Ahad

heavy heart. big sighs. eyes red. seeing not feeling. the world continues to spin. restless restless restless. dizzy craving. gimme gimme gimme. arms outstreched and begging. shiny it cuts and slices through the artery. blood spurting painting and colouring white. how pretty the forced circle circle dots dots splat splatter. borrowed artistry. disgust. ego takes a big whack. wounded and in pain, fleeing into the deep cavern. maddened by sanity pushed into the crevices of vice. music...my love is on the line, my love is on the line. hips swaying sought after innocent seduction.....

"It's as if he's stuck a dagger in me, plunging it straight through without hesitation or mercy and twisting it to affirm his assault. It takes guts to stab someone, especially if it's someone whom you claim to love but it takes more to stand up and confront it head on. I would have respected him more for it, even if I don't personally agree. In sticking that dagger into me, he's taken away my options. How dare you! Do you think that you are too clever in reading my next move? You're so vain. Tu, the one who made me question myself. Tu, who I'm to trust. Tu, who professed your love. Tu, who I shared my visions with. I hope you are proud of yourself.

I am weary and wary. I will lay down now and drift into a gamelan infused sleep. Tomorrow is another day. I pray the Lord, wipe my slate clean. I leave it in Your hands Lord. I offer up my hurt and sorrows for those who are fighting their own personal demons. Amen."

Petal P. Rose

As the rose grows...

You, yes, you.
traveller of the world
What do you seek?

May I take a peek
delve into your world
humor me, won't you?

Why do you search?
Is it not there?
There - right under your feet?

“Pardon me, my beloved, it is never my intention to burden you. Tell me, what is this I feel…my heart’s aflutter and it sings a song. An aria so sweet, a complicated sonata.” I recognise the feeling. It is one of sureness yet with faltering steps. That was three years ago. Now it is happening again. Has my heart forgotten the hurt and forgiven the memories? I am the brightest candle in a sun-filled room when I hear his voice – “Hi honey..” He, with the Spanish accent and warm brown eyes so expressive. I can smell him...mm...even though he’s miles away. I miss him dearly. I think about him all the time. It almost drives me insane. This especially so when it’s night and quiet. I lay in bed listening to the sounds of the gloom after laying down my book. The radio plays, softly, almost a whisper, in the background. I think over our telephone conversations. I always plan to tell him about what has happened since we last spoke but whoosh…these go out of the window whenever I hear his voice echoing down the line. I become the giggly, shy, person that I never was and swear to never be. Yes, he has that effect on me. We talk about things that just happened but it’s never enough. There are too many things to say so much would have happened since we last spoke. We share our dreams in that short time, building castles in the air – yet at the same time hoping that those castles become real. Him, a knight, me, the princess to be rescued.

Hahaha....funny how the mind jumps to the future without addressing the past and present. Is it really important? He wasn’t there in the past, he is present and the future, well, we remain hopeful that he wants to be part of it. Or is that something that’s lopsided and only wishful thinking on my part? I don’t know, I don’t know. I am ready to move forward and forget the hurt but is he? Does he want to be on the same track or am I just disillusioning myself? I trust him. It was difficult but I do so want to – very much. I want to trust someone again. To be safe like a baby sleeping, cradled with love in her mother’s arms and be loved unconditionally. Are you the one whom I can trust and rely on to be there for me? Are you strong enough to bear my weight? He would rather love and lose then not know love. Am I ready to take that risk?

Petal P. Rose

A Dedication

a longing love
for a genial poetic soul
reminise his touch
gentle firm reassuring guiding
his skin wrinkles
mirth creasing warm brown
skin matching mine
warm tongue caress mine
tasting him tasting me
searching searching my love
unsatiated wanton desire
windows of his soul
blatantly staring boring into my every pore
i feel it permeates
deep deep deep
rolling waves of emotions
roars onto the shore
shattering serenity and beauty
a culmination of all that is forbidden
i scream my love for all to witness
but neglected i fear love forsaken
bleed me dry
i prostrate myself
hopeless vulnerable naked
i shiver in trepidation
embrace me tightly i plead
of you my master
take me whole I am precious

Petal P. Rose

Whistling as she blogs away......

I directed a friend to this blog. He says that he likes the first part of my writings and he commented that I must have a lot of time on my hand. I have taken offence. If only he knew how packed my days are – especially over the weekends. Most times, I feel like there’s not enough time in a day.

Just because I have a blog – I’m deemed to have too much time. How small minded is that? Has he thought that perhaps I like keeping a blog and it’s just one of those things that if you enjoy doing, you WOULD make time for it, no matter how busy you get. Also before things get posted up on my blog, believe it or not, some thought and drafts go into it. I do write stuff off the cuff – but I like thinking through what I write first.

Blogging is a way for me to record an extraction of my thoughts. So many thoughts go through in a day – the ones here are ones I choose to talk about. Yeah, this is in case, again, some people choose to be stupid and think only this posting is the only thing in my mind throughout the day. Moving along…..

I like what I do. The job does not leave me exhausted. If I have no appointments in the evening, I’m home, feeding myself knowledge – be it reading, listening to something or surfing online. The things I do are many and varied. I don’t like to stay still. I can pack a lot of things to do in a day.

I live for the weekends. It’s when I catch up on sleep and perhaps with some friends. Attending openings, watching movies, theatre works, the list goes on and on. Sundays’ usually dedicated to my arts society and if there’s time in the evening, I can squeeze in another appointment or happy to just mooch around the library.

It’s not a matter of how much time one has. It’s how it’s being used that counts. Come on, you don’t need me to tell you that. It’s a known fact.

Go on, get out there, get a life. If it bites you in the arse, it’ll heal. No worries, mate! Happiness is moving along to the beat of your own drum.

Petal P. Rose

Painting the town red

Today was not a good day for me. My throat has been sore since last Friday and my nose, one minute was running and now is all bunged up. I swear, I'm not a happy camper.

I woke up reluctantly for work this morning. I threw on a no-brainer dress. No lipstick, bare faced beauty - albeit a grumpy one. I didn't want to speak with anyone, mainly because my throat was hurting. Thank God there wasn't an incident on the way to work. My fuse was short and I was a hungry lionness, pacing in the shadows, hoping for a prey to pounce on - assuage me, just a bit.

I was all quiet at work, busy for a few hours in the morning. I was calm-ish but that's because I kept my head down. I was hoping no one would provoke me or say something stupid. I would have no qualms telling the person how stupid I think he or she is - very explicitly. So the phone rings and the other person had the unfortunate fortune of having me at the end of the line :-). He had called about something that I couldn't answer. The people who would be able to help were not at their desks. I sucked it up and explained nicely (which was quite a huge effort on my part) the situation. He insisted that I answer his question. "Please, I'm calling from overseas..." "Okay, perhaps you can leave me your name and number and I'll ask them to call you back." You cheap bastard.

And so the day passes in boredom. Ho hummm....I went straight home and I got worked up again when I stepped into the house. The computer was on and no one was using it. God knows how long it had been on for. I started in on it. I mean, these things cost money and I'm not even the one paying for it. I'm the only one in the house who goes about flicking switches off when things are not in use. I wasn't born rich so it has been ingrained in me not to waste. So it's a habit - a good one. If you had an asshole for a father where things can be unpredictable, I never take things for granted. I've just had it, I think, with the lot of them in the house. I won't say that I'm the perfect daughter, but I do try my best not to cause anyone harm, always considerate and mindful of my actions. Apparently the road only travels in one direction - theirs. I am fighting a fucking losing battle - I wonder why at times I even bother

Oh, I know why - because I am better than that.

One of them days,

Petal P. Rose

Arrogance

Only if I can find the words
To say how I see
But unarticulated
I remain mute

A ghost child’s cry
Resonating through the empty halls
Abandoned, unwanted
I remain deaf

Poverty and hunger
Walk hand in hand
A friend’s deceit
I remain blind

I recoil at his touch
Disgust envelops me
Try hard to see beyond the lesions
He is the untouchable

Bitterness stayed on my tongue
Coupled with the sweet melancholy of my past
Lips part to take in new senses
I am not bland

Daughter - don’t leave me
Son – I am your mother
Forgive me my sins
Forget my indulgences

Senses transferred onto you
Biased, prejudiced, jaundiced
I am She who is the blind
She who is mute and deaf

Forgive me because I am now the undesired
Look past my blisters into my hooded eyes
Tongue heavy, hindered by thousand and ones
I close my eyes, I exhale, I am released.