Mere Sapnon Ki Rani (Parts I, II, III, IV)

Part I

I am being haunted
A deep lull from within, that
grabs at me. Scratches at the walls
of the sanctimonious cell I have created.

The lurching feeling within my stomach
has become redundant. I have become so
satisfied by the pain that I no longer recognize
what kind of pleasure I am capable of.

It is forcing me to construct. Forcing me to strike
against this self-created prison. This prison that
this World has so happily watched me build. The
bricks and mortar so quickly subsidized by the system
of it all.

In recent nights, a sweet voice has called out. Is it my
own mind trying to get attention? Is it my soul
trying to save myself from the cruel habitual beatings
this World constantly enforces? I am like a slave,
but lately, I have heard the sweet rumblings of
the river bed, crashing against the rough terrain of rocks
and jagged pricks.

I lay awake, wondering where this voice comes from. Is it from
within me? Or is the voice without? If it is without, what am
I missing? Images fill my mind of the sweetest smile. A smile
I will not soon forget.

This haunting, this voice, this 'woman of my dreams' is you.
My body shakes with fear at the thought of ghosts consuming me,
but it is nothing compared to the fear of not being good enough for you.
My mind aches at the thought of the perpetual beating that life
after life considers humorous, but thoughts of you subside it all.

Part II

If I was Pygmalion, and my hands carved the perfect face, the perfect
temperament, and the quintessential intangibles that I wanted, I have no doubt, my
creation would be as close to you as any human can possibly imagine.

I lay awake at nights with your imagine in my mind. I slide my hands in the
air, like a maestro with his baton, pretending to create your face over and over
again. Every little detail so very important. Every feature infinitely necessary.

Laying there I feel the pain of a thousand lifetimes, and the yearning of a
soul so close to finding what it has been looking for all these many years. My
bed, like a beach, withholds me, forces me to feel the crash of wave after wave.
Maurya has taken the form of the moon, and is commanding the mighty ocean to
try and capture me. Drag me into itself. Into the abyss where madmen like
Ahab reside for the rest of eternity.

Yet it is the strength of your face, and the resolve of my mind that keeps me
steadfast. Keeps me from drifting away. Keeps me from losing control. Keeps
me from sliding into oblivion.

Your lips remind me of lotus flowers. Now I understand why my ancestors
considered them to be holy. Just looking at them brings me closer to God. I
can still imagine how they taste like. The Indian 'amrit', theGreek 'ambrosia'
comes to mind.

I want to reach out and feel them. The inside of red roses can not match
the soft geography of your lips. I want to know every inch.

The way your hair is tied. I watch it like a child stares at virgin snow.
Tempted, I want to reach out and undo it, but not to disturb, rather to
see the beauty that is being withheld from me.

I want to see the soft silk strands cascade down like a waterfall. Spiders
are jealous of what the Lord has created. I want to caress them, feel them
slide between my fingers, as I gently massage your mind.

Part III

I am inundated at nights. I lay awake in agony
contemplating the war waging in my soul. On one side is
societies smirk, and on the other is the image of your sweet smile.

You have completely devoured me.
How can I bare to live another moment without the sweet feel
of your teeth grazing against me. What can I do but to take
satisfaction in the soft moans my taste can give you. I hope
tasting me fulfills you.

I lay awake, and yet I toss and turn between
this dream and this nightmare. The voice is yours, that is certain.
Am I without? Like a knife gently scraping against a blackboard wall
the cacaphony of all my fears, all my anxieties, all my doubts are
building momentum.

But your voice. Oh that sweet gentle sound of the earth moving
when your lips part. It keeps me awake. It keeps me alive and
ready. I only hope what it has to say, will be music to my ears.

For you are the 'woman of my dreams'. Tu mere sapnon ki rani hai.

Part IV

Crazy, my thoughts have become. The heart flutters heavy
for but one sweet sight. But when my eyes lock with yours,
the very pit of Hell forces me to look away.

How can this be? Your voice it brings me hope, like
some forgone Kshutriya craving for the sweetest flower that
one is promised from childbirth.
Yet, now when I hear it, my hands tremble, and the
deep recesses of my body ache in sheer shame.

Am I close to anything you find acceptable?
Am I anything like your dreams? I fear the only times
I may ever haunt your nights will be something less than auspicious.

Love is too confusing. It makes one micro-manage each act, each thought.
Yet watching your lips gently part, and your cheeks
slightly compress makes it all worthwhile.

I want to be free from this world. I want to be lost in your arms.
I want to bare the burden of your weight upon my body.

Could you allow? What do I need to do to satisfy.
To classify, and sanctify. I understand I may not be enough.
Mercy is a word I rarely whisper, but my lips are already making their way.

Enough of this charade. These, pathetic wails of a rock with no proof.
The tigers are disappearing, becoming extinct.
Their growls come from within me, and without you,
soon, they will devour me whole.