Stream of Consciousness Saturday: Hair
—i–
Jim was looking Della;
as the Comb felt unlucky
for the hair, Jim adore…
[Based on O. Henry’s The Gift of the Magi]
—x—
–ii–
He was confused on
the color to dye his white hair.
He is twenty only.
—x—
JusJoJan Daily Prompt: History
–1–
As I move high, be-
fore going away, I learn histo–
ry of my murder…
–2–
Jot down history
Of my incomplete love…
My Dear Kolkata
–3–
Few hours went, and,
History capture anoth-
er city, the, Pompeii…
Daily Prompt: Extraordinary
Extraordinary
Is this echo of resonance
Of solitary…
Painting: Solitary by Kathy Peltomaa Lewis
JusJoJan Daily Prompt: Elusive
A shroud of elusive thoughts started shrouding me that morning, out of the blue.
I, at first, didn’t pay attention to it ’cause I was basking in the young morning light–
Reading Unaccustomed Earth, sitting at my favorite cozy space on my sofa.
Patterns of the floral window frame was casting an elusive, imaginary kind of collage–
On my shoulder and the space around me, (and) also was over-spreading–
Over my shoulder, a little on the page I was reading.
I looked up, thinking s’thing that I can’t recollect now at the moment–
It’s one of those imprecise thoughts I have daily–then and now–
And forgetting at the very next moment or few times later–
Before the turn of an hour mostly.
A yellowish worn out memory amalgamating with the sun-shaded floral print–
Visioned me of a man; he seems to be me in my older age–
Not much, ten years more from now.
He’s sitting beside me with the newspaper on his face–
And cigarette tucked between his fingers…
I had had this kind of vision before, many time–of this man specifically.
It’s an elusive vision of my father, who, s’times seems to be mystical figure to me.
I has no definitive memory of him except few scattered ones,–
Which does not help in paint the picture of him whole, —
But, instead make the picture abstract where there’s few pencil strokes.
The memory though, I don’t know,–
Whether a made-up one or a bit of memory that has remain tucked with me…
Shroud of elusive thoughts of my father (often ) enveloped me, like this,–
Any time of the day, any where I’m at, stopping me what I was doing–
And let me questioned his framed photograph–are you real or not…
JusJoJan Daily Prompt: Compromise
She’s lying naked on her chest with her face supported on her cheek;
The warm hand of him was skimming all over her bare back–
From the neck to down up to the waist; frequently removing her spread hair.
Compromise…all you wanted from me…the only promise that I can’t break…–
She said under the breath controlling her tears to run out profusely–
Instead of drizzle that has already wetted the pillow.
She got pulled by him, for the second time;
First was when after undressing her, before undressing self, he pulled–
To kiss her somberly–first of type from this sex–and
(And) then throwing her to the bed, making her fall on her face…
Now she’s lying on her back; the fan was revolving at high speed;
The air swept over her naked breast, making her feel shy being naked.
He was smoking, the red kindle can be seen; firefly is the only thing–
She can found the similarity to describe the light to self.
He sweep away the frill of hair that had covered her face; she can’t determine–
Where his eyes are or what his lips expressing, but, he can feel her hand–
Brushing over naked body making her tremble in act of compromise.
The red firefly moved to the ashtray beside his pillow–the smoke–
From the thrashed stub made her cough, and, made her remember her.
As his newly-wedded husband pushed himself inside her, she shrieked–
Not in acceptance but to compromise, to keep a promise–
The promise she, her lover, made her made in her last note,–
Before she killed herself to see her happy, she’ll not follow her,–
But, will accept what her parents want; she shall not compromise her life–
For sake of love–she had also written–like her, but, will remain reticent–
And will compromise when her husband will show or made love to her…
Compromise…it’s all, you wanted from me…the only promise, that, I can’t break…–
She said to self again as her newly-wedded husband pushed himself harder than before–
Making her bleed and letting her clutch him as she used to do to her–
After making love..compromise…she screamed inside–sounded like moan outside…
[Painting: Riposo2 by Escha van den Bogerd (1972-)]
