a soul in attire

C P Aboobaker

    I am here behind you
    bent on the table
    with piercing eyes on the message
    inviting you to dinner tonight
    alone at his apartment
    to be or not to be
    that is the question

    you cannot see me
    I was burning in the funeral pyres
    first it fumed and fretted 
    and then a smoke burst out
    then flames flew into heights
    with fragrant incense
    and with a stubby smell
    i passed into the ethereal

    After you all were gone, 
    I lamented silently for moments
    with a desire to be with you

    we in the world of the ether 
    has no shortage or scarcity
    so I took an attire
    where my hair reminding an ad
    with sharp flying atonement
    my brow with no wrinkles deserving
    and eye lashes a muddy barren marsh
    my eyes burning cavities
    and nose a stuffy calamity

    I see you in the most beautiful attire
    I bought you
    You are sad, I can feel.
    I couldn’t feel the fragrance of your beauty
    We of the other world cannot smell
    The smells we had had when we were hither
    The stuffy nose would not accept
    the perfumes of feminine beauty
    Still I longed you in the way
    You are now
    A confused beauty
    Sighing every moment
    Had you not kept silent
    I would sit by your side
    Listening to the evil rhythm of your scolding

    I had visited his apartment
    Before I visited you
    He had a smile on his face
    One of victory
    He must be waiting to cuddle
    the brunette flying in breeze
    He had always envied me for it
    From the college days
    When I was in love
    I quarreled with you
    He was all calm and serene

    I stand here to see what you would type
    You are not aware of me
    You would shout at my presence
    In fright and awe
    But you cannot see me
    And you cannot hear me
    I may sing to your bosom
    Your favorite tunes
    Which I had never done
    Love was abundant outside
    On the riversides and in lakes
    On mountains insurmountable
    A mirage of real life!

    And at last you typed:
    You shabby idiot!
    Is it me or he?
    All-knowing soul  fails to read you right!
    No wonder, I always lost you.


C P Aboobaker - C.P. ABOOBACKER, editor of thanalonline, belongs to Calicut in Kerala. His interests include writing, publishing poems, essays, and many more literary things. Latest writing is about Channels and Globalizations. He is a retired professor of history.

    e-mail: cpaboobacker@gmail.com
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