“There is a kind of passion invoked by secrecy that remains unmatched.
It is raw and pure. Dangerous and seductive. Beautiful and savage. It
is the kind of passion that is experienced in silence even though
every pore of your body wants to scream its name. Not every one is
fortunate enough to experience it but absolutely every one craves it”
Brandon Ingram – ‘Living their Lie’
– Sharanya Manivannan
Does all lust start and
end like this? Don’t get me
wrong. I loved my wolf.
I held him tethered like
a pussycat. I nursed
the rumble in his belly
with hands gentle as a burglar’s.
He lived on milk
and blood and ocean. He
had violets for his furs.
It’s just that he was
beginning to devour me.
He nuzzled me with claws,
fondled me with fangs
sharp as yearning
He snaked a tongue so
hungry in its kiss it
turned my body to salt.
How do you douse a
dervish swirl? I asked.
Devour it, you said.
So I fantasised
about eating his balls,
rolling them in semolina
seeds and roasting them
golden. I got blooddrunk
on the thought of the
crisp tender cartilage of his ear,
left to simmer in tequila
and cilantro. The dry teats turned
sweet when baked with cinnamon
applesauce, or drizzled with chocolate.
The tangy musk of austerely steamed eyelid.
I set traps.
Mine is the deepest void,
the deepest void you’ll ever know.
And so I lured him to a well.
A wolf can drown in its own
wetness. But mine swam
and lapped and doggypaddled
until I waded back in to get him.
Mine is the darkest smoulder,
the darkest smoulder you’ll ever know.
And so I conspired to let him burn.
A wolf can poach in its own juices.
But mine danced on coals and leapt
ablaze, until I pussyfooted back in to get him.
I became desperate.
I preached to my wolf
about suicide, proselytized
about reincarnation. Come back
as a sleepy kitten, I said.
Come back as a hibernating bear.
Come back as a snail with a flag trail of surrender.
But my love was indefatigable. It was
volcano and oceanic tremor. It was a black lace bra and
too much jazz at 3 a.m.
My love was as big as betrayal.
I pleaded and pleaded until
you finally looked up and said,
You can only kill a wolf
you don’t want to have,
and only then did I see that
your love
was exactly
the size of two fists.
http://sharanyamanivannan.wordpress.com/
Sharanya Manivannan was born in India on 30 July 1985 and grew up in Sri Lanka and Malaysia. She lives in Kuala Lumpur and Chennai. She is well-known for both her unique bilingual (English, Tamil) writing and performances. She is well-known as the first and only writer to use both languages in Malaysia’s modern underground independent writers’ community. She has received positive remarks about her writing from international writers such as Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha, Indran Amirthanayagam, Francesca Beard, Shreekumar Varma and Laksmi Pamuntjak.
GUEST WRITER – Bella
Perfection
Perfection
Lies in the
Warmth of your embrace.
In the fullness of your lips
As you kiss,
In your eyes
Deep dark and honest,
In your curves
Your smooth skin
Long legs
And the sweet taste of heaven
That lies between.
Forever after
You tell me
While looking deep into my eyes
That I’m beautiful.
That you wish we’d met before
That you couldn’t imagine life without me.
That’s I am what you’ve been waiting for.
You tell me I’m enchanting.
And that you’ve never met anyone like me.
And that you will always love me
Forever and ever….
I smile and hold your head close to my chest.
I’ve heard those words before.
And in the eyes and hearts and minds of the people
Who spoke those words,
I ceased to be
All that.
I wonder,
How long,
Before you don’t want
Our forever after…
Wife
“Married?!?
Myeeeee child…congratulations!”
So what are you now…
Mrs…Mrs. who?”…
“Weeraratne” I say.
“It’s a perfectly good name.
Didn’t see any point in changing it”.
“Hmmm..”
She’s not amused.
“So, you cook?”
It’s the question I get asked most often.
“No” I reply,
“My husband does”.
She looks horrified.
“You clean then?…
And do the washing?…”
It’s inevitably the follow up question…
“Not really..
We’ve got people for that.”
She’s livid.
You’d think I killed someone.
“That’s not marriage.”
She snorts.
I’ve heard this too many times now to lose my temper.
So I smile politely and make an excuse to leave.
It annoys me,
Talking to women,
Who weigh and value a woman’s worth
On how many meals she can cook
Or how many dishes she can clean.
I hope she doesn’t have daughters of her own…
when i cannot speak
cannot walk
cannot go here go there
do this do that
when i’m not permitted
forbidden from
accompanied fed
and ordered to
when i am not heard
not seen
not known nor listened to
told what’s what
when i put up
shut up
and cannot get up
or stand up
when I am put down
pulled up
pushed forward
and sent home
its for my own good
after all.
The river
the river
said Heraclitus.
you think
it is the same
you think you know
how time passed
but
this river is not
the river you knelt in.
time passed is time past,
this water
is not that water,
the cool green water
your feet rippled in
that water is far away
and you will never know
the brown leaves
silvery fish shadows
twisting in the foam.
you will only know memories
dredged up
fished out
grabbed
through the sieve.
time passed is time past.
One step forward
Two steps back.
You are on hold
She calls you forward
And then steps back
You have no idea why
You don’t know who she is
One step forward.
Two steps back.
Waiting for something
that may never happen
Your fate depends upon her
fate, what will it be?
You have no idea why
You have nothing at all
One step forward.
Two steps back.
You think you are
following your heart
Like you always do
One step forward,
two steps back,
that is what you do
Pick your place on the floor
Of time.
Any place.
Adore.
Kiss an eye,
Fall apart
Pick up the pieces.
Twist, turn
Take another place,
Hold your hand.
Fall apart
Pick up the pieces.
Swing around
Arch your neck,
Touch your fingers.
Fall apart
Pick up the pieces.
Pick a new place,
Shimmy in
With your hip out,
Slide your fingers in,
Fling your head back.
Smile.
Don’t pick up the pieces.
What’s the point?
Pick our places
On the floor of time
And get ready.
Breaking up
Does breaking up always involve breaking down?
Throw away your ego as you watch her go
Beg her to stay; knowing it only chases her further away.
Why does breaking up involve breaking down?
Replay everything she said in your head
We were unhappy together but no happier apart
In my hands I hold little pieces of my heart.
Why does breaking up involve breaking down?
Wake up alone. Stare at the phone.
Spend the hot days and cool nights on your own.
Think of how far apart you have grown.
Why does breaking up involve breaking down?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PQOmyebFVV8
Staceyann Chin is a Jamaican Chinese American spoken word poet,
performing artist and LGBT rights political activist.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m9KsIwHGnkI
When you sleep
Cake
When you sleep
Where do your fingers go?
What do your fingers know?
What do your fingers show?
Where do your fingers go?
When you sleep
Do they tremble on the edge of the bed?
Or do you fold them neatly by your head?
Do they clench like claws against your own skin
When you’re living your day all over again?
When you sleep
When you sleep where do your fingers go?
What do your fingers know?
What do your fingers show?
Where do your fingers go?
Do they play guitar in a Latin bar?
Are they strangers or lovers?
Do they drive your car?
Are they swimming submissively?
Sex acts of life
Or just cutting through Jello with a very sharp knife?
Now, Zeus was a womanizer
Always on the make
But Hera usually punished her
That Zeus was one to take
When you sleep
Where do your fingers go?
Are they pulling out weeds from the dusty soil
But then never rewarded with the fruits of their toil?
Are they scratching their nails on the chalkboards of death
Only seeking attention when everyone in the room has left?
When you sleep
When you sleep, where do your fingers go?
What do your fingers know?
What do your fingers show?
Where do your fingers go?
When you sleep
Do they tremble on the edge of the bed?
Or do you fold them neatly by your head?
aappathachchiya 
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