Unlabeled Pleasures

sesual

It was like a chocolate syrup over vanilla ice cream, you can’t say no to.
Having conquered my senses, by those hands running wild through my hair,
a question was raised.
“Do you want me to do anything else? I could give you a massage, you know!”
I opened my eyelids after devil knows how long and mumbled,
“I think it’s enough for today”.
But destiny had some other plans.
I leaned behind and that caring hand moved its fingers around my head, stroking them in at few places and gently strolling them at the rest.
My lips whispered what was inevitable anyway.
“Fine. Let’s just go for it”.
A smile rose in response as if I was thinking too loud in my head.
A sensual cold stream found its way through my hair, my veins and took over my brains.
I believed in magic all over again, as the fingers comforted my strained muscles. Relaxed them, pressed them and even stretched them. Strong and weak points. They were all put to the test.
The track of time was lost already. I wondered how many times hour and second hands had met each other and parted ways.
It was one of the best feelings out there.
Better than the ones we talk about. Only if we could label it.
But then it got over. The curtain drew down. The end. Just like the best things in life. You could only wish for them to never end.
I opened my eyes to the real world again.
“That will be 150 Rs. for haircut and 80 Rs for head massage!”
The barber guy in Men’s saloon said.
Money exchanged hands and my feet were out in the real world again.
Searching for routine happiness.

Double Distilled Feelings

Write Drunk and Edit Sober

Double distilled feelings and

A complementary hangover of memories.

A wrinkled bed sheet smudged with cigarette ash,

And an ignored slice of barbeque pizza on the side.

A ceiling fan doing ringa ringa roses,

It struggles to throw the smoky thoughts outside.

Outside the window he was staring from.

High. Happy High. Sad. And hopeful at the same time.

There was something amazing about her.

How she came onto his rescue every time.

Encircling him into her arms,

And him surrendering himself into her.

A cold breeze brought the news of her arrival and

An orange Sun gently stole her away from his arms.

With her he felt most peaceful,

And yet chaotic at the same time.

The way she slips into his lap,

Let the scent of her hair envelop him,

And watch his resistance vanish like the smoke on the wind.

Gravity grows more jealous,

Every time her eyes lay a grip on his masculinity.

 Cursed was the man who was endowed with

A beautiful sentimental heart, tainted by a cynical mind.

One hungry African kid

Society

I have a theory I like to call One Hungry African kid. The concept took birth from hatred and anger poured forth by people around us, every time someone did ‘something’.

The theory says, no matter how much you contribute to the society, to the environment or simply to this fat blue planet we reside on; there will always be one pseudo intellectual pointing their critical forefinger at a hungry African child you did not help survive. And they are right. You did not. Because you were busy helping somebody else. Doing ‘something’.

Did you express your heart out over recent bloodshed at Pakistani military school, where school kids were butchered?  That’s okay if you did. Did you also join a candle light march later to show you are united against terrorism? That is also fine. You did something you felt was a right thing. But did you follow the news later on? Because there were more victims of terrorism elsewhere. In your own country. You mister are an asshole, if you did not. Because now you are a biased human being. According to someone who did…well nothing. But then they did watch you do ‘something’.

Did you join PETA and help hapless animals find a home? Did you adopt a kitten or a puppy and fed them nutritious food? You must be a heartless person who did not see beggars on the street, who needed to be provided with shelter and are starving every night.

You might be little disturbed over how many trees were cut for Xmas this year? But make sure you are equally disturbed over the amount of noise pollution during Diwali and ruthless killing of animals during Id. If not, then you are a pseudo secular. Make sure you hate all religions at once or don’t hate them at all. And don’t think of eradicating superstitions from society and minds of people. Because there will come along someone who shall enlighten your mind telling you how many more superstitions exist in other religion, other casts. Your ‘something’ will help somebody see things clearer but according to most, it will be ‘nothing’.

If you surprise your mother on Valentine’s day with flowers, they’ll ask you why not do that on rest of the 364 days. Turn a deaf ear mate. And continue to do your sweet little ‘somethings’.
If you’re an avid football fan and happen to support & celebrate the inaugural year of Indian football league, expect to hear the following next day.
Indian Kabaddi/Badminton team won gold/silver medal. Why did you not watch that? Why did you support only football?
Because I find game of Kabaddi boring. Yes, there I said it. And nobody can dictate which sport one shall enjoy and advocate.

Sure there are a million good things in the world, awaiting a helping hand. But you’ve got just two. So continue with your own sweet effort that you are best at. Adopt that puppy; someone else will feed the beggar if you cannot. Because those who raise their fingers are doing neither. And no matter how many you feed, there will always be one hungry African kid left for them to argue on. Don’t worry, one of us will eventually take care of it. Not them. Let them do ‘nothing’ and burn watching us do ‘something’. Together we shall weave these ‘somethings’ into a string of big HELP for a better tomorrow.