An Elegy of a Paramour

Dear love, you owe this night to me,

I am the lady you must be with,

Dine my sight; relax that eye-spree,

Comfort my soul, don't mention a kith.

When the food is over, curl-up those fingers round,

Don’t stand! I will be with the cloth,

Look those eyes, where-in I am lost and you are found,

I’ll then jump up to you like a moth.

Take me up-stairs, slow but sure,

Listen to my voice with hairs on your face,

Rest me in a place of just-us and so un-pure,

And then tell me a tale of that two-knotted lace.

I swear not to leave you now or ever,

It was me and will-be me on that only boat,

Please do swear my name dear at-least for-ever,

I’ll hold you like your skin coat.

But that song un-turned with a sight,

That old fagged lady turned up my hubby’s bed,

A look with which I frightened her that night,

Seeing that she tried stabbing but I did stab her red.

He moaned and I joyed and screamed,

He then slapped me and that broke my rhyme,

I put that dagger cutting his heart and thus he bleed,

I drank it all making ‘my love’ only mine,

Alas! I thought, It was just ‘he’ and me nearby,

And I believed him that he said “I am all your”

But I stabbed that traitor again, the moment I opened one eye,

And he poured down from inside me saying “I was never really yours o' my Paramour”

(C) Raj Jaipal

Learning Foreign Expressions

I have a beautiful friend and a person whom I can call my true guide in every way of my life. Whenever I try to learn something new, I would tell that person that I am now going to do something silly, so, kindly criticize. 

This time around, I was reading some foreign words and expressions. I was having some difficulty in remembering them, so thought why not, send it to that beloved in the form of a text-message and yes! it worked wonder.

Here's that message:

If I were to write how I won my battle of the odds. I will start de novo from the ad-antiquo, citing times of my first glimpse and that first blessing of the lords. It would be then a bonafide magnum opus of mine where-in I will narrate a tale of two humans and an epic of one-age. My dream of that el-dorado is the raison d'etre for me to write and bear everything unmerry with sang froid.

Now, to be true, it was just a summary of my dream to write something great for her. 

An Indian Farmer

I see every day of that burning heat,

aching legs of those bony feet.

I tire into many-a-filthy fields,

a pond of mud which never yields.

I am a soul known with a sickle,

quarreling wife and kids to un-mingle.

I am a sin that is discarded,

a troubled societal being retarded.

I am the man with no mates any bold,

pinching curses when I am slightly old.

I am the bye to adieu no more,

It was me but just a farmer off-that shore.

(C) Raj Jaipal

* Picture: Courtesy www.youthkiawaaz.com