your lips parted,
I didn’t hear much but spontaneous disdain.
It made me cross,
That your looks and lips reeked of contradiction, playing a game of such brutal polarity.

NOW-
You tap that corner in the deepest, darkest of places,
The one that I convinced myself I was too broken to embrace.
If perception could be a pure, simple language,
Would you converse with me thus forever, from your eyes to mine, through this secret passive passage.

To be impressed and go weak in my knees,
To sway me until I fall head over heels.
All you had to do was sprinkle some intelligence and some arrogance,
Some observance and some perseverance.

How have you jolted awake the teenager in me?
Was it this wonderfully sweet to be sixteen?
Every dawn I hope we chance upon one another,
For that to materialize, several cups of terrible espresso I choose to endure.

My heart has been shattered in the past and played plenty a musical chair,
But to slyly be seated next to you is about what I care.
As you sincerely slice that engineered piece in solid works,
I want to compel you to peel my intricate layers and delve into the farthest corners of my mind, or maybe simply and freely plunge in and fathom my spirit.

When you often travel into the blue skies and across oceans,
So far away from me, remotely above the clouds.
I question, I demand, I struggle,
How is this possible, for us to be divided by land and yet be so united in space?

BEYOND-
Hate is a strong word, you told me,
You have me pondering what hurts more though.
To hate or to love,
Somehow whichever one I pick lingers of an un-numbing ache.

If I am prejudice, will you be my pride?
If I am the half blood princess, will you be my muggle prince, and hopefully this time around, we will be staring at the same tide?

If you dipped a finger into your ivory white skin and then touched my desert brown, will that mixture feel like the color of love?
If your belief in the cross and mine in the primordial tone engulfed one another just as one wave embraces the other, will that comfort sound like love?
If the east and the west turn into momentary mirror reflections of each other, as they birth and devour the sun incessantly, will that serenity look like love?
If your intense and dark bourbon like bitterness dampens my spicy chai like zesty temperament, will that saccharine fragrance smell like love?
If your perfect red lips met and kissed my dusky, bruised soul once, just once, will that fieriness taste like love?

Will this kind of love that completely engulfs my five senses be called perfectly, wholesome, pure love?

Is it possible then,
That with every end I wish for this beginning,
And eternal can seem like eight hours.

An Unrelinquished Emotion

Every evening, as far as the eye can see,
It appears that the sky unifies with the sea.
The vast skies relentlessly let the magnificent sun slip into the enormous waters,
Momentarily making you feel that to this inseparable love couple nothing else matters.
Perhaps simply, the sun is the heart, that is unabashedly transferred from one lover to another,
A supremely bold representation of infatuation, the couple flaunted like no other.

The world that sees the both of them, seldom do they comprehend,
That to this love story, every dusk is a practiced but unaccomplished end.
Humongous egos, they both share, as each earnestly waits for the other to care,
One thunders in dark gloom, while the other washes off sand castles built by those who dare.
The sun is but a mute spectator to their delusional love,
A one that will never possibly materialize and is neatly tucked away with a hasty shove.

And yet, every evening it appears, the glorious lovers start the same struggle all over again,
For, love, though self-mutilating from within, fervently always brings hope as a bargain.
As the brightest star makes his rehearsed descent, he wonders which one of the lovers will make the first attempt,
And desperately yearns that when such a passionate foot is put forward by one, the other doesn’t scoff in contempt.
For the blue sky and blue waters, clear reflections of each other’s souls, and where they figuratively meet,
Millions of human hearts have hopelessly hugged, kissed and skipped many a beat.

And if these two were meant to be, just as every soul already assumed them to be, when will their happy ending be?