confessing ochre is never far away

that slow descent was my undoing
I held your hand
my fingers embracing yours
in the orange haze of my mind
nothing was more beautiful

my spectacles slipped to the ground
crushed under our combined emotions
life's journey lost its meaning
in the ochre sidelines

I despaired to get closer
and closer and closer
that smile was my nemesis
I got lost in the golden light

sold to you, I hoped
to be etched into you
to be crushed in that mind
disintegration of self was so welcome

sounds of hues of orange
still speak to me
even when I am searching for you
essentially to find you by my side

"you never ever disappear
yet I fear, yet I fear
I might clear out
as my mind rests on the fence"

shades of roses on my walls

Big Room, 1948, by Andrew Wyeth

is that my bust I see on your window sill;
forlorn, neglected?
an empty room
yet I see an invisible fence
no trace of my scent.
why then you have my bust,
is it a link to our past?
essentials of an unfulfilled relationship
permeate the atmosphere
nothing is forgiven.
in that grate
you threw the recipe of our love.
what a smooth operator you have been
you etched my profile with a pencil
so as to remember to forget me

"in that rose tinted dusk
I explore the possibility of your imbalance"

Meditating for being one with you

Meditation on the Harp by Salvador Dali

you give me all of yourself,
trusting me enough to bare it all.
your vulnerability was always
known to me somehow,
even without your saying so.

you open yourself to me,
a very big responsibility for me
to care, to nurture, to keep you safe
within me. the same way
you keep me safe within you.

you complete me;
fulfilling that part, the vacuum.
I was in a slumber,
you woke me up
with you I am sincere to myself.

the great master
painted us the way we are
in the recesses of our minds;
the harp playing for us
for eternity….

"yellowed clouds are amused
while you excite me, I excite you back"

dregs

Under Windsor Bridge, 1912, by Adolphe Valette

he hid his lopsided smile
in that misty evening
orange light cast a paleness
standing at the edge
he looked at the dredge

what dregs were left behind
in the remnants of his mind
moist air flowed around him
yet in his heart
there was a drought

the water below was as still
as his turmoil 
ghostly shadows cast a spell
yet he chose the difficult path
walked away from the edge

"that gap in the bridge is never an option"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 My muse seems to be in a vacation. I had to prod it today to do some work!!

diffused

A Dinner Table at Night, 1884, John Singer Sargent

what is behind the bellowing curtains
she asks herself..
her mind has zoomed out her companion's voice
waiting for dessert,
is that a wise move?
she wishes for solitude

there can never be a shortcut
maybe the morning will show her a path
but for now, the bellowing curtains hold her interest
not the raging fire
nor the winds or rains
nothing can shatter her calm

"not for her, the softened lights"