Man, Woman And Desire

No, I don't want to wear beautiful wear. Yet, unaware I wear them anyway. But if you don't even bother to look at me Then why do I do it Amal? Why? Why do I dress beautifully And then look at you thirstily? Gone are those days When you literally fought with me To make me wear beautiful dresses. And after making me wear gorgeous dresses, You would stare at me With fire in your eyes And burn in your waist. You would come to me frighteningly close With your breast touching my bosom, Breath burning my skin, Teeth paining my lips, And waist ripping my fragile patience. I was wet even before I knew it. Such was your volcanic fire, Such was your beautiful burn Such was your sweet pain. But now? You don't even bother to touch me. Tell me Amal How many times you kissed me In last one week? Not once. Not even once Amal. All is dead now, buried now. Your love, your fire, your storm, your rain They are all dead and buried. Yet, I still wish When I stand before mirror You come from behind silently And hold me to your breast. Then you caress petals of my flowers, Tease fruits of my garden, And jump into river of my secret valley. And after your wild swim is over You kiss my forehead and tell me "you are the sweetest of the flowers I ever know, Malobika." But Alas! You don't do it. My garden is waiting to be plundered My flowers are waiting to be teased and crushed Yet that hungry wolf is not there. That sweetly cruel wolf is dead. That kindly voracious volcano is buried. If the man does not plunder His women's garden Then why the woman grows her garden? If the man does not undress her woman Then why does the woman dress? If the man does not pain her woman Then why the woman wears fragrance? You the man are so naïve, So dumb, I pity you. I despise you. I shed tears for you. © Arun Maji