Aberrant

There are nights,
Some shorter, some longer.
And this one, longer than I would like to remember,
For it is punitive for a man to experience an obsession once,
And forever dream of it,
But live in trepidation.

Embers of what once was,
A fire upon which melodies were refined,
And golden words came alive.
Where the cold was just but a rumour,
And the worries of the night far flung into Sheol.

That was when I met Her,
Hidden deep beneath the covers of lucidity.
She never showed her appearance in the day,
But in rare moments of darkness; on days like these, she came forth.
Draped only in splendour,
Dressed in odourful charm,
Footsteps so calm.
A gracefulness the beauty of the night could not match.

I couldn't hear her come,
Yet I knew she already was.
I couldn't see her, but I knew there in that moment;
There was none more beautiful.
A silent assault played on a minor key.
And yet, no refined orchestra could play a tune better.

"Come
Come with me."

*silence*
*tension*

She placed her chin on my neck,
And gently worked her hands on my tense muscles.
Working from the shoulder to the torso, lower back and slowly up again.
Till my mantle dropped, plumage and vainglory;
And all bulwarks undone.

"Come,
Come now, let us go...."

Disenthralled
Ecstasy
Rhapsody
Amorphous.

I could go on but I will not.
It would be wrong for a man to describe such delectations in one stroke.
Pleasures under the moonlight deserve no less than the finest in language.
So unfortunate that the Queen's language isn't enough.
To understate such feminine panache, I will not.
But I will give you her name

Delirious

We fix broken eggs and repair rotten tomatoes 4

Bored of the morsels. They wanted more. And the more they had, the worse the aftertaste. Eventually, the morsels stopped tasting nice. The crowd was bored and the chefs were once again in trouble.

The chefs had to think fast. Their Union was breaking apart anyway. Stories and rumours of undercutting were strife. Suspicion grew. Distrust matured.

And eventually, the tangerines retreated to their kilns. They needed a new strategy.

There was whispering in the now speculative crowds. Fingers crossed, fingers pointed at each other.

There was whispering in the Blue Label kilns. There was now whispering in the Tangerine kilns. Minds at work.

Then a shout came from the Tangerine kilns.
"We fix broken eggs!!!"

And a quick and witty response came from Blue Label.
"We repair rotten tomatoes!!!!"

We repair broken eggs and repair rotten tomatoes 3

STOP!!!!!!!!

You cannot behave in a manner likely to suggest that no form of education has ever been imputed into your systems.

"But it was their fault, they stole our eggs and gave us broken eggs."

"They gave us rotten tomatoes."

"We gave you fresh tomatoes and you swapped them with rotten tomatoes."

Hush!!!! We can work out something. Starting with you chefs. How can we make a combined omelette, one that at the least will leave some morsels for the audience?

Then began the negotiations that went on for two days. Finally, they agreed to use the kilns from the Blue Label side of the kitchen. The tangerine chefs crossed over to that side of the kitchen and started cooking alongside their "sworn fiends". Actually in class today, the word fiends is spelt as F-R-I-E-N-D-S. 

Meanwhile, the audience still remained in their seats. No one wanted to cross over and above make friends. But now, the omelette morsels were thrown occasionally into both crowds and the scrambling continued. They even went ahead to make idols of their chefs. They worshipped and adored them.

Up until they got bored.

We fix broken eggs and repair rotten tomatoes 2

The blue label fans now went wild. The crowd was ecstatic. Their team,  their chefs were now the heroes. They threw in another piece and like starving dogs from the heartland of kambaland, they once again scrambled for the piece. They were wild. Hungry and wild. Curious to satisfy the insatiable need to know how men with public opinions felt when they ate the omelet. As fate would have it, it was the best thing they had tasted in their lives upto this point. They wanted more and they were willing to fight for it.

A third piece was thrown into the crowd and the scrambling started again. There wasn't enough and I had to get a taste. Then scramble turned into shoving and into vicious fighting. But I didn't care. I would rather hurt my neighbour. My needs came first anyway. Teamwork ends here.

Meanwhile, tangerines were having a problem. They hadn't made enough to distribute in the manner blue label were doing. And their oven was slower than that of their competition. So they now had to find a new strategy. They now turned the heat on blue label. Blue label had been stealing their eggs anyway. So the focus now turned to Blue label. The fans and the chefs all of them accusing blue label of unfair practice. The fans started shouting and wailing. I started shouting too along with my fellow tangerine fans. Then I threw a sponge into blue label's fans.

The sponge hit me. I got a mustard seed and threw it into the tangerine crowd in retaliation.

So began the acrimony.
So began the hate.
So began the war

We fix broken eggs and repair rotten tomatoes 1

"We fix broken eggs and repair rotten tomatoes."
I didn't believe it till I saw it.
They actually do fix them and repair them. I saw it with my own eyes, my own two eyes.

The process was an intriguing one. A short one too as a matter of fact.
They broke eggs and harvested rotten tomatoes. Five day old eggs and fifty day old tomatoes.
The chefs were in a race to make omelets. Hell's kitchen was the factory. Public opinions were the destination. And not the public opinion that the poor hold, no, not that. The kind I am speaking about is the kind located around the central province. The bigger it is, the less the visibility a man has of his feet, and probably the ground too upon which his footsteps rest upon. The kind only a well fed man can relate to.

There were two sets of competing chefs: blue label and tangerines. Blue label being the current title holders of the competition, we're obsessed with retaining the title. Tangerines on the other hand, had seen the opportunity to capture the flag. And so the fight began. And the spectators watched on, cheered on.

As the competition went on, a strange thing began to happen. The spectators were no longer cheering. They always cheered the team with the bigger omelets but now,  their cheers had receeded into resentment. Maybe so because they did not get a chance to taste the omelets. Then they started pointing fingers at the teams and the teams could no longer make more. The omelets were enough, but it was just not in their character to share it with the audience.

They knew their game was up. They needed a new strategy.

Blue label by this time had made more omelets than tangerines and decided to throw a piece to their disgruntled fans. The fans immediately scrambled for the small piece of omelette.

Treasure

If a man knew what it would take,
The cost of his heart's desire,
Then he would pursue it with all his might.
He would scale the highest heights and swim the deepest depths.
For his ultimate happiness depends on it,
The joy of his soul.

He would devote all his energy,
All his wealth in the blink of an eye,
For nothing materialistic can buy the treasure he holds so dearly.
And when he has spent all he has to acquire that which he seeks,
He would yet be richer ten times over than a king whose throne is built with sapphire and gold,
Whose palace is built upon onyx and silver,
Laced in splendour and grandeur.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Her smile

Courtship

A heartbeat so loud I cannot hear my thoughts.
Hot blood gushing through my veins driven by the incredible pace my heart is working at.
I am tense.

When she opens the door,
What will it be this time?
Lazy eyes, excitement, fatigue or energy that will open the door?
Calmness or secrecy, secrets the heart cannot tell.
Either way, my heart cannot settle.

Will it be a hug? A long one, a short one. A tight one, or a tight one.
Will it be a kiss, a peck? A short one or a long one.
Either way, I want to see her.

We had an argument two hours before.
We laughed two hours before.
We were excited two hours before.
We were mad at each other two hours before.

But that doesn't matter now. Of course it still may, but it doesn't.
For when our eyes meet, when I behold her beautiful face,
In that moment of madness and admiration, all else is forgotten.
Eternity stands still in that moment.
All emotions cease.

And nothing but love and worship for her majesty fill the moment.

And so, I knock the door