Sunday, April 8, 2012

An old book

On the table she lay
Her legs apart like
the chalice of antiquity
forever left inviting,
The sperm of my attention
as it wanders
away from the egg,inside the egg
The pages in her,
the never had orgasms
in a heap,below some blind
perversions of life,
between this day and the last

5 comments:

  1. what would those pages say
    if they could apologize
    i wonder

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  2. honored be that book, whose reader has devoured its depths, the way u have..

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  3. Those old books have a siren song, and us the weary sailors fall into the notes...sometimes to drown, sometimes to couple with the mermaid. The last part made me sad, though I don't completely understand it. Even so, it was a beautifuly written ending. Blind perversions of life. I can't put my finger on it, which concerns me. Have I these? They don't sound good.

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  4. District sorrow,
    I hope you do have a name..and i guess pages never have to apologize..they never make us lose something...

    Neha,
    i get the drift...literally

    Annie,
    We all have the blind perversions ...where we are so desperate to have a materialistic output of our time and effort that the more simpler things that ask very little yet give so much fall back into herd that never catches up with the ways of life..That is how you lose touch..and maybe yourself...

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  5. If i tell you...everytime i see an old book...i get hypnotised and have an intense desire of reaching and grabbing it,rampaging through the pages,smelling it...would u understand the feeling? The crumpled pages...half torn...the dusty end pages...

    I don't know what it is...but i start imagining all the owners who have touched it before me...maybe a john feels the same way when he makes love to a doxy...he must think about all the men she has already had...but only more emotional
    (Where would we be without books?! Where indeed)

    ~Aindrila

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