Cherry Flavoured Antacids
Prose, Poetry and Random Musings.

Welcoming myself back..

By Homer Simpson!
3 years. I don't know what brings me back here. The lack of intelligent conversation? Not being able to express myself in dense verses, entangled paragraphs and unrestricted emotion? Fear of being so tangled up within myself? Will to fight against a night which threatens to suppress my expression?

I was away for all this time but that does not mean I didn't have a pen or a laptop. Before getting back to publishing, I just wanted to see if any of you who used to follow/read my blog are still around. Please care to let me know if you read this.

See you all soon.


Category: , , By Homer Simpson!

Mantled in scars, she'd not feel but just ogle helplessly.
Jagged against my skin, along my cheeks, and on my hands.
In midnight caresses, odious blushes, and explicit hushes.
In violent regressions, fluent vows, and lustful exchanges.
Feigned dreadfulness, and thought I'd never notice the texture.
Not while the lustful exploration or sifting the conscience.
Conscious I am. She said. Obdurate it is. She meant.

I'd observed them fiercely long before I'd touched her.
Committed to memory sharp angles of overbearing nerves.
Ruffing against blood and tissue, thin and stretched over.
I saw the glittering charcoal beneath her fingernails.
I killed nights, fantasizing her scrubbing them away in vain.
In the shower,furiously. It was the veins, destined to be hers.
Couldn't let him know. She thought. Aware he was. She knew.

I'd noticed them first; those blue convexed tributaries.
And later, the delicate non-existent joints of her wrists.
And later still, long after sex, the way each cut would bloom
In hot weather, on her fingertips, to her lips. On my heart.
How anxiety would speed up her tight-lipped complaints.
It hurt her each time she washed her hands. She never said.
It hurt me too, to watch her itch and to believe. She doesn't know.

Covered in numbing stigmata. We'd ridiculed it perpetually.
When she was not in pain. Pondered whether, with distortion,
She might no longer have any fingerprints beneath those nails.
I wondered if destinies could be altered by an allergic complaint,
re-writing one's palms. I wanted us to have matching life-lines.
Converging identities. Inseparable souls. Bloodless handshakes.
Even if it meant re-doing my own with a knife, dagger or my heart.

Geography has healed her now. The change of climate.
Not medicines. It keeps her burning skin in tact.
Now every time she spreads her acute fingers like wings,
No flesh is opened, no blood brought forth. Just heart ache.
But with the flight of her hands which no longer care,
She jilts me instead, of affection. Hates me for all I do.
Gestures no, instead of yes. Eternally remains empty and nescient.

It is like picking layers of flesh from my body.
Fresh are those nights when she touched me in return.
The calluses scratching against the insides of my thigh,
And still I want to graft her pain and scars beneath the
epidermis of my heart, blend the pain with my soul.
Girl, kiss me tonight. Take me. Put your hands on me, Love.
In agonizing shame and mistrust. I too, am scarred.

PS: Eczematous: Of, pertaining to or afflicted with eczema


And I'm sorry.

Category: , , , By Homer Simpson!

It was there on his locker, a small, unobtrusive flash of color against the cold-looking expanse of metal. Frowning to himself he opened the locker to have 'it' flutter to the floor. There it was, a Post-It note, in a cheery shade of blue and folded in half. The poem was on a sheet of printer paper this time, hastily folded, the ink smeared slightly. He saw that the page was nearly full.
The writing slanted to the right, the letters small and looping, without any sharp lines or straight angles. It was writing he knew all too well. A sigh escaped his lips and the paper crumpled in his fist as explanations hovered around him like a mist and he wondered. He licked his lips as he began to read.

How shall I live, unless I die?
How shall I laugh, unless I cry?
Ain't no truth, without the lie
Ain't no black, without the white
But love is true and Yes, so am I.

The fire in you burns me bad.
I'll never stop reaching for that flame.
Your enthusiasm drowns me in exuberance.
I keep charging against humongous waves.
I would die not to see the land again.

When stars cry and angels die,
That's when I'll give up befriending you
When the children don't ask, "Why?"
And the bird with clipped wings flies,
That's when I'll take my love back from you

I would and will give it all away for them.
For one look, one tough sigh, one day of us, together
Only then could I die happy in the end
But you'll never say it, you'll never stay
And I'll be autonomously all alone again

As I've reached out, so have you lashed out
Shouted, glared to let me know you don't care
I am now, that crying star about to die in disgust.
That dying, falling angel as a piece of trash.
But I will never ever. Never, stop asking, "Why?"

Your vulturous looks leave scars on my face
I ditched the umbilical to be with you
None can drive madness into me as you do
Sans everything, it'll still beat for you
My breath. My steps. Everything will speak of you.

My sticks and stones, they break your bones
My lustful sighs. My dreams. My little why's
My words have always hurt you. In the dark.
I have always heard your anguished groans
And I'm sorry, 'cause now, I hate to love you.

The man grew unconscious of his senses. Skipped a few more heartbeats. The sun ditched the horizon and his motivation ditched his self belief. Unsure, still his heart wanted him to wait. The metal suddenly grew colder. The colors became vacuous. Unaware of the emptiness, he scribbled back - " And I'm sorry. Not for what I did. But for what I didn't ".

PS: Unlike my style. I tried to be easy.

Dead before Death.

Category: , , By Homer Simpson!

Midnight climax lingers and furthers my appearance,
darkness blends and finally brings in the distance.
Silently, the echoes soar through the window pane.
The night of ethereal pain. Soul burns, invisible flame.
Obtusely, the darkness soothes me into exotic realms
I taste it, I feel it. And eventually my heart fuels.

Yet I prefer to leave it.

I turned my face away from the only light of day
Turned away from what I wanted and out of the right way.
Eclipsed into the darkness, of the night unfurled.
I'd fold my eyes and I'd back away from the cruel world.
An obnoxious world that furthers me away from the light.
She held out her hand and drove me further, into the night.

Yet I hide away from her.

I Sense and I hear the night savoring its tenderness.
My eyes yawned, only to see her unleash the warm caress.
My selfish thoughts undone. At once she snatched away my soul.
And my heart from me. Soulless mind. I reach out. Wheres my pistol?
In this overly empowering darkness, I know there is no light.
No excruciating fighting light within the darkness of the night

Yet I think, only when are we ever meant to be?

I feel, smell and inherit the bitter-sweet intoxication
It soothes me, burns me and holds me with such sensation.
My fruitless journey begins through this darkness within,
The power she has, of consuming light. I let the agony begin.
She alone can realize my dream, lead me to the light.
I'll escape the demons within. Escape the darkness of the night.

Yet I Can't remember the last time I saw my face.

Wolves vent their loneliness. And the dark one awakes.
Curled icy wisps of death shroud her. Her pale skin flakes.
With an everlasting agony. Her inky black hair cascades over,
her translucent ivory shoulders, God of night be her lover.
Her full deeply crimson lips part slightly, for me to taste,
the life streaming from the wine-like flesh and beneath, in haste.

And I still love her in the darkness where even the death may die.
It was a night of unreal life and love.
I remember her.
she be.

Ps: Nyx-> In Greek mythology, Nyx (Νύξ, Nox in Roman translation) was the primordial goddess of the night.

Then. There. Now.

Category: , , , By Homer Simpson!

The hush in your voice betrays you unconditionally,
When you say you're fine. Kind of fine. Just about.
I pretend to struggle, to not know, While I recall,

where have I heard that line. In agonized whispers?
And now, that puts me off. For I want you to be upfront.

Your ostentatiously bright saliva is dense and thicker,
than it usually is. As you wash it down your deep throat,
And slowly release a gust of wind right across my face
The same honeyed breeze which used to turn me on
And now, that puts me off. For I want words to make sense.

When you keep it inside and chew over it for days, barefaced.
And your tone is mushy but it pricks my ears relentlessly.
What your mind is going through and what tension it spells.
I watch patiently as you struggle to collect syllables. To talk.
And now, that puts me off. For I love the flawless you.

Then it finally builds up, To the inexorable epitome.
And you vent it on everything, that your eyes plant a kiss on.
Smile, you'll feel so much better. Believe, that you do matter.
On this winding life, upon which we tread, for whatever happens.
And now, that puts me off. For I crave for unconditional cuddles.

You thought I wouldn't care. And I will just pretend.
You thought I didn't care. Know that I'll hold you,
You thought I shouldn't care. And I'll be by your side.
To laugh and to listen. To whatever you may hide.
Lets begin from square one. From hence do you smile.
And now, It wont put me off. Never. Ever. I swear. To God.
Look Tender. Don't pretend for however long you need to,

For an hour,

A minute,

Or just a while...

PS: Contrary to popular belief, this is not for that someone special. I would like to say that for almost all my posts. But then... This is for everyone. I feel there is nothing more to it. And yes, this for the record doesn't have a negative result if I may say so.

The Rendezvous

Category: , , By Homer Simpson!

Ye, the statue stands before my eye,
Blinded I was, I could not see.
Deafening silence is the only thing,
That separates thou from us.
Within this stone does thou heart beat?
Do thou yearn for passion like me?
I look thou, The Statue, next to me,
With the sense of compassion and knowingly...

One day, stone will split and thou shalt love me.
Crawl will thy heart. For me it shall crave.
Fool 'tis who carved thou the colossal of Love,
For thou to be wasted in this lackluster world.
Oh thy words art cold as Winter's smile,
which graces upon thy lips all this time,
And even though mine blood 'tis not pure,
Thy heart, ‘tis a celestial being for sure.

To love, to worship, to stretch these arms,
Way out of the furrow of thine eye.
To simply be, what I am. To simply be thine.
-Juliet, beau, slave, lover and thy woman.
Thoust speaks of heritage and blemishes upon thine skin,
But wherefore am I in all this? In thy world?
Shall I feel the shame for being acutely different?
Canst thou renounce this forge and come with me?

O what am I to thee, to the colossal nucleus?
Art thou mine master, what ties doth thou hold?
Canst thou be mine renunciation,these jagged wounds I bear?
Doth Cupid in winged armies, not find it whimsical,
To prick me with his arrow of love? Am I not worthy?
I shalt not love nor find in anyone's warm caresses;But you.

The gentle minx which brews. Am I to be alone?
Desolate and cast astray? Why canst thou love me?

The satue-Thine own self should thou love.
What hast thou done, 'tis playing with hands.
Spoiled I am,courtesy thine quest for perfection.
Like a ship set ashore went perambulating.
Thine wish to make love to boulders.
Thou wilt not pacify me with your anguish.
I canst ever know wherefore they do it.
I shalt remain a statue. I shalt remain a statue.
For ever.

PS: In continuation to my post Bouldered Love. Let me know if something needs to be corrected.


Scars from Nature

Category: , By Homer Simpson!

It caresses the paper gently, tentatively.
Flicks it conscious, stripping it of monotonicity.
Blushing purple and camouflaging into grey violets
Turns bolder, twisting and flirting, over and under.
Exploring every corner, snatching the virginity
Kissing every fold. Feeling alive. Feeling awake.
Stains the edges; Tender, bruising and dismantling.
Bursting through the paper, consuming victory.
Storms into full bloom, aroused, smelling ruins.
Parallel to a fiery flower hell-bent on domination.
Twisting fibre to black, crimped and ebony lace.
Enrages the syllables encrypted with love and grief.
Rages and dances to its own pace and mocking beat.
Mesmerizing with its beauty, destroying with its heat.

It is harsh but then shines on the smooth truth glaringly.
Illuminating lined faces, highlighting numerous shadows;
Under sleepless eyes; Fingers...numb and restless;
Plays indifferently and occasionally with the frayed
Edges of dull magazines. Notes. The cheap plastic rocker,
Rocks in a row; Shifting seats, tapping feet, hardened lips.
Sighs that speak a thousand words in the pitch black;
Make up the nervous chorus of strangers from all walks of life.
Life is nothing. All shades of grey. Colors invert with light.
Brought together, inexplicably by luckless circumstance.

Its sugar-coated, conscious, nimble and heat-infused
Sharpened images, Abashed souls leave me confused.
A prisoner, lost, defeated, abducted and abused.
Mindless, I am. Battered carnation, degraded and refused.
Shameless, lack-lustre victimization and they're amused.
Wish to stop this crying, cease this aching. Blood perfused.
Lust leaves me broken as a token. Intoxicating presence prevued.
Silence is not suffering; Absence Is empowering the confused.

Desire and intentions blooming like malaria
Soul Infected and driven sick through and through.
My sane salvation, I lay inflamed in your seizing wake.
By the pyrexia. That is you. The Saviour. That is you.
You're burning. An abstract pounding in my churned head.
The hesitant shallow breath when I am buried. Long Dead.
And one fine day, I'll stop trying to rediscover.
From This fever.That is you. The sickness. That is you.

PS: Very Random.


Without you....

Category: , , By Homer Simpson!

Obsessiveness is me........
Amidst the accelerating eyes watching you
Bite your tongue at the questions I curl up,
I curl up in my jacket, running my fingers through
your linseed hair and piles of shallow notes.
It's me, with dirt on my elbows and knees and heart
That I notice only when you rob me of my conscience
It's the evening hush compressing lucid thoughts
Into dreams that elude me several years on.

Humiliation is me........
Sitting next to you, head on your shoulder;
Lips sealed in surprise and hands cuddled.
Two atoms amidst a nuclear explosion of bodies,
sound and a variegated halo of merging souls.
It's me knowing the name of the candy you've put,
by a sniff, to your lips before you arrived.
You're high like a kite. I'm here on the ground.
I'm minute from up there and wingless from here.

Perseverance is me........
Across the euphoria that holds us to dinner,
But keeps us apart; The sound of your spoon,
As it clicks its tongue against your plate.
It's me, symmetrically loving and hating you
take for granted the bits of my meal and wine.
The bits my lips left untouched by spooning it up
without word of permission and feeding naively,
the stray that sits at your toes. With my eyes.

Smallness is me........
At the hands of your clueless-selfless beau,
Who kills me with his grace and prominent arms.
Who will always be kinder, smarter and tender.
Praiseworthy, gentler, wiser and better looking.
It's me, running, panting, trying to catch up
with his wit, attempting to tease out the roots,
Of his charm. I'm watching him watch you, watch me
Watch my manners, my words, myself and my watch.

Stubbornness is me........
Half a decade on still lumbering between thoughts
Sifting through time, Conflating moments
Tangled in your hair. Entrenched under the floor
That speaks only, only of you and me. Will forever.
It's me, growing into the permanent spaces, unoccupied
that fell between us like rain, corroding me into nothing
I'm watching the sun re-possessing and capturing the floods.
The rainbow still finds me alive and growing. Although gloomy.


Obscured Radiance....

Category: , By Homer Simpson!

Diamond, he
shone in the
tears of ruby red
from the burnt and buried.
Metamorphosed; Turns

Dancer, he
drowned in the dark and
dressed in stark obsidian.
Juicy steaks of love and pride
bartered for a bit of glimmer.
But that won’t pilfer his shine away.
Even the charcoal like onyx, can

Admirer, she
opens her mouth slightly.
Lets it leave a lingering kiss
on the inside of her dry lips.
Texture, the feel of human skin.
The feel of the city; the feel
of soft salty wind. Salt like

Thieves, they
came to taste his light
and fumbled in his shadow.
He shimmered, refused to sparkle.
Amazed they were who strived and came to
see what might have been the symphony.
The flawless brilliance and the captivating

Lovers, they
came to stay alight,
waiting for a bit of bright,
expecting him to mesmerize them,
to rejuvenate their squandered love.
But instead his shine grew weaker;
         he could not be their gem.
That night- it won. It sneered.
Dark horse, be warned –
Even in the dark he

Shadow, she
shall not steal away,
his eager soul without mercy.
White noise. Harsh light. Slight nuance.
Soft as silk. Greyshine.
Its contexture- A work of art.
Dare you stay and glimpse; His,

Darkest diamond,
Beauty stark.

P.S: For quite some time I have been wanting to write something on the immaterial things. I know that I demand criticism and acquisitions when I say that a Diamond is immaterial. After all its just a smudge of Carbon. It's vain. This is what people resolve to when the affection isn't enough. I know that there is a counter-view to it which says that aren't all the luxuries in this world immaterial. I don't have an answer. Let me know if you have one..


Monsieur Kiss....Collision Kiss.

By Homer Simpson!

For those who live their lives trying to defend lies. You wake up in the morning just to see the people around you happy. You defend their lies. You hide the truth. You only deceive yourself.No one else.

He answers to nobody
No one's divine enough to have him
Abhorrent enough for you to like him.
Cruel enough for god to take him back.
He walked out on their ancestry of lies
People ain't this rotten scratch enough
Listen up close. Don't be mad. Don't dare.
You make it. I break the fucking glass wall
You ain't trying hard enough. I can sense it.

Don't you know? Who? Who the hell I am?
My name is Collision Kiss, I let them erode my mind.
My name is Collision Kiss, You had your emotions mislead.
So kiss this finger love, Paint it on your lifeless soul
Have it your bloody way. I'll have it mine. Peace out.
I kept you lies. I dealt with them. And then 'twas ugly.
My lies were sacrificial. The truth was superficial.
The lies, the mere excuses never blend and brew with life

Don't you love the way life falls down hard around your ears
Takes you deep. Brings you back.Don't you dig things when,
They leave you to smear. You lip that shtick to bedroom tears
Live on it. Smother it. Bury it. Let go. Conquer the mind.
I'll Bury that old gun. They'll dig it up one day you'll see
They'll shoot the metal into me. They'll unearth your old pack
Pack of lies. Use it in the murder and your soul in a meat-churner.
You will never be the same for me what you used to be. N-e-v-e-r.

My name is Collision Kiss, My last name is Bitter Kiss
My name is Collision Kiss, they sabotaged my inferior soul
A surreal taste on your tongue. The pain was sacrificial
Don't just tolerate me. Hell,dont rate me like a film
Your house of lies just crumbled like the deck of cards
Cards you dealt in disguise. I'm just a little out of sorts
But I'm not sorry. You don't please me. Neither you amuse.
Recall the Cock n Bull story. Listen: This hell boy answers..
He Answers to nobody.

PS: A collision boy is a guy who bumps into the other side of life more often than not. So "Collision Kiss" is derived from that.


Bouldered Love

By Homer Simpson!
Your husband walks out on you in the middle of the road, your kids are at home wondering where on earth is their mother. The car is dangerously low on petrol and you don't care because you're shit-tired of life.

The chamber was dreadfully hot, and the quilt comforter was ignored in a crumpled heap miles away on the deck having been forcefully thrown. The fat carpeting on the floor seemed needless. Lisa imagined that each fibrous molecule of the dull brown matting trapped the heat leftover from the sunny afternoon. Heat that now radiates silently, suffocatingly into the box of a hotel room. This shouldn't be happening, thought Lisa. This room is air-conditioned; even the excruciatingly low-priced two-star hotels have air-conditioning, or at least some adequate and satisfactory form of ventilation. She said- "I am in this brand-new, lavish five-star, paying hefty grands a night in their cheapest room because the lounge area has an impressive collection of paintings and there's a cafeteria with a chimerical name".

The real heat was probably from the blood gushing through her veins. She was twenty-seven years old and trapped in a nightmare, between two shores, between a husband who belittled her over nothing and herself. She began to believe in the fact that the man she loved would never accord her the respect and love she deserved, but still expects her to forgive him the morning after.The house had become a brewing cauldron of tension.

Giving up all thoughts of sleep, Lisa sat up on bed and gave the room a gaze-over. Although the commodities were basic, as far as interior decor went it was flawless. Sprinkling of luxuries here and there, coupled with the apple-green walls made it stand apart from the monotonous theme of most hotel rooms. There was a dress-table with a slightly unqualified looking-glass, a small study with a sleek pen and a writing pad as well as the usual tourist guides, and a wrought-iron balcony after the glass panel overlooking the city. There was also a statue. A staggering white marble statue that had been carved in the ultra-pragmatic likeness of a handsome nude youth that had just reached manhood.

She forced herself to believe that there could be none better that him. To a connoisseur of classical sculpture it would have been deemed anatomically perfect, the languid beauty, a tad Romantic. But lacked originality except for the brow, which held a fierce indescribable emotion, even if the eye beneath it was blank and pupil-less. The colossal statue was staring right into her face. Colossal not in size but in the beauty it held. To Lisa, her seven-year-old sons pencil squiggles made more sense, it was another of those life-size monstrosities that were blatantly carved and put on places to remind humanity of its anatomical stains. The statue stood there and either the ambiance or the marble gave it a shade of pink. It gave the statue a lifelike aura; in the soft tungsten light it challenged the appearance of skin. The artist had paid such immaculate attention to each detail that the embossed circles on the chest were actually hued a darker shade. Its body was stark masculine and then there was something feminine about the softness of the drooping shoulder, a languor that couldn't be possibly achieved by an indifferent artistic soul. Lisa's observation which was excellent when it came to directions, but nonexistent in most artistic things, made her move into a keen ease. Perhaps this was the light-headedness that came after a gust of anger. Perhaps her rationality was simply at its lowest. Other matters blurred into inconsequence. This naked thing, this captivating hedonistic obscenity stood there in all its majesty and egoistically demanded her attention. Void of absolute conscience and a statue is now controlling your senses. The bloody thing can go fuck itself Lisa said.

It had just started raining outside. Tomorrow again would be an obscenely hot affair, and once again the fact that the universe was against her would make itself audaciously pronounced.
Lisa did not care. She was decisively unconscious, not peacefully adrift in slumber or blissfully conked out, not asleep but just unconscious and propped against the two pillows stacked on top of each other. Her mouth was slightly open and there was a layer of sweat on her skin that was evaporating with the sad air-conditioning. For two hours it seemed that her soul was temporarily missing, and this body wrapped in a Chelsea FC T-shirt and Pj's was far away from being existent.

Then she bolted up. The soul was back, but lost, confounded, and raw. Like a woman half-lost and half possessed, she moved across the room to the sculpture. The more she looked at it through glazed eyes, the more flesh-like it became. The more real it said it was. The circles on the chest were darker than ever, not stiff marble but hard flesh, and the blank pupil-less eyes were burning as feverishly as her skin.

Lisa got close enough for the blushing halo to brush against her breasts. She suddenly drew herself back. She took out a hand to slap the dexterous statue. It did not retaliate. Did not even flinch. Of course it cant. Its a statue! She liked it. This realization hit her. You're a moronic statue and you're helpless and defenseless! Thwack. Thwack. Another slap. It swayed with the impact, but not enough to topple. All the frustrations came pouring out. When her palms began to sting, she threw herself at the graceful halo, then watched in horror as one arm, the left one that was held at an angle with the fingers brushing the cheek, broke off. It fell with a thump to the carpet where the hand came off, scattering powdery bits of marble at her feet.

Taken aback she said "Oh my God!! What have I done? I'm so sorry! So sorry! I really am."

Shut up, woman. Who are you apologizing to?

She raised her eyes to the statue again. Missing an arm, it suddenly looked more pregnable, less arrogant. Through her wide-eyed stare, the whole appearance of the young man was whimsical. The lips were now luscious. The fingers of the intact arm did not look frozen. In the midst of movement she almost wished it would move. So that she could clasp it and take comfort from it. Comfort she needed so badly. Sobbing, she clung to the statue and willed the cold stone to become more yielding to her touch. The marble piece on the deck was still lifeless. Still made of stone.

She said -"I'm so sorry. Sorry for being such a silly ass."

Stop apologizing. You are a stupid and ugly soul. Where is your self-respect?

She said-"I just want to be loved."

Suddenly she was overcome with an irrational yearning. If he did not want her, she would make him want her. She tore off her remaining clothes, damp with sweat. Then she pushed herself against him with a thrust. Want me, love me. With another thrust, she had him inside her. She bent her head to the left to meet his lips and sucked hard on them, wanting to make them bleed. The world disappeared slowly. She was joined in union with a stranger. She opened her eyes to see a human face, cheeks afire with blood, mouth open, begging, wanting. She was alive again, alive and in the embrace of a beautiful man, a man who worshiped her and loved her as a woman. She felt him melting in her arms. She felt her hot tears of release on both their faces. Their legs intertwined, moving to that sacred rhythm when the heartbeat drowned out everything.

Lisa springs into an upright position. Everything seemed new, yet was the same. She was a raw hatching reborn in this mess of crumpled sweat-scented sheets on a hotel bed. Nameless. Spent. What the heck had happened?

It was a dream, wasn't it? She hadn't really made love to a statue. That was unthinkable. That was.The ceiling spun in spirals, disorienting her. She squeezed her eyes shut until orange fireflies filled her vision, then opened them again. Her gaze fell to the statue. She said "See? Flawless, looking every bit the same. Isn't it?".

She said to herself: "It was missing an arm. So what? I have been careless before. Marble is delicate. I don't know what a goddamn statue is doing in this tiny room anyhow. What time is it?"

Lisa had to squint and move a few inches back for the blurry needles on the mounted clock to focus. 5AM.

She said -"Ive been asleep for roughly four hours". She had no memory of how she had crawled back to bed after her short-lived hallucination. All she knew was that she needed a cold shower. To wake her up and bring her back to reality.
As the numbing gush of water poured down her back, Lisa had a feeling of being watched. She half-expected to turn around and see the naked marble man peering at her from the door, which she had left open. She actually didn't.

Well, what can it do? It's not much with only one arm. And it knows I'm strong enough to break the other one. Yes, strong enough. Lisa hummed to herself the lines of her favorite song as she showered, imagined she was being watched by a mysterious voyeur. Her hands became the hands of a lover, exploring the curves of her body, curves she forgot she had. After more than ten years, she felt her femininity coming out in warm, dark pink bursts. Femininity which graced her face. She almost sobbed at the release, but chose to smile instead. The ice-cold droplets ran down her breasts.

Come to me and grace the water drops with your sunshine.

The air was empty, yearning

Come and play and splash and love

Something stirred alive

Look at me the way I want you to.

She felt him coming

I want you with me. Come fulfill me.

A feeling of apprehension seeped into her whispering heart, strengthening into anticipation.

Look at me the way I want you to.

Inanity, except for the lonely sound of the shower.

Come love me again..again like never before.

Then she felt him behind her, the lone arm on her shoulder.She smiled and closed her eyes.

Demented Insomniac

By Homer Simpson!

Insomnia -[in-som-nee-uh]

1.inability to obtain sufficient sleep, esp. when chronic; difficulty in falling or staying asleep; sleeplessness.

Far-Flung jelly eyes impinge the ceiling,
with the blank innocent virgin white patch;
that stares back with the ferocious might.
Of black holes gaping wide enough onto
within the universe, dark.The cryptic plight

The blindfold of elusive rest ransacking my mind
in some unreachable dimension of the pillow,
unwisely laid below, under my bed, unconscious.
Irksome sleep teasing me. 4 AM. Clock's easing me.
Eyelids shut. Eyes wide open. Isn't it obnoxious?

My head of stone. Prosaic arms.
This mind does not live here anymore
This mind does not live here anymore
Until the blackness comes shouting,
This stone-head can’t hold me anymore

Oh Morpheus, you never blessed me with wings,
 to fly upon your night. The veil that separates the light
from your oblivion to the conscious fight.
I wish my soul to rise from hell. Deep into the day
Dreams inverted. Sleep perverted. Perverted freight.

Flowing is the potency of nonexistent null dreams.
Running away from reality into the ocean of imagination
My sanity has ended with the day raping the silence
With my mind resorting to fighting tomorrow's night,
And win. Not lose. To die. Leave behind an extra pence.

My head of stone. Prosaic arms.
This mind does not live here anymore
This mind does not live here anymore

Until the blackness comes shouting,
This stone-head can’t hold me anymore
I slowly disappear...Disappear somewhere...Amen!

Insomnia -[in-som-nee-uh]

-I don't care!
1. The phenomenon of dangling suspended between the world of the disordered living and the peaceful dead. About finding unexpected inspiration from a numb listless mind. Being Involved in defying hallucinations. Making love to the fire flies.

Crush Re-invented!

By Homer Simpson!

From a premature "Crush" to a relatively mature "Crush".

Drive in: A sequel to one of my older posts "This Crush". Try to relate the Her and the Him parts with each other and with the older post. Read the prequel if you haven't. Its not all fiction but I've tried to portray the proceedings in the relationship.

Her: Three years gone amidst coffee and the smokes
and I’m still as gawky as you once accused me to be
beneath your concrete gaze and around your deep figment
reminiscing the clumsy chronologies and the passion.
You and me. Not half a cup gone, between inquisition
I’m spilling the drinks,the beans, myself into your lap;
I’m mixing up pronouns, smelling up the infatuation into
Marveling upon how time smoothed out the grooves between....

Him: Time gone & The glass door shielding us against the world
Still Erect. Still Spotless. Still Virgin. Still Narcissistic.
The delusion wouldn't leave and The infatuation still hypnotizes me
Seductive shivers.Oppressive claims.Deep breaths.Clueless me.Flawless you
Those brushes, the blushes and the claims procreate a resounding thud.
Get Ahead. Come back. Lean over. Look for me. I adore you. Reverence.
The memory cherished all over the heartfelt three years still dwells
The fleeting speculation has gone astray. Reassuring "yes" sways away....

Her: ...How the famine of friction causes these slips of tongue and guard
With you it’s always a rainy evening with me tripping over my speech and my feet.
With you it’s always an easy silence as I fumble indefinitely for words and attention

Him: ...A monocratic crush. Long forgotten and extensively and genuinely profound
With you its been an unfeigned attraction with the purple faced sun shining on me
With you its been contrary to something as awkward as Neon Paper and Crushed Ice.


Moments of Bittersweet Love.....

By Homer Simpson!
Moments of Bittersweet Love....

Outlandish feeling launches w/o precision
speeds with purpose, ends with decision,
A hushed moment between turn-back & go-ahead
Giving way to love/lust/mushiness/ego or just hatred
And then you; are being asked to judge, think and decide
More often than not; the mere lunatic emotions that preside
Giving way to "The Options" not one, not two, but a whopping many
Just seconds to spare and then those years to linger with content/agony
Options at all…

You were standing alone & you were torn
Into impotent and strong, right and wrong,
Yes and No. And deep into your priceless plague
And you recall and remember the err-y dialogue.
You can make it up and quote the emotion and the intuition
Word for word and as if your souls are combining in fusion
Does it matter whether you can map in detail, think and you can refrain?
the geographies of regret. It doesn’t. Never will. Not at all. Its All in vain.
Moment so small…

It starts with a hope and ends with a turn
The priorities keep merging as in a fern
In the stomach, a budding cringe at the excuse
The "shituation", the instance & the violent muse
You make for yourself, the other and your lovesrtuck heart;
A momentary forever, and then you will remember the drat
on alternate days over coffee, novels, cigarettes, friends and mild regret
Making sure, bittersweet memories drip in your mind like water in a garret
Just..Just that smell.

Could have ignored the intuitions&vibes
Answered that message for both the life’s
Said no, Said yes, Said nothing , Ignored or Smiled
The anticipation, the fondness, love & the stress piled.
Coz if we don't, we are corpses driven to animation by empty desire.
And by the time the moment ends. Shit.Sorry. Its over and we are there
In way, too deep, way too fast, wondering why there's no rewind button for the soul,
no second chance for the petty player, no back-up plan, and then deep into the sinkhole.
Yeah. All at once.

PS: I preclude myself from not giving this a closed end :)


On Mother's Day....

Category: , , , By Homer Simpson!

Mothers, because they are the best ever.

To you I owe my existence and all my success.
Every thing's for you. Each rupee, every pence
You are the reason I walk, I talk, I think, I see,
You were A mother the second time when I came
And I was the child that I will always want to be
Your extreme parsimony which still amazes me
Parsimony not in love but in hatred and disgust

You blew away my mistakes, all as a puff of smoke
Me being incorrigible, but never found lack of love
The invaluable time you spent on me as a mother
I never aim to pay it back 'cause I never will be able to
Those priceless tears, the never failing love and devotion
They were never unnoticed. I admire you. I love you.
You adopted my fears, healed pain and wiped my tears
To me you are the bible of forgiveness. Big and small

Couldn't have asked for more generousness from you
Can never pay you back. Neither I'm capable, nor will I try
To this ordinary child who wouldn't even love you back
The warmth you gave, the way no one ever did and will
The huge sacrifice when you quit on those small things
Those elements of happiness all which you deserved
You are my teacher, my Idol, my encourager, my strength
I wish to shower millions to stop every tear that rolls down

With numb eyes when I look at you thinking about the care
The enduring patience, the treasure of wisdom, my cushion.
Being with you for all these years. Those afternoons in your lap
I will miss this when I go away. When you set me free from you
When you set me free to chase my dreams. You thought twice
First for me and then for the rest of them. Never for yourself
I wish you, A Happy Mothers day to express my love back
Which at maximum is little compared to your motherly love.

I read this somewhere: "A mother is a women who pretends like she never was fond of the pie when there are only 4 pie's for 5 people."

Of Women....

Category: By Homer Simpson!

Please take note of the fact that before jumping to conclusions like...I am a feminist /anti-feminist/hypocrite...BLAH BLAH ...have enough patience to withstand the whole post.

Single men, by heart it. Married men, bookmark this.

This is not about "generalizations", but "observations" which I have jotted down and scribbled over the past.The inspiration behind these observations and me writing this is simple; I'm probing to see more happy duo's around - simple. And probably that’s why I keep asking them to give time to their relationships and not hurry! I am not being partial in here - I am just sorting out what I have seen , what I've observed with the married couples around, and if anything major,they have gone from strength to strength. Maybe someone is racing towards the perfection of "soul mate" in a hurry =P - and the feeling is Amazing!

Women are intuitive. They're sensitive creatures, caring souls, and they're "smart". More smart than all of us assume them to be. They're more aware of how you behave than you are about yourself. BTW the "women" in the previous sentence is in no way pointing to those stupid souls and those You Know what I mean....Women always race from a head start in conversation. So while you're planning what to throw next, they are done with the convo and ready for some next shyt. And yeah come to conclusions! Sometimes they hit the bull’s eye and sometimes just fail to make a mark.

Women are to be cached. Doesn't matter who she is - mom, daughter, sis, colleague, girlfriend, wife - Treasure them and if you cant then learn it. This means to chersih them, understand them, be friends with them, this means kick your ego and love 'em. Once I read: "Observe the way a man treats his mum and you will know almost everything you need to know about 'em". I talk to my mom every day...We laugh out, We joke around, We fight lol, We talk about good stuff, and there isn’t a thing in this world I wouldn’t do if it was for her - w/o her I wouldn’t be the man my to-be-wife will respect....Although the chances are slim for her to respect me *lmao*. Women value communication - that’s why they live longer - they communicate all the time, they express themselves, they let their emotions out rather than in. Someone somewhere said : “A woman can say more in a sigh than a man can say in a sermon”. There’s no point saying that guys cant multi task - I mean if they can do it, why cant you? If you're no good at it, learn it. Period

Know what women value. They value time. It took me years to work it out - but I'm glad I did.

My mom values security and family - which is why we communicate and talk everyday. Know what she values? Don’t guess, just ask her. What does this value mean to her? How do you know when the value has being attained? And the answers won’t be delayed! And will be to your utmost satisfaction. Deep down, she's a patient creature. She does think about your best interest at heart - even though sometimes it doesn’t seem that way - it doesn’t seem that way because my own ego, my own pride, my own complexes are in the way, hindering from me seeing how much she wants to help me. The day you find your mom in your girlfriend, will be the day you reach that place where you would want to marry her. And sometimes you have to settle for near perfect things. *lmao*

Women need confidence in a man. They don’t really mind if you are wrong or right, but they want confidence in what you do in what you think. Your confidence multiplies her confidence. Sometimes all she wants from you is four simple words not those regular three :P.."I Believe in You!".

Women ask for men who are decisive creatures. It doesn't how decisive/indecisive a woman is, she will never want/respect an indecisive man, never. She'd rather want you to be decisive, make a decision, argue about it and move on than have a brittle-willed, indecisive bowl of idiota jelly called "My-Man".

Try to make out the what's and the why's. Or what she says/does what she wants.She dislikes somthing about you! ? Why!? What started it? This ain't no interrogation; this is your effort to understand her. Time is what she values - this means you have to be punctual!, it means you must learn to be efficient, it means you learn to multi task, it means that you move your commitments/appointments around to spend time with her for some time - all from attaining this value. Yeah Multi-tasking.

And yes in case you see a women not wanting to talk to you or for that matter not living up to your expectations just think of the fact that there is someone out there getting all that importance from her =P. And maybe you don’t deserve that importance. Its better to move on than bad mouthing her and bitching about her! Yea these people need to get a life. A girl who is not approachable for you is maybe just about perfect for someone else. So stay away from bitching and instead get to work! And yea just to top it up…The last time I was made to think that an Eunuch is superior to a man when I saw a man slapping a woman. So guys take note of this and don’t force me to compare you with……And then I start running my mind on those weird tracks:P .Cheers!

This is kindaa the stuff which I got to know of "Women" over these years.

PS: There maybe a few exceptions to the above! And this maybe a Bolt out of the Blue sky for the people who personally know me =P