And the sea roared

And the sea roared

30 December 2014

sea roared7

The sun kissed the clouds

Rising slowly from their midst

Its pale face glowing

The dew responds with a sigh

As it rolls down trees like tears


Leaves rustle in wind

That grows with sunlit kisses

Gathered from the clouds

Yesterday hopes were so high

But night had trickled in fears


The clouds lit with flames

Shake their silver frame anew

Welcoming embrace

Their entwined rays light my heart

With promises of morrows


The path stretched winding

Lanes crossed gardens and bushes

That swelled with dewdrops

My heart in unison swelled

With the oncoming sorrows


Cobbled stones shining

Lay strewn across swirling lanes

Like diamonds in crown

Scintillating thoughts hover

In whirlpool that rakes the mind


Blue horizon stirs

In wake of morning calling

As seagulls echo

Mew of forgotten lover

Shrill broken shards leave behind


Silken sand beckoned

Enticing golden body

Glowing with sun’s rays

A moment of soft rapture

Instant suspended in time


The white shells reached out

Life stood still and the sea roared

Its hunger patent

I felt the blue sea capture

All those hopes that once were mine


The Lady at the Bar (5)

The Lady at the Bar (5)

24 December 2014

both in rain

He kisses her wet eyes attempting to erase the sadness with his kisses, lips pressed on her eyelids that quiver at his touch and open up revealing the inky pools that stare into his soul. He feels her go to that special place where they had been before, their first encounter when he sat on that rock watching her as she cried and he attempted to console her while the sheep grazed oblivious to their interaction. He kisses her on the tip of her nose and says softly “Memories, we all collect, carry them with us. Maybe we are just a mirror, perhaps to reflect on, passing to someone else…”

His voice trails off as the tears well in her eyes again. “Hush, he says, hush” as he holds her closer still “rain coming in, can’t you smell it?” He takes her hand “Come, let’s go up to the porch, watch the storm pass and light a candle, or two”.

She shrugs, incapable of speaking and he watches puzzled as she does not react to his touch anymore “Was I off somewhere, or just too high?” He feels her reticence, knows where her thoughts go now as he watches them be drawn to the cliff.

“Why do you have to go and leave me every time? I hate you every time you do that and am not able to bring myself back to that initial bliss when I knew not of this curse. Why does that dark brooding thing call you so?” she ends, voice down to a hoarse plea.

“You are my lighthouse” he says with a half-smile, hoping he will pacify her as he had done before referring to that day on the beach when they had come back from sailing and she said she wanted to spend the night in the lighthouse and he had said he wanted to spend the night in her for she was his lighthouse.

“And the sea calls you so” she says bitterly, refusing to be moved by his reference to their intimacy that night.

“It always calls me” he says softly and as she continues to press her lips stubbornly, refusing to yield he insists “you know this, yes?”

“How would we watch the storm pass” she spits out in anger and bitterness. “The storm, she calls you too that you may meet her at sea. She blows out the candles and beckons you out of the porch, out of that insipid haven.” Her voice chokes on the words that barely make it to her lips as breath fails her. She draws it in hungrily in a hiss and then calms herself down before adding sadly “You were made for the roughness of the sea, a son of warriors, their blood courses through your veins and pulses within your thoughts. The lighthouse must remain at earth leading the way for lost souls in search of a new found land while you throw your net to pick up those gone astray. Meet me at sea she calls out while the sea echoes her enthralling seductive invocation of hearts….

Her voice trails off again between bitterness and sorrow as the tears force their way through her eyelids that she presses tightly in vain.

He lifts her head and kisses her tenderly trying to pry open her stubbornly set lips as she fights the urge to give in to his tenderness. He speaks to her without words “with a tender kiss upon your lips, I look into your eyes, have I ever misled you, taken you astray, as to what I live for and perhaps, someday, will die for?”

She finally gives in and returns his kiss passionately and they stay rocking together before he moves slowly away from her his eyes roaming over her “Undress slowly. Let me see you, in all you have. This time may be my last time.”

It is absurd that he must go back again and again to the sea despite how much she tells him of her fear for him from it but there seems to be no remedy to that ailment of theirs

  • It seems Viking sailors always thought it was their last time on land before they set to the sea, following the sun she says undressing, almost in slow-motion.

We have much strayed from this cabin with the grass growing tall all around it inviting and foreboding all at once she thinks. Why is it that on firm land he always chose to be drawn to the cliff and its roaring sea?

  • Does she call you so that you cannot take your eyes away from her, not even for me?, she says turning towards him her face that she had kept averted towards the outline of the cliff.
  • Why do you ask? You always knew where my love lived. Is it not enough that I come back to you? The sea, she always calls for me. Can you not feel her power? Woman, you are enough, what I come back on shore for, but never ask me to compare. There is where I shall die, drowning but fear not, it has already taken me enough.

She looks at him with a mixture of sadness and defiance

  • Yes I do feel her power, roaring, demanding, thunder in her voice as she cries, mine!, her thousand voices coursing through your blood even as you hold me and I hold you back, fingers groping reaching out but holding on to nothing. I feel your heart, like the tides, that ebbs and flows as it is drawn to sea and washed ashore to me while I lay waiting in every dark of the night casting my rays on to the inky black, eyes intent on her as she roars and you are somewhere there with her but unseen to me.

She pauses and looks back at the tip of the rock on the cliff, so similar to another cliff where she had indeed stood waiting for him to come back from his many journeys on the sea. It seemed that they were both cursed that everywhere they went, land and sea mingled so tightly that they were never able to keep away from either.

She turns back towards him

  • Do you remember when we first sailed together? She was calm and silent then for you had chosen to forget her for a while as we laughed, foolishly in love, playing on the deck, basking in the sun. I never really understood then how much of her coursed through your veins

She walks towards him, the setting sun casting playful shadows on her nakedness, veiling and unveiling as he watches her torn between his two loves and angry at her for attempting to make him choose.

“Remember though” she says as she puts her arms around him and draws him closer to her, laying his head on her bosom “that she is ice-clad and will never give you my warmth”.

Her arms hold him tightly and as her heat engulfs him, she feels his body relax against her but she knows she is probably fighting a battle that was already lost. He lifts his head towards her and she too is engulfed in the roaring sea that courses through his eyes.

both together her half undressed

Read here previous part of story “The Lady at the Bar (4)”

Swallow in the sun

Swallow in the sun

22 December 2014

swallow in the sun4


Engulfed in shadows

The earth seeks a source of light

As ice takes over

Cold draft stills the mind that seeks

Door ajar to inner light


A ray pierces through

From long forgotten valley

Where day lasts forever

Dumbstruck, in awe, I observe

As it shines, translucent, raw


Bathing in its warmth

A lizard stretches its tail

Remnant of past pride

What is lost is found anew

Says silent spirit to mind


Door closing bathes red

From light seeping through tight veins

That burn with the past

Blood to blood shall call again

As storms well inside abode


The boatman carries

Ten white lilies like ten souls

That start to wither

Will storm flood the lilies’ nest

Building darkness from unrest?


Flickering shadows

Trace a path to yesterday

Etched in my bosom

I yearn in silent sorrow

For two thousand years gone by


A fluttering bird

Rises in the falling dusk

Beak shattering door

Ice scatters around my heart

A thousand rays flow within


Swallow in the sun

Wings outstretched basking in heat

Soars above the earth

Its flight makes mellow my heart

That roared with winter’s approach

Setting fire to the moon

Setting fire to the moon

21 December 2014

Setting the moon on fire 3

While rose petals bloomed

Inky red trail of lovers

The sun set its course

How replenished will it glow?

Asked a bee of setting sun

The dusky shadows

Peeled off the edges of day

That haunted yet skies

Withered and wizened old man

Son of none, will you now die?

Moon carried the sun

Into a frozen night sky

As it died again

Did heavenly compromise

Seal fate of the fire ball?

Sun awakes from chill

Setting fire to the moon

Shakes off its dead skin

As day pierces into night

Will none renew without fight?


Reading of the poem on YouTube

Weighing consequences, not weighing down heart

Weighing consequences, not weighing down heart

December 5, 2014


We want to be protected. It seems to be the modern day curse that most human beings seek protection before seeking emotions, experience with their procession of joys and wonders but also heartaches and injuries. The modern man/woman wants to know where he/she is going, whether the journey will be arduous and whether the rewards will be plentiful or painfully desolate. Each decision to enter an unknown field of emotions and experiences is examined carefully before even reaching the field of probabilities and the expected consequences are weighed minutely before the decision is taken.

The protection we seek encompasses a range of fields in our life going from the mere education system to our profession, to our interaction with friends and family and finally to our intimate relationships with our partners. When speaking of partners, I use the plural because it has now become an accepted fact that we seldom can live all our lives with one partner, to the exception of those who have been able to find their perfect soul mate right from the beginning. As we evolve in life and depending on the congruence between our evolution and that of our partner, it may or may not be possible to continue a common life with that partner without a feeling of frustration or other forms of constraint leading ultimately to a separation and therefore to a new partner.

For every matter in our life, we don’t want to be wrong, we don’t want to be hurt, we don’t want to suffer. It has therefore become almost a second nature – except for some rare persons whom society sees as misfits because they simply follow recklessly their hearts – for most of us to weigh all consequences in the most dispassionate way possible before making a decision. Society channels us into this behaviour by reproaching us our mistakes when we have not weighed consequences enough before taking a decision. The young child who chooses the wrong orientation at school because he/she likes some subjects more than others is scolded by his/her parents and teachers if he/she lacks the full natural skills to continue doing what his/her inclination pushed him/her to choose. The young or adult person who chooses friends who cause him/her hurt in whatever way is reproached for the lack of judgement and weighing of consequences in choosing such people within his/her circle of friends. The young adult who chose a partner who caused him/her suffering is to an extent pitied, comforted but mostly silently, implicitly or sometimes even overtly rebuked for making such an uninformed choice and not weighing all consequences. The professional who chooses a path that he/she feels more rewarding but that leads at some point into financial trouble is reproached his/her unwise and non-weighted choice. It is thus no wonder that at each point in one’s life, one would have developed a tendency to weigh absolutely all the consequences of taking a certain decision to the extent that for some it becomes an obsession and they are not even able to take the simplest of decisions without weighing the pros and cons.

While such a process may be right in its generic approach to most matters to avoid the drunken aftermath of a wayward decision taken with no regard for its consequences on oneself and on the larger sphere of one’s dependents, it can somewhat cause one to have a stilted life if it were adopted for each and every matter in life. Imagine a world where you would have a few seconds to hold on to a longer talk with a person you find interesting and you would need a few minutes to process the consequences of talking longer to an acquaintance, you simply would have “missed the train”.

It would seem rather obvious that professional matters should be the ones where a person would need to be more diligent in weighing consequences but somehow more and more people have shifted their focus from the professional sphere which has become more of an alimentary choice to the personal sphere where they have developed a new tendency of a heightened examination of the consequences of their choice.

Social media has to an extent rendered possible a quicker weighing of consequences as far as relationships are concerned but in a more artificial and superficial way than what would be required. Like in a real-life scenario, played out usually at high speed compared to the original, people are able to measure the consequences of their interaction and the effect it has socially. The unfortunate part of this is that because of its superficiality and the ability of people to hide behind the mask that is presented on the chosen social media, the relationship is actually a fake acting out of what it would have been like in real life. At the same time, when both parties are honest and truthful about themselves, there is a possibility of actually interacting on a deeper level of understanding and therefore weighing appropriately the consequences of a life together before it actually takes place.

It increasingly happens that when both have been truthful and not hidden anything about themselves those who have met through social media are then able to have a real-life relationship that is rather quickly more intimate than one which would have started off as a face-to-face relationship. Conversely, some relationships which are face-to-face relationships often take a long time to establish this level of deeper understanding.

My belief is that this difference in the pace between relationships that initiate over social media and those that initiate in real-life is the matter of weighing consequences. Social media with its virtual feel allows one not to feel weighed down by consequences and therefore, where a sincere intent exists, allows a deeper interaction. Real life, on the other hand, is burdened by the grave weighing of consequences that is inherent in an individual because of the self-preservation instinct and therefore each individual takes more time to reveal truths about themselves including their feelings. Suffice to look at how easily people get “in a relationship”, “engaged” or “in a domestic partnership” on facebook; something that they would consider for months or even years before doing so in real life.

So, having said this, should one rush headlong into decisions or should one take proper time to weigh the consequences of such decisions before taking them? Without being a fervent adept of making rash decisions, I believe it is important to leave one’s heart in a permanent state of acceptance that would allow one to experience emotions and events first hand while at the same time being able, for more important and life-changing decisions, especially insofar as they involve other human beings, to be able to weigh the consequences of such decisions before taking them.

Personally, I think that it should not be an issue for a child to make a mistake and take a wrong education orientation (compared to his natural skills) if that is what the child felt would suit him/her best at a given point in time like it should not be an issue for a young adult to choose the wrong partner or the wrong friends. For both of them, making a mistake is part of their learning curve and even if there is some hurt involved in the realisation that the choice was not the best adapted for the future, there is definitely a larger benefit from that choice in defining better what is the better adapted choice for a long-term view of the future.

As far as a professional life is considered, I personally think it is good to try as many professions as one is able to actually withstand sensibly as long as the livelihood of other people does not depend on making the “right” choice. If one has already made the decision to have dependents that one has to fend for, then the appropriate weighing of consequences for the choice of a profession has to be made.

As regards relationships, the only time I think one should really weigh the consequences is again when one has dependents who might suffer from an incorrect choice. To want to weigh consequences when only one’s own suffering is involved is illusory as one can never avoid fully pain in one’s life. Besides, it is becoming more and more apparent in social interactions that the more people tend to want to weigh consequences before making decisions in their personal relationships, the less in touch they are with their inner feelings.

Halting the natural process of reaching out, putting a stop to one’s heart’s momentum eventually leads to a weighing down of the heart and therefore to the disappearance of the sense of wellbeing that goes with a heart that is open, light, enlightened and full of love. So before heeding the reproachful comments or advice of a “well-wishing” friend asking you to “open your eyes”, rather listen to that inner voice that asks you to “open your heart” for it does not matter that you will get hurt along the road in the process of opening your heart. What matters is that you will grow and evolve tremendously every time you are able to open your heart and keep it open regardless of the number of times that you might have got hurt.

Eventually, there comes a time when each experience will stand out as a unique array of emotions and step of personal growth without any sense of hurt associated with that experience. Ultimately, there comes a time when your heart is truly and fully open when nothing hurts you any longer and you only feel a deep sensation of all-encompassing love and satisfaction with your life, whatever the choices you make. As Rumi said “Brother, stand the pain. Escape the poison of your judges. The sky will bow to your beauty, if you do.” and I will leave you with a beautiful poem by Rumi (in ‘We Are Three‘, Mathnawi VI, 831-845)

“These spiritual window-shoppers, who idly ask, ‘How much is that?’ Oh, I’m just looking. They handle a hundred items and put them down, shadows with no capital.

What is spent is love and two eyes wet with weeping. But these walk into a shop, and their whole lives pass suddenly in that moment, in that shop.

Where did you go? “Nowhere.” What did you have to eat? “Nothing much.”

Even if you don’t know what you want, buy something, to be part of the exchanging flow.

Start a huge, foolish project, like Noah.

It makes absolutely no difference what people think of you.”

Beauty in fusion

Beauty in fusion

December 3, 2014


We all seek beauty, breathe it into our souls with ecstasy and revel in its various manifestations. We idealise beauty though it takes for each of us a different, special meaning that more often than not we share little of with others. Yet we all tend to try to blend in when challenged on our thoughts about beauty, about what it is that we relate with as being beautiful, we try to join a common chase for all that is beautiful joined like in a hunt for the rare yet opulent beast.

In our incessant quest for beauty, we have come to ignore the essence of it, occupied as we are with categorising it, restraining it, constraining it to the canons that we know or that we have read of. Somehow, beauty, like all other matters that we dwell upon must, it would seem, fit into yet another box that we can then stow away, content with the notion of having identified and qualified yet another piece of this jigsaw world that bewilders us. Some of us, strong in our sense of what should be beautiful, find the walls of our certainties shaken when we chance upon something that utterly clashes with our notion of beauty but we are still drawn by it, transfixed, mesmerised at the mere viewing of it. It is then, when our hearts and souls are immersed by the sense of that incredibly beautiful “non-beauty”, that we truly come to realize that beauty cannot and may not be categorised, that it may not be forced within the bars of a narrow definition of it, however much the system may wish to influence our view of it.

Beauty for me, is every small thing that touches the heart and soul and that inspires positive emotions. A piece of music, an act, an object of art in whichever form it may be is beautiful when it touches one whether to make one cry, laugh, feel loved or want to bestow love, feel elated, full of hope or even devotion.

When you are open to beauty, you develop a tendency to want to gather around you all things that are beautiful because you want to revel in that beauty constantly, draw upon it as a permanent source of energy. This may clash, however, with the simplicity of life required to continue developing oneself without the external distractions, the most prominent of which are the clutter that can be caused by collecting items, even of great beauty. A good solution to this apparently intricate dilemma is simply having pictures of all that one finds beautiful and to keep these available to one. When one has a vivid imagination, calling upon the memory of viewing something beautiful equates to actually viewing that item again.

The problem with beauty when taken to the level of human beings is that it is often confused with the external appearance of a person and a quote to that effect is that “beauty is skin deep”. While it may remain true that we are often drawn to a person based on the external criteria of beauty we would have assimilated as our own, we seldom keep that initial frame of mind beyond a few months or even a few weeks. For most of us, beyond that external appearance that most of us have been taught to think as beautiful, we need a deeper sense of beauty, something that is beyond the mere skin.

Even when you take people whom one could consider as shallow because they do not go beyond the external appearance of a person, not willing to relate to that person or discover the actual human qualities that the person may or may not have, you realise that their infatuation with the external appearance fades with time. Such people get that epiphany when they realize that they actually know nothing about the person they have chosen based solely upon the external appearance as they have not taken the time to discover the human qualities of the person. More often than not such people realize as time passes that the person they chose for external beauty alone has dedicated more time to enhancing, preserving or restoring that beauty than to developing themselves from a human perspective. When one is really what is considered shallow, one would just carry on, encouraging the person to continue enhancing and preserving that beauty without caring about what goes on within the envelope presented as a delightful package. When one is actually not that shallow, the sense of novelty disappears and is replaced by a longing for something more meaningful.

I have often observed that people with an incredibly beautiful partner from an external beauty standpoint seem to all of a sudden get drawn to people who are referenced as quite plain as compared to their partner. Sometimes, they may even give up their relationship to then live with the other person, leaving their families and friends disconcerted on this sudden turn of events. I believe, this is simply the transformation of the notion of beauty – insofar as it relates to human beings – in the minds of such people. Their personal evolution then causes their view of human beauty to transform, thereby making it difficult to sustain the relationship they had before, especially if their partner did not evolve with them beyond the concept of a still-life beauty. They seem to then seek a person who has little to do with their previous partner at least from an external appearance perspective and also, quite often, from a human qualities standpoint.

Here again, one can say that beauty in a human being is therefore what touches one’s soul, what one relates to and that causes intense emotions. While we are mostly indoctrinated to react and feel positive vibes at the presence of external beauty mainly, when we are in touch with our inner feelings and true to our inner selves, we feel a sense of beauty in a human being when we feel what that person holds of internal beauty. Sometimes it may just be a form of kindness, a sense of humour that we relate to, a formidable capacity to love, empathy, wisdom, openness, simplicity and the list may go on forever as we each relate to different qualities that we find beautiful. We often discover, as we evolve, that the notion of beauty is not just different from one person to another but that it is also different from one age to another and one state of conscience to another within the same person.

Like in the case of objects, one does not need to possess beauty – unlike what some people do by insisting on having a relationship such as a domestic partnership or a marriage – by possessing or attempting to possess the person whose beauty strikes one as worthy of preserving around oneself. Friendship is another form of social interaction which allows one to enjoy the beauty of another human being without the need to “own” that beauty. Photographs too of time spent with that beautiful person can be a good alternative to having that person constantly in one’s life. Again, when one has a vivid imagination, one is able to draw from memories the sense of being in direct interaction with that person whose beauty touched one.

One last thought as I remember the saying « Beauty is in the eye of the beholder »: we need to preserve our individual sense of what is beautiful and avoid the generic input forced upon us by media and society as a whole. Let beauty truly be in our eye, according to what we perceive through our eyes, minds, hearts and souls for we don’t need to be identical to be One.

The Lady at the bar (4)

November 27 – December 1, 2014

(a shared writing effort with Lars Epperson)

372 le matin 3

Arms outstretched towards the sky, he had quickened his pace and was almost running now towards the house as if he meant to embrace it. Something seemed to have changed in his mood and she wondered how one could shift from such a sense of grief to such a sense of glee without a transition.

Suddenly he stopped in his tracks and turned towards her. He did not seem to see her but was not looking right through her either. It was more as if he was lost in his thoughts and she was a substitute to the person who seemed to occupy them. He smiled at her, a smile that was all at once innocent, roguish and so disarmingly charming before speaking.

“Do you remember the old house? It was Sunday dinners; a tradition he wanted to keep: fried chicken mashed potatoes and gravy too much cooked to eat, worried him still, never quite able to carry it on.

Kids always seemed to busy the house where you pulled open your blouse.

– Do you like these?

– Uh, yes, think so, but never seen them outside playboy magazine

– Kiss them

Swimming in the creek, headlights shining on your nakedness…”

She listened to him as he alternated mimicking his role and that of the woman he had loved apparently, completely lost in his memories.

“Damn! Hated you/loved you; give me one more chance to nibble on your neck, down lower to your full breasts… I really need to make love to you, one last time”

She listened, not sure he was referring to his past love or to her as he seemed to be describing the love-hate relationship he had with her. Did he nibble on all his girlfriends’ necks? she wondered. She thought quietly about her own love habits and how it seemed that all human beings seemed to have their favourite likes and dislikes that did not really depend upon their partner’s likes and dislikes although they often had to make an effort to blend their favourites with their partner’s favourites.

What an intricate thing, she thought, this lovemaking where everyone was so different yet so similar. How was it that people even related to each other and were able to carry on feeling the same passion year after year if the things they did were so similar from one year to another, from one partner to another?

She was stopped from her daydreaming as she felt his gaze intensify on her and she lifted her eyes which caught his that seemed dark, brooding.

He looked at her, watched the wind play upon the tall grass blowing it first this way then that and wanted to tell her something but instead thought to himself “so many things I forgot to tell you.  Did I forget to tell you I love you?”

He gazed at her, saw her eyes widening and felt her searching him as he was searching her.

Again he wanted to say all those words to her but they just ran around in his chest as he talked to the image of her in his mind “Looking into your eyes, see the reflection, another time maybe someone new… shadows passing. I feel it fade. Yesterday, you would have wanted me to make love to you”.

She could feel that he meant to say something and she desperately wanted him to say it aloud but he seemed to be all at once lost in his own world and trying so hard to reach out to her and share with her his feelings.

He watched her expressions as her face changed from troubled to hopeful to pained to bewildered and he wanted to kiss her, to reassure her that everything was alright, that it had been a fleeting moment and that he was there for her like he had been for so long, like he would always be but the words failed him again.

He knew somehow that it wasn’t true and that this relationship between them that wavered between love and hate was bound to tear them apart and he realised that all the words in the world would do nothing to change that.

He smiled again at her, sadly, with the knowledge that the sense of heartbreak he felt was probably the one her eyes were conveying too as deep pools stirred in them with the downpour approaching. He thought softly to himself as he opened his arms to her and she ran on the backdrop of grass blowing in the wind “I know you won’t be here long; goodbyes, gotten good at them but hate that wait. Is it you, or me that goes first?”.

He held her tightly and felt again that mixture of bliss and pain as her curves melted into his body and he was submerged by her warmth and softness while at the same time realising that not too long after that they would be separated again. For now though, he whispered to himself as they clung on to each other and her tears spilled all over his shoulders “it is not over yet, it is not goodbye”.

Reading of this episode of the story: 



Read the next part of the story “The Lady at the Bar (5)  here –

The Lady at the bar (3)

November 22, 2014

(a shared writing effort with Lars Epperson)


Pulling up into the old home place. Lightning, off in the distance, waiting for the rain to hit the tin roof. Simple sounds, back in a life that once used to mean so much.

He quit caring; pain never overcame, came no more, left it on the doorstep, last time he walked out.

Waking; coffee on the porch. A whistle….there used to be dogs. He whistled, once again…nothing!

He watched her pull her dress up to her knees; grass grown tall brown, sullen feet, wet with dew.

She followed him, lifting her dress so that it would not get torn by the grass that had grown almost into bushes, dry, crackling as she walked through its bristles.

He seemed hypnotised by the house in front of him towards which they were both walking silently. She could see from the stiffness at his neck and shoulders that he seemed to be in pain.

She wondered what that small run-down shack of a house with its small holes like a bean bag bursting at the edges could have held for him to be so much in pain at the sight of it.

All of a sudden he started whistling, as if to beckon a dog but nothing came. She watched silently as his shoulders hung in sadness and wondered if she should keep following him.

Yesterday, she would have gone up to him boldly and put her arms around him to make whatever pain he felt go away but today, after their fight and despite his seeming to forgive her, she felt that somehow she had no place in that pain he seemed to be feeling.

She slowed her pace and the leaves seemed to rustle even noisier as she toyed with the idea of running towards him and throwing her arms around his neck.

He had slowed down too, his back still tense, shoulders hung, head still facing the house and he raised his arms towards the sky




The Lady at the bar (2)

November 20, 2014


She withdrew her head from out of the window frame and carefully wound up the glass so she could cut the noise of the outside out and turned towards him to face him squarely.

– I know you are ignoring me, she said

He looked at her briefly before focusing his attention on the road again.

– No I am not, he replied curtly

He could feel that familiar welling in his heart again as he gazed at her face from behind the dark shades that thankfully covered his eyes completely. He took in the keen eyes with their hidden laughter and the childish pout she had when she was upset about something. Damn her, he thought to himself while looking back to the road again. She was not really beautiful but there was something about her that he had not figured out yet that messed with his head and heart in a way none other had done before. He thought about the night before and how much passion had been in the air, shared between them and could simply not figure out why it was that they had fought just the morning after that. It seemed to be the only way possible between them: crazy bouts of passion followed by periods of sulking.

She too turned back to face the road stonily as it seemed he would be undeterred this morning. Very soon though, she felt more than she could see his body relax and his gaze come back towards her.

– I am sorry, she said as she put a hand on his thigh. I really don’t know why we fight. It seems like each of us absolutely wants to be right and does not care about what the other is saying. We simply want to make a point.

He took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips, kissing it before he put it back where it had been and she stroked his thigh absent mindedly

– I really try not to fight with you, you know. It’s just something about the way you say things that makes me want to find something wrong in them.

He said nothing but just lay his hand on the nape of her neck and as she relaxed, easing herself closer to him with her face turned upwards looking at him, he gazed out of the window and thought that it really did not matter why they had fought or whether they would fight again as long as they could make up like last night. He smiled wryly to himself realising that she had won again in their battle of wits and that he would just have to take in the beauty of this moment until things changed again.

The Lady at the bar

November 7, 2014

(a shared writing effort with Lars Epperson)


She made many promises and I remember when we were driving looking out the window…

It was noon on a sunny day, one of her favourite moments when every living being was lulled into a silent sense of security that brought with it a sleepy lazy feeling.

Sun kissed thighs dark shades on, so she couldn’t see me looking; wouldn’t want to give her the satisfaction. A bottle of beam, shirt worn one day too many crumpled pack of Marlboros

She stretched and looked back at the driver who was holding on to the steering wheel like his life depended upon it. Ever since their argument that morning, they had been ignoring each other stonily. He pretending not to see or hear her and she pretending it did not matter as she strutted around in one of his favourite figure-hugging skirts. She knew he would notice as she barely wore skirts but he had of course chosen to ignore the flash of thighs revealed as she entered the passenger seat next to him. She looked out of the window again letting her hair dangle loosely over the side of the car so that the sun could play with its wisps

Fresh tank of gas so… where’re we going. Let’s take a spin, see how far this fast car can take us, looking for that last chance Texaco.

Outside the car, everything was alive with noise, the birds chirped cheerily, the grasshoppers sang, the bees buzzed around in frenzy and even the flowers seemed to say hi as they waved in the wind. Yet Inside the car, only the sound of the engine came through to them. She looked at him again; he seemed to be engrossed in his own thoughts now and not ignoring her. She wondered what he was thinking as he seemed to be puzzled. Her eyes lingered on the corners of his mouth that had been so soft when she had kissed them the night before and thought about how they had yielded to her lips hungrily while they were pressed tightly this morning, hard, unyielding…