So the serpent dance, seems to be drawing to a close, or so I would like to think; the two headed one. I m not a Geminian for sure, but twin avatars entwined as one, I sure am. Or hoping to make it a ‘was’.

There is this sane, mature, ‘regular’ me who seems to be mellowing down with age, gracefully, the mind being more tuned to things, which are calming, which has more depth, things which make you both change or accept your ancestry, your beliefs , your self-procured knowledge about the world at large, and your own limitations, qualifications and reinstating the stance of, where I stand in the overall equation of things.

And then ofcourse there is this other part, the more sinister one, the more effervescent one, the more volatile one; the one over which I have not, much control, and at many instants of time, didn’t want to !! But now, I would think the game is over, the coins are to go back into their boxes, and the board closed shut. Keeping the lid shut, might work in snuffing out the serpentine form, from raising its hood, ever so often. Will it work in silencing the haunting sweet notes that seem to drift in from nowhere, making me dance to its tune, with abandon? Will it make the words that seem to rule my senses, vanish, and be banished away to a distant land? Will it still my restless soul, plagued by a dull throbbing ache, which seems to take ages, to fade away?

If it does, do I cease to be who I am? Atleast I would have a form, which does not play tricks, with my mind, heart and soul. A form which would be set, stable and cognizable; sans the allusions and delusions. A form which I better get used to; a ‘me’, I should begin to or try to, identify with more, and fasten myself to. As the snake sheds its coat, I assume at this point in my life, I rip off this second skin of mine, and slither into the maddening crowd. The coat that grows on me, with time, will tell…..

Hooded Girl...

Childhood trapped, gawd how it stifles,
Maidenhood lived and borne, behind veiled cells.

Eyes that seem, to probe and dare,
Speaks so much, with just a glare.

Innocence, wiped away and shredded.
Left with a weighing maturity, and dread.

If it is to shield and screen,
What is left to dream and preen?

The delicate neck, the quivering lips,
The flowing tresses, the swaying hips.

Concealed, are the thoughts- aborted;
Buried along with wishes- thwarted.

Childish whims, misty muses,
Dainty dreams n’ crazy fancies.

Curbed and Stowed away early,
You’re a mellowed woman, my girly.