I had never seen such a man before,
in all epitome of his handsomeness, and a smile that washed ashore worries.
I called forth to him, while he stood at the end of the street,
by the lamp post crossing his legs and staring at me.
My rouge grew redder, like I've never felt before,
I set my hair, smoothening my curls looking at the man.
Not knowing if a second call would be needed,
So, I just stood watching his body, naked behind the clothes I shed from my vision.
He looked like a man of word, more than flesh,
as I hoped what he would be, in all his being.
He would be different I hoped, a writer perhaps,
documenting miseries and glees.
Perhaps, he'll understand my pleasure at seeing a man like him,
a man in that black suit pressed to the last crease now invisible.
As my thoughts grew, he walked towards me,
holding a smile that kindled my inner soul.
What if he was the one? What is this was it ?
I held my breath as I walked with him as he slipped his arm around my shoulders,
unlike the other men who walked away from me,
only meeting me in a cramped place so desolate.
Probably he is, oh, he is.
We walked somewhere, I don't know where, a man with me,
who didn't throw me dirty looks, looked at me as a woman.
Like a person who knows what femininity means.
Into his room, I waited for him to say something.
Yet, there were no words.
He tore my blouse down to mere shreds of cloth,
releasing himself from the stiff clothes.
Raw feelings grew as we hit the bed, him biting away at my flesh,
full of meaning. Everything he did, was a feeling
I had never felt before in my life.
Our bodies locked, the world faded as I gave myself to him in a way
I never gave myself to anyone else.
More than mere flesh, more the lips to tear open. Something beyond.
Something special. Something like him.
Hours passed and the rage subsided as he slid out of the bed,
bereft of a blanket around us, there is nothing to hide. Nothing to conceal.
Fumbling into his pants, he looked at me through the dim light.. dressing back to what he was.
He stabbed into his pockets bringing out some pieces of highlighted papers.
And kept them in front of me.
I stared up in shock and nodded, acknowledging the pay.
He pulled his coat over and adjusting his tie,
just like before, dressing in perfection, just like the 'perfect sex' he just gave me.
Only now, there were creases on his coats, that stood out laughing at my face.
Laughing at my crumpled hopes.
He turned and walked away without a second glance,
as I sat naked, my face down in disappointment.
But I won't cry, I won't lament.
For I've seen more than this.
For I've seen more than this.
I'm the roadside whore, calling out to you,
I, who fake groans and moans in bed.
I, who still search for miracles everyday.
Waiting for it to hit my bed before another man does.
For, I'm the roadside whore calling out to you.
I shall live. I shall fight.
For, I'm the roadside whore calling out to you.
I can understand that the man was someone who in his own sense held a respect to women. You say that his actions during the intercourse were full of meaning, according to the woman. And, you the end the poem saying that he was no different from most of her customers. All that is fine. But, from my knowledge of women, they can clearly differentiate lust and passion. More like their brain have been wired that way. So, what was your thought process while writing the poem ?
ReplyDeleteAlso one small suggestion. You could make your poetry a little more abstract i.e associating your theme with something. For example, when I think of a prostitute, I get the imagery of a fish swimming in a bowl. It is confused, and its soul is searching. It wants to get out of the bowl but is unable to do so. Hope you got what i am trying to say.
Good work though. Keep writing!
Nice one!
ReplyDelete^^ - Hello! thought process? sure, women know about lust and passion. What I was trying to convey was the fact that it is nothing more than physical. She thinks the man could be different in desperation, also because of how he approached her in the beginning. I just wanted to talk about her hopes which still doesnt fail after all that happens. At the end of the day, she still looks out for that one man who'll approach with passion or love, or anything else other than sex.
ReplyDeleteAnd about the abstract part, interesting you told me so. I usually write abstract stuff. Only of late, I had some of my friends telling me the reader grows confused by the time they decipher what it is all about. I wanted this one raw and to the point. But, yes, I think I ll write one with abstract imagery. Thanks a lot for your feedback, it helps me improve :-)
^ - thank you :-)