Sleepless

Sleeping together in a bed

 too small to evade

 loneliness

I wonder, at this very moment

how many are moaning in pleasure

separated their illusion of isolation

Narcissism

(image credit)

Many a face
on the net he assumes.
A soldier, a teacher
a child and a groom.
He can be any person
he’s wanted to be.
There are no limitations,
the net set him free.

Friendships, affairs,
they are all within reach.
Discussions, new feelings,
his life is so rich.

One day she appeared,
just like that on his screen.
The fairest of women,
avatar of a queen.
So funny and smart
and they always agreed.
The cyber was great
He was lucky indeed.

Now she’s broken his heart,
and he tends to forget
that it’s his own creation
that's made him so sad.

Bluebells

Happy children

Cheerfully playing

On a sunny day

Turning bluebell carpets

Into purple pulp

Old habits die hard

(image by lonelypierot)

What an amazing place he chose for their first date, she can barely hear her thoughts rising above the thumping of her heartbeat. With sweaty palms she dials his number from her hiding place behind the heavy curtain; the number she she now knows by heart. Not that it’s her first blind date of course; not at all. But this time she has no doubt that he is The One. 

For months they've been talking. She can see him as a child climbing trees; as an adolescence kissing his first love; as a restless adult who could never fulfill his hidden passions. She can still feel her curled sobbing body under the blanket, when her choking words told him her secret – the words she never thought she'd utter. She also remembers lying in bed for, with the telephone in one hand, laughing for hours. Even now she can barely stand when thinking of the near violent shaking or her body releasing her desire when he played with her mind, release that nobody in flesh has ever lead her to. There was nothing she didn’t know about him. Nothing he didn’t know about her. Nothing but one. 

She had always fallen for looks, always for the wrong man, so this time she insisted their looks would remain secret, and he accepted. Until today it was their only secret. But from the moment they agreed on this meeting, she could only think of their lips meeting; of their first touch. Today she’ll see him for the first time. 

She pushes the wrong button, and with trembling fingers dials again. The sound of a phone ringing in the tranquil restaurant cannot be mistaken. It’s her favorite melody, the one she taught him to love. In the shimmering candle light a man lifts the phone to his face. Hello he says with a gentle smile. But he is not the man in her mind; not the man she saw their lips touching; not the man who brought her all the pleasure, the man who made her laugh. He is not the man who, for the first time, will explore her body with his. On her way out she knows she’ll never speak with him again. She knows that it’ll be the man who sent her the photos she’ll be meeting next. He will not be the man she wants, but the man she responds to, whose looks pushes her buttons. Next time, it will be the wrong man again.

Lite Love

(image credit)

Not the common beauty that sells magazines, but whenever she floats by, her scent awakens dreams of forgotten legends. No man can resist turning his head for a look of admiration.  If you are among the lucky with whom she exchanged some words, you will not remember them, but only your own yearning to see her smiling at you, for a flash of fantasy that fades into a short sigh of realization that she is beyond your reach.

Yet, nearly every night you’ll find her in the corner pub on her own. Only when she drinks can she care to hear those whose drinking instilled confidence in their hearts to approach her. Only when she drinks can she find them alluring for a night of lonely passion, from which she hopes to wake up on her own. She never does.

A woman of talent and beauty; tonight you will find her in the little pub, hoping that this will be her last night. 

Failure

(Picture by  somedayxTakara)

It was my project on display.

I won the award.
Everybody saw it.
A great future awaits you, the teacher said.
Her words still echo in my mind.

The future was mine,
so it was hard to believe
that at the final test
when the bell rang
I was sitting in front of a blank sheet.
There was no second chance.

I remember the big match.
Standing in front of the empty goal.
Cheering crowed
and I missed.
I never played again.

Yet, at work I was given a chance.
But when I turned the switch on
It went dark.
My settings were wrong.
It was an expensive mistake.

So after so many years
When I ran into my teacher she said
I always knew you’d reach far,
What are you doing these days?

Without a word
Hiding a tear
I smiled
Turned my back
and walked away

The commuter

Unable to disobey the tyranny of the alarm clock, she wakes up. She unreasonably believes that her long working hours will be noticed. Naïve she is, and doesn’t realize that the promotion has already been given to another. Devotion had nothing to do with it. 

It’s dark outside, and miserably cold. She runs to catch the train. In the station, she buys her usual cup of coffee. It’s lukewarm and tasteless. She tries to follow her latest self-improvement advice: it’s all in your mind. She tries to imagine the drink to be somewhat like a real coffee: hot, aromatic, full of flavour. It still isn’t. She looks at the coffee with disgust. The coffee seems to be looking back at her with the same lack of enthusiasm. She throws it to the bin and misses. 

In the train she pushes her way in, winning over her daily nemesis – the pushy elderly lady. This time she gets the seat and feels lucky. She fights to get her umbrella shut, dripping water on everyone around her. They do the same to her in hostile politeness. She ignores them; after all she already had her first win for the day. She feels even luckier when she finds herself sitting next to a gorgeous young man. He too is dripping. 

She thinks how nice it would be to spend a night of passion with him. But only on Friday nights, after a few drinks, might she find herself chatting to people on the train; never on a week day; never in the morning. She opens her book. 

What she doesn’t realize about the young man that he too is not enjoying his ride. He too would be happy to chat. He too would love to meet with her tonight. They both sit in silence. 

In the evening, they stay late at work. They leave their offices, each to his apartment, each to have a leftover pizza. She puts hers in the microwave, he eats his cold. Then each goes to sleep in a big, cold bed, alone.

Once was a woman

Once was a woman, wife of doctor,
who was known to be most proper.
She always wore the latest fashion,
and was the best at conversation.
Her words were kind with no aggression,
even when she felt depression.

She never gave the wrong impression,
not even at the heights of passion.
Did she feel it? No one knew,
this wasn't issue to review.
Unlike the charity donation,
it's not her type of conversation.

She didn’t think nor did she dare
to ask herself if she did care,
or what her partner thought of it,
not having seen her naked bit.
Respect she got, was often flattered,
but not from those who really mattered.

She kept on smiling when her partner,
for lack of passion, left for other.
She was respected, but alone
craving some touch.
She was no stone.

But will she learn to get it right
to touch, to feel, to follow heart?
Or will she age with great regret,
of putting life on losing bet?

Daffodils

At the edge of the daffodil garden
Two lone daffodils
Facing each other
Solemnly
Lonely
Thinking they are the only daffodils
In the world