As I strode along burrowing through the darkness,
night’s cool breath licked my face.
Shadows wavered in spectral mist
and the slumberous city in one last fulmination of mirth
gathered all the whores in dark corners of the soi.
They stood in small clumps of shadow
as if the corps of night came out of their graves
to satiate the forlorn lust of their last lives.
They whispered and giggled and their bangles gleamed and clinked,
they lifted their face and smiled as I walked past them.
I felt I was imprisoned in an ancient temple of love
amid a jungle somewhere in Sumatra,
beyond the reach of any light and wisdom,
where a sudden magical spell stirred up the ancient spirit
and brought alive all the petrified figures of Kama sutra.
Then I saw her in the diaphanous darkness under a street lamp,
her eyes floated in silence,
where a dry sadness from a previous time was still thawing.
I had seen her before in many such thirsty nights,
and I had taken refuge in the cave of her body
like a prehistoric man with all the primal fear and passion
and all the aching of loneliness,
yet looking at her now
I felt the explosion of fresh possibilities in my blood,
the song of her soul ebbed and flowed in my veins.
At first she was just a memory of an experience,
then time transformed the memory into dreams and then a lingering obsession
from which she was the only escape possible.
With a nervous smile she gazed at me,
Then we treaded the path together to my small darkened room,
with our palms interlocked in a familiar thrill.
I had travelled this path before from her to my room countless times,
a path that always lay half immersed in darkness
with occasional patches of light like islands of consciousness
cast through the cracks of window panes.
As I was bathing in the bliss of our communion,
lifting her face she looked at me with her bird’s nest eyes
where I saw fledging emotions were brooding in silence
and intoned “One crack and my life will end,
you see I live so close to death”.
I reflected “So do I and that’s why we live life so fully”
The gyrating fan hummed in a metronomic pitch
casting alternately a wedge of shadow and light over us
and all of our agonies and ecstasies hung around in that swiftly moving blackness
like tiny bubbles of translucent dream.