DISENGAGING FROM THE TANGO

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This Blog article(EXCEPT EXCERPTS) is creative property of Dr.A.R aka LecinQblog.This blog article originally was written for and is meant to appear on any one of the blogs in this list

http://www.blogger.com/profile/15524952530919224387 .If you find this blog article anywhere other than on BLOGSPOT,please visit my original blog,find my email address and email me with details of where else you read this blog entry.All my blogs are AD-free blogs AND I completely frown upon someone else trying to make money off my blogs without my prior written permission.

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DISENGAGING FROM THE TANGO

Poem by Dr.A.R aka Lecinqblog

Disengaging from the tiny tango,

is a part of this dance.

Me,the swan ,

gliding on the dance floor,

alone and shiny,

doing my dainty dance,

sometimes strong and acrobatic,

sometimes gentle and delicate,

Me,the swan,

gliding on the dance floor,

as the crowd watches and cheers.

Me,the swan ,gliding on the dance floor,

And as I dance,

I spot you at the fringes,

standing in your dark glow,

The dark feathered man duck,

cute and sweet,

quacking in your tongue,

A cluckety guttural speech,

I glide along dancing,

constantly distracted by you,

standing at the fringes,

quacking away in your deep dark garb.

I constantly look over my shoulder,

slightly distracted from my dance,

I do that so often that I pay note,

Who is this duck in deep dark feathers,

and this pleasant guttural quack?

I gesture to you,

I call you over,

to dance along,

just for a bit,

just for a tiny tango.

I gesture wildly till you take note,

And take note ,you do.

You stop your quacking and take note,

of the pristine bejewelled swan!

She dances and sings these strange notes,

you are bemused by her strange swan tongue!

Notes that sound interesting to your duck ear,

bemused and interested,

you take note,

of the bejewled swan,

gliding along the dance floor.

We are but the same,

me the gliding swan in water,

you the paddling duck in water,

but water birds all the same,

we are both water birds.

I gesture wildly till you take note,

half surprised,

Is it me you are calling?

And then,

in full public view,

You pitter patter your duck feet,

as you eagerly walk across the dance floor,

to join me in a dance.

You reach me,

And we ENGAGE in a tiny tango ,

our kind eyes lock for but a moment,

your kind duck eyes meet my kind swan eyes.

We are but the same,

gliding water birds,

gliding and singing,

water birds we are.

We do our tiny little tango,

shoulder to shoulder,

arms entangled,

feet in rythm,

eyes locked,

we have our tiny little tango.

Then,as we are still doing our tango,

I look over to the fringes where you were standing before,

there they were,

your whole duck family,

mama duck and baby ducks,

looking along,

slightly alarmed at our tiny tango,

slightly troubled,

but yet cheering on.

And ,as we are doing our tiny little tango,

for just a little bit more,

I disengage and retire to the fringes,

without a word to you,

without a gesture,

an abrupt retirement.

You seem nonplussed,

wondering why I stopped,

But I quickly walk away,

into the changing rooms ,

out of your view,

while you stand alone in the dancing arena.

You then slowly walk back to your duck family,

dejected and deep in thought,

invigorated by my dance,

yet surprised by it all,

a new experience,

a different experience.

Upon your return,

mama duck seems relieved,

baby ducks don't know any different,

they quack along at your return.

Many dances pass,

no sign of me on the dance floor,

your tired eyes search for me,

the prinstine swan gliding way.

I am not in view,

I am in the changing rooms,

drinking water,

changing constumes,

recuperating and reassessing.

And finally after a long time,

I reemerge,

strengthened and enlightened by my brief rest.

When I re-emerge on the dance floor,

I am a new me,

And yet,

As I glide along on the dance floor,

My eyes constantly run to you.

I notice your sad face,

yearning for yet another dance,

like the tiny little tango,

that we had not long ago.

So I gesture for you again,

for another tiny little tango.

But,you hesitate this time,

you look at your duck family,

as if to seek their approval and blessing.

They give it half heartedly,

and you pitter patter, yet again,

across the dance floor,

and then we have a tiny little tango,

yet again.

Another new tiny little tango!

This time it isn't as effortless.

I try to keep our bodies from getting closer,

yet trying to teach you the dance,

I try to push you further,

while still holding close.

The effort shows,

The struggle shows,

And for a minute,

you try to learn,

You try to do the tiny little tango.

　

This is a different tiny little tango ,

different from the previous one,

and then,as you try to meet my eyes,

I look away,

I am focusing more on the floor,

And,Your kind eyes moisten.

When I finally look up to meet your eyes,

You look down focusing on the floor.

Our eyes never meet this time.

This is a different tiny little tango,

no spontaneous charm,

no gay abandon,

just lowered eyes and

cautious footsteps.

finally,

you DISENGAGE from this tiny tango,

and walk back to the waiting duck family.

The ducklings are eagerly quacking at your return,

mama duck is relieved you are back in her arms.

and me ,

the pristine swan continues to glide on the dance floor,

as the crowds applaud the finesse of my dance,

my strong moves and my delicate turns,

The gliding swan continues to glide on the dance floor.

Copyright © LeCinQBlog

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Tags: #dilemma #mr_t #friends #comrades #chemistry #sexuality #love_lost #past_love

MR.SUNSHINE MAN

This Blog article is creative property of Dr.A.R aka LecinQblog.This blog article originally was written for and is meant to appear on any one of the blogs in this list

http://www.blogger.com/profile/15524952530919224387 .If you find this blog article anywhere other than on BLOGSPOT,please visit my original blog,find my email address and email me with details of where else you read this blog entry.All my blogs are AD-free blogs AND I completely frown upon someone else trying to make money off my blogs without my prior written permission.

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MR.SUNSHINE MAN

My sunshine man,

My Jimmety cricket,

My live wire with wisecracks,

My avocado farmer,

My forever charmer,

My wearer of many-hats,

My vespa rider,

My wave surfer,

My reader of books,

My writer of words,

My balm to the soul,

My walker of the talks,

My sweet little dreamer,

My fallible human,

My peace-paint dancer,

My cafe-crooner,

My pond-goo drinker,

My yoga-pants farter,

My chocomole-eater,

My humble yogi,

My puckering whistler,

My former postman,

My current soul-friend,

My veggie-chomper,

My curly-lock-cuteness,

My bike rider,

My star gazer,

My dracula-nailed-strummer,

My pop-eyed-starer,

My peacelover,

My nomadic traveler,

My messenger of love,

My holder-of-hands,

My hug-giver,

My mr-tight-pants,

My mr-trying-his-best,

My mr-growing-up-each day,

My chezck-bundle of goodness,

My mr-unsure-of-himself,

My mr-wordplay,

My emotional cushion of comfort,

My patient-generous-mature-guy,

My mr-bigger-person,

My mr-wanting-to-do-good-by-you,

My fall-back-plan-forever,

My proud gardener,

My tree planter,

My sugary sweetness,

My sulker-in-the-corner,

My sleeper-all-day,

My uber-sensitive-lad,

My generous giver of love,

My patient forgiving lover,

My bare-foot-walker,

My forever-joygiver,

My battery-recharger,

My soul-repairer,

My link in the human-chain,

My fellow in the global village,

My worshiper of the sun,

My soul-window through which happy breezes blow,

My truth seeker,

My willing-learner,

My spiritual tittilater,

My compulsive-co-thinker,

My sharer-of-joy,

My go-to-guy in times of despair,

My selfdoubting-questioner,

My student-and-teacher,

My keeper-of-company in this eternal loneliness,

My strength inspirer,

MY FOREVER-FRIEND!

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Tags:#happiness,#poems_about_friends,#mr_pink,#jase,#peace,#inspiration,#forever_friends,#thank_you,#love,#balm_on_my_soul,#poetry

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Most poems posted on this blog are typed out directly into the compose box and posted immediately.Most poems are FIRST DRAFTS and are written over minutes ,with no paper/mind- edits.Most poems are spontaneous and real.I pride myself at being able to write poems at the drop of a hat , on the spot and in a jiffy.Writing honest poems without editing them helps me to purge my feelings and emotions even more than writing prose.

If you like reading my poems,please,do email me telling me about it.If you are a book publisher, and would like to publish my poems,please email me with a valid official phone number and a feasible book proposal .Thanks!

BOSTON STRONG

This Blog article is creative property of Dr.A.R aka LecinQblog.This blog article originally was written for and is meant to appear on any one of the blogs in this list

http://www.blogger.com/profile/15524952530919224387 .If you find this blog article anywhere other than on BLOGSPOT,please visit my original blog,find my email address and email me with details of where else you read this blog entry.All my blogs are AD-free blogs AND I completely frown upon someone else trying to make money off my blogs without my prior written permission.

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Poet's note about her poem BOSTON STRONG.

I was supposed to type this poem out in april,but I kept postponing it for later.Finally, the time has come to bring out this poem,which has been floating around in my brain for months now.

This poem is a tribute to boston and all boston lovers.Boston is ONE OF MY FAVORITE cities in the world.It holds a special place in my heart and the whole boston marathon bombings totally broke my heart for a bit.But, boston is famous for it's resilience and its strength.And this poem is an ode to that spirt.

I have attempted to write each stanza of three lines each and each line with just two words.Each line has a special meaning.Anyone who is a boston native can instantly recognize the places i mention in a mere two words in each line.This is my humble gift to fellow bostonites/bostonians .Please enjoy!

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BOSTON STRONG

Boston strong,

Boston brave,

Boston beautiful.

Boston bustling,

Boston briliant,

Boston big.

Boston ancient,

Boston new,

Boston cool.

Boston T,

Boston see,

Boston me.

Boston commons,

Boston charmers,

Boston gardens.

Boston wharf,

Boston whales,

Boston sails.

Boston walk,

Boston run,

Boston marathon.

Boston beans,

Boston chowder,

Boston dough.

Boston revere,

Boston revolution,

Boston Tea.

Boston brains,

Boston hearts,

Boston souls.

Boston sox,

Boston rocks,

Boston blues.

Boston strong,

Boston brave,

Boston beautiful.

==================================================================================Tags: #boston,#boston_poetry,#poems_on_boston,#boston_strong,#love_for_a_city,#love,#I_miss_boston,#city_love

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Most poems posted on this blog are typed out directly into the compose box and posted immediately.Most poems are FIRST DRAFTS and are written over minutes ,with no paper/mind- edits.Most poems are spontaneous and real.I pride myself at being able to write poems at the drop of a hat , on the spot and in a jiffy.Writing honest poems without editing them helps me to purge my feelings and emotions even more than writing prose.

If you like reading my poems,please,do email me telling me about it.If you are a book publisher, and would like to publish my poems,please email me with a valid official phone number and a feasible book proposal .Thanks!

SHEDDING YOU LIKE OLD SKIN

This Blog article is creative property of Dr.A.R aka LecinQblog.This
blog article originally was written for and is meant to appear on any
one of the blogs in this list
http://www.blogger.com/profile/15524952530919224387 .If you find this
blog article anywhere other than on BLOGSPOT,please visit my original
blog,find my email address and email me with details of where else you
read this blog entry.All my blogs are AD-free blogs AND I completely
frown upon someone else trying to make money off my blogs without my
prior written permission.
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SHEDDING YOU LIKE OLD SKIN
I am shedding you like old skin,
Like a snake does over time,
the mighty female cobra,
dark and powerful and glistening in the sun.

She lays there on the ground,
basking her skin in the sun.
She notices her skin tatters,
too long this skin has been on her she thinks,
too many tatters on the skin.

These tatters that came,
with doing the mating dance with her male cobra!
she thinks ,
while basking there on the ground,
time to shed you mate,
time to shed you like old skin.

So ,I slither along rough surfaces,
and slowly scrape out the old tatters,
I slither and slither,
in and out of sharpnels,
and slowly the skin starts shedding,
bit by bit ,
and then finally as a whole casing.

Finally,I have shed you like old skin,
Finally,I have shed you like old skin.

I have shed you like old skin,
I have shed you out,
with your rolex watches,
and your fancy dysfunctional cars,
your desperation for money,
your confused love choices,
your sell-out personality,
I have shed them all,
I have shed you with all your flaws,
flaws that I once thought you would never develop,
but you did,
so,now,
I shed you my friend,
I shed you like old skin.

Our old mesmerizing cobra love dance is over,
The wrangling together in our majestic lengths is over,
We have done the love dance far too long,
now it is over.

So, I am shedding you like old skin,
like old snake skin.

And now when I return to our old love garden,
I can still see a casing of my old skin,
and a casing of your old skin too,
laying there in one of our old love nooks,
a saddened nostalgia that!

and so ,I am shedding you like old skin,
coz ,I have outgrown my old skin,
and you have outgrown yours too!

Poem by Dr.A.R aka lecinqblog
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Tags: #mr_U, #love,#old_love, #young_love, #special_love,
#love_with_a_soulmate,#fork_in_the_road_of_life,#childhood_love,#soul_love,#soul_replica

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Most poems posted on this blog are typed out directly into the compose
box and posted immediately.Most poems are FIRST DRAFTS and are written
over minutes ,with no paper/mind- edits.Most poems are spontaneous and
real.I pride myself at being able to write poems at the drop of a hat
, on the spot and in a jiffy.Writing honest poems without editing them
helps me to purge my feelings and emotions even more than writing
prose.
If you like reading my poems,please,do email me telling me about it.If
you are a book publisher, and would like to publish my poems,please
email me with a valid official phone number and a feasible book
proposal .Thanks!

My man of many colorful shirts

POEM by Dr.A.R .Copyright lecinqblog aka Dr.A.R

MY MAN OF MANY COLORFUL SHIRTS
The man of many colorful shirts
Striking in red,
deeply dark in black,
perfect in pink,
bright in white,
rugged in checkered ,
burning in orange,
bella in blue,
baked in brown,
pretty in printed,
blending in chocolate,
taking on turquoise,
cute in creme,
glowing in green,
bejeweled in blue on blue,
pensive in pink on white,
baritone in navy blue,
sunshine in white on pink,
cholo in the pink checkers,
yowzee in yellow,
cool in khakhis,
rugged in rose,
playful in magenta,
placid in baby pink,
royal in white on black,
energetic in aquamarine,
fresh in mauve,
moody in maroon,
neat in white on mauve!

My dear man of many shirts,
many colorful shirts you wear,
you love to dress up you say,
you look good my friend.


Every shirt you adorn,
brings out the beauty in you,
the beauty of a bright mind,
a restless soul,
a kind heart .

Even more desirable you are,
when the shirts come off,
and the muscle tone shows,
and lean body glistens,
and always in my thoughts,
is this colorful man with his colorful shirts.


Tags:Mr.T,shirts,clothing,analogies,simile_in_poetry,poetry,love,sexuality,sex,admiration,love,adornment

POSTNOTE:This poem is about mr.t,yet again,another poem.I had been
meaning to write this poem since february.Got around to doing it only
now.
The thing about mr.t is,he has a peculiarly interesting skin tone
which allows him to carry off any colored shirt he wears.Everything
looks good on him.
In one way,though my own skin tone is slightly different from his,I
manage to carry off any color too(atleast I have been often told this
by many different unbiased sources)..
So,I like the fact that i found another person,a man at that,who also
carries off any and all colors so well.This poem is an ode to his many
colorful shirts.Simplistic but ornate verbosa!
I wrote this poem in ONE GO,no edits,just like all my other poems.I
wrote this poem while looking at a slideshow of mr.t's pictures and in
each he is wearing a different colored shirt and I wrote as I saw
..:)))),just a while ago,,so...FRESH off the press.enjoy!

One day

One day
I will find my man
An equal man
An equally intelligent man
An equally good looking man
An equally multitalented man
And it is not going to be mr.r
or mr.t
or mr.U
it is going to be someone else
with whom
I won't feel like I sold out for less
I won't feel like I am settling down for less
I will feel at home
as he teases me
intellectually
emotionally
sexually
and spritually
and I would tease him back and
When we have kids together
we will praise what we find in our kids
a little bit of each other.

Monkey madness in march!

Monkey,Monkey,
Sitting on the Branch.
Monkey,Monkey,
Looking at me

Tags:nature,stories,march,monkey,journal,trees,animals,gook,four_liners

A fleeting love in february !

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Poem written by Dr.A.R aka Lecinqblog.
This is copyrighted material,
PLEASE DO NOT REPRODUCE OR USE without prior written permission from A.R
*****************
Just before I go to sleep,
Just like that,
I learn to sexually respond in my mind to a new man.
Another man,
Even older,
than the previous one,
the previous one?
I rebuked for being too old,
for me to pursue!
This new one ?
comparitively anciently older,
and yet !
The mental orgasm ;
That the old monster was able to give me,
I am able to experience it anew,
With a newer man,
A newer but more ancient man.

This february night,
in the month of valentine,
Just before I go to sleep,
For a few minutes,
I imagine myself looking into this man's deep emotionally loaded eyes,
too much emotion in him,
it is always that way as I notice,
too many times i have seem him start talking about something from the past,
Very dear to his heart,
And he almost starts to well up in tears,
I think that it is this side of his,
the childlike emotional side of an old man,
not ashamed to go there to places in his mind,
places that cause him to want to cry,
but he stops short of actually crying each time.

I think it is "pity love" yet again,
why is it always that ,with me,
pity evokes far more love in me for people,
then , then,
the "pity love" transforms into a motherly "taking in",
like you take a crying child to your bosom,
"taking in" of his soul into mine,
our souls color each other,
And soon the unconditionality of takin in someone and their soul,
allows me to sexually react to them,
but only,but only
if the time and person is appealing to me in other ways too.

So, now,
on a february night,
the month of valentine,
just before I go to sleep,
All i can think of ,
is him.

His stories,
His emotion filled stories,
His juvenile body language when he is all of 48,
His broad face,
a face that immediately reflects what he feels.

He is not afraid to show on his face exactly how he feels,
His playfulness,
how good he wears those shirts,
men who look good in dress shirts have always caught my sexual eye.no?

His skin that tans ever so easily,
making it go clayily bronze after days of sun,
strangely and newly I realize,
I am attracted to his bronze hue.

The square jaw,
The strong jaw,
the way he pops things into his mouth and
noisily bites into them,
the strong jaw.

I mutter under my breath,
The way he wields things with his left hand,
something so sexy about deft lefthanded men,no?
(of which too many are around me these days,)
(too many left handed old men around me !)

And then, for some reason,
I keep muttering under my breath,
"But he is so handsome,oh, but he is so handsome"
I repeat that over and over,
under my breath,
every single time I see him.

"aww,truly,how can he be so handsome?"
over and over,
as if in wonderment,
that I actually find him handsome.

I stare at him closer,
to find out why I find him so handsome.
I stare somemore ,
just to verify if i really find him handsome.
Am I talking myself into it?
I stare some more each time,
just to make sure this is a spontaneous thing,
this attraction i feel for a face and a person.

I suspect the attraction is for the persona,
so I squint and stare some more,
to see if he is really handsome,
or am I talking myself into this?
I mutter under my breath yet again,
"oh,but why do I find him so handsome?"

This night,
finally,
on this night of february,
the month of valentine,
it happened,
the mental orgasm.

Just as I get ready to sleep,
all tucked up in the buff ,
under my comfy blanket,
in the dark,
I look up at the ceiling and all I can utter is,
"oh, but why so much emotion..why, come here"

I am only imagining all this,
yet it feels real,
much like telepathic love,which is true,
but I seldom imagine such stuff in a sexual manner,
it has to happen spontaneously,out of the blue,
very rarely does it cross over,
from the "reaching-out" to a person ,
to,getting all sexual about it in my head.

So,in february,
the month of valentine,
As I lay down,
I ask him,in my imagination,
as I imagine, he is right there on the bed with me,
and I ask him to be over me
and then I look into his eyes,
as he is heavy on me,
"but why my dear, why so much emotion, why?"
I know I am crossing the pity-love-threshold ,when ,
I start using phrases like "come here" in scenarios.

A simple moment,
a moment in my mind,
but an orgasmic effect on my brain and body,
and then,
the sexual relief from the mind to the body,
Allows me to sleep deep that night.

The next day,
yet another day in february,
the month of valentine,
a whole day of actually saying niblets of my thoughts to him.
I do so ,
because I want to empty my thoughts of him.
I tell him things,
so that I can purge all thoughts of him.

I tell him things in succession,
all eager to empty my mind,
I tell him all this,
barely expecting him to respond,
I don't want him to respond.

I say things in quick succession
I don't want to give him time to respond,
I want to say and bolt before he can react,
I just want to empty my mind,
I want to tell him what I think of him,
then move on.

So,I tell him things,
and then run away before he can react.
I half expect him NOT to pay attention,
I fully hope he doesn't react,
I just want to say and run away,
I DON'T want us to get involved,
but yet ,I want to say my mind,
so ,I say them,like a bravado youngin.

I say and say,
then I run away,
and then,
as night arrives,
weary body lies down to sleep,
in all its nakedness under a cool blanket.

And yet another night of february,
the month of valentine,
I get ready to go to sleep,
Partly playing out all the lines I had told him that day,
well thought out honest lines,
lines that were meant to unburden my soul,
I feel bad that I feel so much for yet another OLD man.

So,before I go off to sleep,
on yet another night of february,
the month of valentine,
I mutter under my breath,
in the dark,
under the blanket,
"I MUST STAY AWAY,I MUST VOLUNTARILY withdraw from this"

This is like an ultimatum I give myself,
I make a FIRM mental note to myself,
I say this to protect myself from yet another old man,
I need a young man,
I don't need an old man,
I am too young to be with an old man.
I mutter under my breath,
"I must nip this in the bud !".

Then I mutter some more
"Stop this before it goes too far"
Then some more,
"You are the one who will lose out again"
"Don't pursue this!"
"stop!"
"stop before you pursue this!".

Then I know,
I AM DEEP INTO THIS,
emotionally and mentally,
sexually more so than anything,
but sexual is nothing but emotional and mental put together.

Even before it begins,
I know,
I must get out before it gets deeper,
any deeper.

So,this night in february,
the month of valentine,
I turn over my bed,
to lay on my side
and stare at the wall and
mutter under my breath,
"You must learn to protect yourself"
"Protect yourself BEFORE the damage happens"
"I must withdraw!"
and then I go to sleep.

The next day morning,
I am surprised to find a note from him,
shucks!
I DIDN'T want him to respond,
I didn't
oh no,
on no,
"oh my gosh, he is getting into the well too!".

The cool waters of the well,
that I inadvertantly got into,
the waters that I wanted to wade for a wee bit in,alone.
I wanted to do so alone ,
And then get out of the well,
oh no,
Why did he get into the well as well?

Severe panic,
because I was there in the well,
already swimming alone in the cool dark waters,
alone and swimming in the well I was,
singing praises of him from my soul,
and then he hears my songs.

He has sharp ears,
eager sharp ears looking to hear solemn songs,
so he notices and hears,
he peeps into the well.

What he sees is a pretty maiden,
"Strong eloquent maiden this one,swimming in a well?"he thinks.
"singing all but songs about me?" he asks,
Then, just like that,with ease,
he gets into the well too.
and then he just jumps into the well too?
oh,but why?

I dread,
because this a well,
it is cool and calm,
but yet,it is dark and deep,
and there is no going anywhere from here.

It is a well,
it is not a river or ocean,
it is a well,
quickly but surely,
one of us needs to get out.
This is what I wanted to withdraw from.

So, I swim uncomfortably while he is also in the well,
the loud free songs I was singing before,
they now trail away.

I stop short to think to myself,
"what do I do?"
"do i abruptly get out?"
"should I just swim with him here for a bit?"

But,this is a well,
this is not a river,
Rivers go to the sea,
wells go nowhere!
There is no going anywhere with this.

Then,out of an impuslive whim,
I decide,
I decide to continue,
to sing out all the songs I wrote for him,
empty my songs into the well while I am still here.

I decide I will empty myself completely,
before I get out of this well.
So,I sing yet another song,
he listens intently,
yet another song,
he listens intently some more,
We never talk,
I sing, he listens.

Then suddenly,
I feel the need to explain to him why I sing this way.
This sudden explanation causes him to react strangely!

A strange reaction that.
Maybe he didn't expect me to explain?
Maybe he didn't want me to explain?
Maybe he wanted me to just sing.

The strange reaction causes me to stop singing anymore,
I still had a few songs left in me for him.
I wanted to sing out all of them before I left,
but his strange reaction stifled my songs.

Now,there are a few songs left residually in my soul,
and I don't like that!
I don't like residues!
His strange reaction surprised me,
It opened up a self-doubtful-part of his heart to me.

Projection never appeals to me,does it?
So, I am baffled by his strange reaction.
So,suddenly,I am hurt and stifled,

I doubt,
I stop singing,
I get out of the well for a bit.
I sit at the bankment of the well,
deep in contemplation.

He is still in the water,
I wonder why.
I don't notice him much anymore,
it is getting darker,
no real saying if anyone is in the water or not.

I sit at the bankment for a bit,
then I walk around,
doing chores,
thinking and rethinking my songs.

Oh but,
maybe my songs are all stupid,
maybe I imposed myself too much,
no more songs,
no more songs.

But,I,
but, I
but,
no tears yet.

He clearly felt imposed upon,
okay,no more songs,
no more songs for him,
no more.

Yet another night in february,
the month of valentine,
I get off to a fitful sleep,
dark soul in darkness,
silence and sadness.

I wake up the next day,
I run to the well,
too dark in the dawn to see,
looks like no one is there in the water.

I decide to get once more into the water,
one last time,
to leave a parting note for him,
a tiny little lotus flower,
a goodbye present.

I leave a note, no songs this time,
just a note,
saying I won't sing any more songs,
the parting gift of a lotus.

Then I leave,
I am not sure,
I walk back in self doubt,
it was dawn in the dark,
what if he was still in the water,
wanting to swim,
swim with me.

I left in the dark of dawn,
not wanting to return to that well again,
not wanting to sing any more songs,
no more songs for him.

Burdened by some residual songs ,
that were left unsung,
I have a heavy heart.

No tears yet,
yet another february evening,
the month of valentine,
fitful sleep,
no tears yet.

I mutter under my breath,
"I should not have imposed to BOLDLY"
I mutter somemore,
"I read signals all wrong"
"I impose myself on others,"
"Me and my stupid need to sing soul songs"

Yet another february night,
the month of valentine,
I drift into extremely fitful sleep.

Next day comes,
I don't even go to the well,
Then,by afternoon,
too burdened by my unsung songs,
I go to the well.

I am taken by surprise to find something there,
to see,
another colored lotus,
waiting for me?
"He left a lotus for me?"

I see a strange shadow of a man,
over at the distant other edge of the embankment,
stretching out his hand ,
to what seems like a reflection.

He doesn't realize there is no one else inside the well,
I was not in the water,
but he thinks the reflection is me in person,
so he stretches out his hand,
to my reflection in the water.

While in that very minute,
in that very minute,
when I am admiring the lotus he left for me,
he is stretching out his hand to my reflection in the water.

He probably had been waiting for hours since dawn,
And while in the afternoon,
just as I arrive at the well,
admiring the lotus,
he had already waited for hours by then.

Just as I realize what has happened at the well,
in those few hours of my absence from it,
I am slightly reluctant to get right into the water,
but his lotus present for me,
it makes me burst into tears,
aaaah,tears,
tears finally!


And,I am still reluctant,
to get into the water,
I CAN'T join him,
This will get far too deeper for me to handle.

If we openly join hands this way ,
people will see,
I can't do this,
I can't do this with him,
the old man.

I can't get into this water,
I can't.
While I am struggling to decide,
his outstretched hand aches in anticipation.
yet,
I can't decide.

This is far too tough for me,
The decision is very dilemma-inducing,
some tears,then silence,
Mind is racing,
but he is waiting with an outsretched hand,
yet,and still!

Can't let a courageous man alone and waiting,
in the waters of the well,
The well that I beckoned him into with my songs.
yet,can't decide.

My songs were innocent and un-scheming,
I didn't expect or want him to get into the well,
but given that he is what he is,
the man who does what he feels,
he just had to jump into the well.

I am suddenly reminded of his strange reaction,
I pull back,
why did he say hurtful things?
and then.
why did he turn around and leave me a lotus?

He now swims there waiting ,
with an outstretched hand,
he has been waiting for hours now.
And,as the afternoon sun pierces the water of the well,
and heats it up,
he is waiting,
and I am sitting at the banks of the well,
clutching the lotus left for me by him.

I CAN'T DECIDE,
So, I decide to find another lotus,
to give it back to him.
I take a walk,
in search of a new lotus for him,
And in much reluctance,
when I return to the well,
HE IS GONE!

His lotus is gone too,
The lotus that I had sat there clutching for a bit,
that is gone too!

Strangely,
I am suddenly relieved,
not needing to respond anymore,
not feeling the pressure to reach out to his hand.

All i wanted was to sing songs in a well,
alone,
for a bit.

Now ,I am sitting at the bank of the well,
with a few residual songs in my soul,
burdening my soul,
him having left the well.

I can see his watery footprints walking away,
his lotus is gone too,
surely,
I can follow his watery footprints and find him?

BUT I WON'T,
I won't,
The residual songs remain unsung ,
my soul is a slightly heavy one now.

But,I am not following his footprints,
I NEED him to go ,
I don't want him to come to the well,
I WON'T come to this well,
the lotuses will be left alone.

No more songs too,
and I DON'T want an old man,
I NEED A YOUNG MAN,
I don't want an old man.

Now and again,
I have this urge to sing out his songs ,
no new songs come up in my mind,
it is only those residual songs,
that never got sung,
they want to come out sometimes.

Then,suddenly,
I remember his first initial strange reaction,
and then,
I WITHDRAW,
no more songs for us,
no more swims in the well,
no more holding hands,
no more exchanging lotuses.

I WAIT FOR the watery footprints to dry out,
leaving no trace of his path,
I have a vague idea,
of the direction of where he went,
but I WON'T GO THERE.

A fleeting love of february is better left alone!


Tags:love,Mr_T,love_songs,lotus,gifts,soul_songs,residual,unrequited,unsung_songs,well,swimming_in_a_well,reaching_out,letting_go,love_that_is_not_meant_to_be,

The Embrace

WARNING: SENSUAL MATERIAL/erotica
If you are below the age of 15, kindly refrain from reading further.
I wrote this in an email to someone on an emotionally charged thursday dated Feb 10,2011.
I have no idea, NO IDEA,what possessed me , TO WRITE SUCH AN INTIMATE DEEP letter to someone.Very raw,very true,very sensual.I wrote it coz i felt it.And when I feel things I HAVE THIS COMPULSION TO WRITE THEM OUT

If emails are WITNESS then yes, I did write this email to someone.
Whether that SOMEONE ever deserved even a miniscule second of my time and attention is a question that begs to be asked..but, hey!, I DOLED IT OUT , didn't I?

I wrote this poem to a man, who probably only knows how to love  his own needs .Someone who probably knows to emotionally love mmmm maybe men ? Men who left him for another country.Someone who can love  and share with any odd woman that comes his way and is a sure thing (any woman/multiple women would do,yeah? ).A man who thinks of love as some kind of obligation.Someone who thinks that love is an obligatory gesture towards someone who does something mundane for him in real life.

So, given how he is internally wired and Since I was ONLY this  nameless and faceless Internet dame,To him I was just another "entity", nothing TANGIBLE enough to amount to anything mundane and materialistic.

Either ways, I now feel that He was not worthy of this poem(though I actually  did write it to him really fully MEANING it then) because  the whole time we interacted, he was so reluctant and fearful of OWNING UP AND CELEBRATING THE "possible" love he felt for me though that very whole time  I somehow could sense that I MEANT A GREAT LOT OF A DEAL TO HIM IN A LOT OF WAYS judging from what special words(except the word love) he wrote for me .It is only later that I understand that HE JUST HAS NO VALUE FOR HIS OWN WORDS...his own words have no meaning for him.

Or maybe he never felt it(THE LOVE) because of which he never FELT OBLIGATED TO OWN IT UP
Whichever is the case, here we are at this blog entry, years down the line.

So,yeah,.PLEASE NOTE THAT THE POEM IS EXTREMELY RAW and SEXUAL(not gross or anything)..so,don't gasp at raw sentences when they come up as you read it ! K?

And also, please don't read it and THEN IF YOU ARE A CREEPY GUY, permit yourself to have amorous thoughts towards me.(please don't).

(To all the MR.U admirers who come to nose around in this blog..NO, I DIDN'T WRITE THIS POEM FOR MR.U.it was for mr.green)

Here goes the POEM,

THE EMBRACE
poem by Dr.A aka LECINQBLOG

You ask me what I would like to do to you in bed,
on the table,
in the lounge room,
outside at night ..
(The above passage, he had asked me in one of his letters to me. He asked me what I would do in each of those specific places-These sentences inside the brackets was NOT IN THE ORIGINAL EMAIL.It is to express the implied meaning)

Just minutes ago,
I saw someone that vaguely reminded me of you

And yet again,
..the bodily need,
the desires started all over again

xxxxxxxxxx(part of email omitted for the sake of poem continuity)
About the embrace

That bare breasted embrace,,
both of us shirtless,
while my breasts ;
touch your chest,
Gently,
like kisses;
and I lay my head on your shoulder.

Gentle summer evening,
Pleasant mellowing approaching night,
Twilight,
me and you in a soft gentle embrace.

I will never have you in reality,
This hurts..so much.
It hurts coz you want me so much too,
That is why it hurts all the more!
In that bare breasted embrace,
as you hold me like you would a young child,
caressing and protecting,
tightening your grip on me and loosening it,
the breeze from the balcony blows into the darkening living room,
the room that is slowly getting dark,
Yet, we haven't had the time to go switch on the lights in preparation for the night;
coz we are busy embracing each other.

On some days I want you so much.
I want your children knowing fully well  how UNFIT you are to be a father!
Yet  I want you inside of me,giving me my children from you.

UNREQUITED, UNREQUITED..everything so unrequited...

Why this obsession?
Mutual very much,this obsession.
When did we hook up like this mentally?
I want you to tell me how my breasts feel over your chest,
As they touch you I want you inside of me,
...slowly,,repeatedly..gently...like you own me..

Chalk and sandpaper

I am chalk
you are sandpaper
our intereactions are like sandpaper rubbing against chalk
The more the interactions happen
the more the chalk rubs on to the sandpaper
the sandpaper gains more chalk
the chalk loses herself
if the interaction continues more and more
at the end of it
there would be no chalk
it would be all gone into dust
all rubbed on to the sandpaper
finally there will be no chalk exisiting
there will only be a loaded sandpaper that gained a lot
and an empty non existent chalk that lost it all

The sparrow with the broken wings

The sparrow with the broken wings
it is too weak
too sad
too dead
too scared
to much in pain
the gates of the cage are open
the sparrow wants to fly away
but it can't
too weak to even move around in the cage
waiting for someone to feed her
mend her broken wings
make her stronger
till finally
she can muster up some courage
to walk to the gate of the cage
then fly away..far far away

Letting the doves fly away one by one

Written by Dr.A aka Lecinqblog

I am letting them fly away,
The doves that i had carefully locked up
in the prison of my heart
the doves they caused me pain
while they flapped their wings
locked inside the prison of my mind

I needed to
to let my mind
let go off the pain
The doves are nothing but
painful memories
ghots from the past
impulsive mistakes
greusome awareness of being violated
The doves with their flapping wings
They wanted to go out of the prison
and relieve me of the burden

But I held on
afraid everyone would see
as drones of doves fly out of my window
I held on
till one day
I was suffocated
with the memory of it all

Beggars on the street
slyly watching to see
If I ever open my window
I stood there behind the window
the closed window of my palace
feeling afraid to let the sunshine in
desperately wanting to breathe fresh air

I wanted you to go away,
and never come back
yet, you came by my street
every now and then
in clever disguises
thinking you could check on me
creepily keeping tabs
 me ,
whom you humiliated once upon a time,
for fear ,lest the thief of your own heart  be exposed,
you abadoned me.

So, I kept my window closed,
of fear to come across you and
the scortching heat of memories
flooding through those windows,
paining my eyes.
that are by now used to darkeness
but today,
I let the doves out,
all of them,
I drove them out
i dusted my palace,
I let sunshine in again
I don't care if you stand there in my streetcorner
like a beggar
like a spy
I don't care
I never look down at the streetcorner these days
I just look up as all the doves are flying away
into the horizon
And I suddenly notice
the sun at the horizon and the skies
and for a moment
i forget about the beggar at the streetcorner

About caging a pretty bird!

ABOUT CAGING A PRETTY BIRD

A person sees a very pretty, colorful bird ;

with many colorful feathers;

that is soaring in the sky;

in the all its glory.

They take a liking to it .

They want it..

They want to own it.

They want to keep it at their beck and call;

so that they can watch the pretty feathers;

whenever they want.

They want to keep it near;

so they can hear it sing it's pretty songs;

whenever they want to hear one .

They lay a trap.

They catch the bird.

They put it in a CAGE.

Days pass by,

the bird gets sadder and sadder.

It cannot fly in all its majesty.

Flying, which is its second nature;

is not allowed anymore!

It sits in its unnatural circumstances,

in that tiny little cage,

a pitiful spectacle.

It gets sadder by the day.

The bondage,

the lack of freedom;

NO skies, no trees..

Just a tiny cage.

A majestic creature that once soared the skies ,

now sits in a tiny space of a cage.

The bird tries to get out in the first few days.

No luck!

Days pass..

The bird is resigned to its fate.

It sheds a silent tear every now and then.

It waits..

maybe the cage will open,

maybe I will go..

The cage doesn't open.

Slowly, the bird becomes another person.

A person who sits in a cage waiting to be fed.

It changes.

The colorful feathers shed.

No more colorful feathers.

Just some grayish singed ones.

No more of that freshness anymore.

The glow of the body is gone.

Some more silent tears.

A body transformation.

Unhealthy feathers in a filthy cage.

The bird stops singing too..

After all,what is there to sing about sitting in a tiny cage?

Nothing..nothing at all!

Slowly, slowly,

the bird forgets the skies,

the trees, the singing..

it becomes this colorless, sad, grey feathered bird;

that never sings!

It just lets out a sigh,

a sad sigh of bondage,

It cries some more,

Tears dry up!

The heart is broken,

the body is dead

The bird dies!

Merely of heartbreak,

of bondage ,

of having been possessed ;

and displaced !

It dies,

It lays there in the cage,

till someone clears up the cage;

Yet for another new bird with colorful feathers

To come in

Waiting...the cage is waiting.

Written by Dr.A aka Lecinqblog

Copyright(c)Lecinqblog

The key to your lock-LOCK AND KEY PHENOMENON

The LOCK AND KEY PHENOMENON?I am this key who opens the locks to your deep dark gallows and your soul screams aloud and grabs me with love!
In a moment of panic, I throw my key to your lock in the stream and run the other way only to turn around see you walk away and  then I run to youbut it never was meant to be!

The kite and The man

I am this kite
slowly gliding away into higher skies..
while you look away or a moment
busy with something around you.
You then look up
and i am gone.

The Garden and The Desert

The Garden and The Desert
Written by Dr.A aka Lecinqblog.Please do not reproduce/use without prior written permission
I am like the Garden ,
There will always be flowers and birds in my garden,

You are like the Desert,
There will always be heat and sand in the desert.

The flowers and the Birds,
that i lovingly send from my garden,
all the way to your desert,
loaded with my loving messages,
they reach there,
But they singe in the heat of your desert,
And then they die.

I now see no use,
for sending you dead flowers and dead birds,
so,
I have to close the gates of my garden,
and,
I will never let my birds ,
out into your desert.
I now have to close the gates of my garden.

Written by
Dr.A aka Lecinqblog

Good days, Bad days

There are good days, there are bad days, there are good people , there are bad people..No need to sit and analyze why someone that respected and wrote emotional letters to you at one point suddenly turns around and starts becoming vicious to you.
That is life..seasons changes, days change, I change, they change..
So, just let the change happen and just move on ...

Entanglements

I don't know at what point it happened
And why it happened
But the entanglements have happened
And So, though Both of us have decided
To turn our backs to each other and walk on,
All we are doing now is,
Constantly thinking about each other,
Even if we are doing so only in anger and not love,
Anger is a type of emotion too you see,
An emotion that still indicates an entanglement,
We  both are knotted up together in some inseperable ways now,
By just our minds and thoughts,
And it is all difficult and disgusting..
I want out..
I want out of this mental entanglement,
I need you to cease to exist in my head anymore..
Be gone, my friend,
Be gone.

Reliving the basket flowers from the past

I don't want any future insights.
I just want a reliving of the past.
I want you to recall those moments that you felt for me..if any..
I want to carry them all in my basket and then walk..
That is all i want..
There is nothing in the future.the future is bleak..
I am only trying to gather up the broken pieces
of this beautiful ceramic cup that once was a
And was almost baking and then it broke
before it could start to happen..
that is all I am seeking

some repair..some picking up of the pieces that once were..then i walk

The constant variables

See, it hurts me that this love is not meant to be..
Sometimes we have variables..
The constant variables..
They cannot be changed.
So, we cannot be together.
Had you been the same age as me
I mean had you been that young man from that picture..
and had I met you somewhere in such a case
I would have taken you home right that day
and made love to you.
I agree that there is an intense sexual connection..
I understand that.
But this is not meant to be..
It hurts me as much as it hurts you..
but which is why..
I want still experience it on some level..
before leaving you..:((