Thirst Of Roses Poem by Arun Maji

This blue night, this red dream,
This smiling moon peeping through window
Inviting you and me together.
What for? Guess what for.

Nope, don't tell me in words.
Tell me with your eyes.
Your eyes. Yes, your eyes..
Thirsty as desert Sahara,
Inviting as beautiful death,
Sensual as red thirst produced
In womb of erupting volcano.
Fiery as hunger produced
In womb of evolving star.

Tell me in silence.
Silence. Yes, silence..
Except the murmur of your quaking heartbeat,
Except the anger of your burning desire,
Except the hissing sound of your wild blood flow,
Except the sweet sound of your plundering tongue,
Except the quake of your impatient waist.

Nope, not so fast yet.
Not so fast yet.
Pin me down first.
Thrush me to the wall,
Or bed, or floor,
Or whatever
That you can with your volcanic desire.
Do it sudden. Do it hard. Do it cruel.
Pain? O no.
In love, there is no pain.
Only blood of desire,
Sweat of thirst,
And cry of hunger.

In love, there is no pain.
Only divine ecstasy. Only divine beauty.
Only divine freedom. Only divine joy.

How come you are not whimpering yet?
O queen of wolves,
How come you are not whimpering yet?
Come, let me shake your quake
Bit harder, bit longer, bit fiercer.
This time I am on top.
Like a mountain
About to quake to annihilation,
Like a lightening
About to explode through sky.

Do you feel it?
Warm? Or Hot?
Just a blow? Or thrust of a falling mountain?
Flow of a river? Or flood of a sea?

Don't tell me in words.
Tell me in your shake, your shiver,
Your moan, your groan,
Your eye rolling happiness.

No. we are not done yet.
Just roll over a bit,
And start from beginning again.


© Arun Maji