wolfish grins

this road is curvy and wavy,
uphill it is not,
you can walk all of it,
still end up nowhere
the beginning is the end,
the end is the beginning
a paradox or whole truth
even great seers can't say

you see a wolf, you see a little girl,
wearing something red
with a hood on her head
both stand at arms length,
apparently arguing.
we see the wolf crumble-
run to catch him before he falls
she ditched him for a dog,
he can't take it anymore
his grief tears you apart,
the road unravels itself
you traverse through it-
consoling the wolf
I stand there with our girl
her red aura spreads to me
I too walk out, away from you,
never to return

"you see it is a woman's world now"

cat story

there was a piercing pain
everything went blank
when I came around
I found myself sprawled
on that cold earth,
in a bloody mess
my dignity in shreds
(arrow still stuck in my chest)

was I seeing things?
cat wearing a sweater
with four booties?
unblinking yellow eyes
staring at me
purring sensually
it darted towards me
and pulled out the arrow

(I cried out with pain)
in no time it licked it clean
that forked tongue
was a dead giveaway
when it talked back
I was doubly sure
my long lost demon
had come back to me

he shed his sweater
showed me his hairless form
a magic gone wrong
he gotta live with it
a faery gave him a sweater
and knitted him booties
first I laughed
then I hugged him

as a vampire myself
I had no complaints
I felt a happy tingle
went into a trance
when my cat bit hard
blood dried itself out,
both our powers had returned
healing my wounds

as discussed in a writer's workshop

I flipped the card over and over again,
writer's workhop, that too about women-
with my portfolio, I arrived at the workshop,
prepared to listen to the topic of discussion
It could be anything:
the nubile heroine's journey,
the ambiguous power of vamps
to evil stepmothers,
and the sheer pleasure of being a woman
told creatively in a wealth of fantastic stories.
so much in there to speak about woman-
her charishma, her power through the years

can you believe it, they were talking
about a heroine whose only talent rested
on her ability to sleep.
sleeping beauty waiting for her prince
is a non-entity for me. what is she
but a emotionally stranded heroine
whose awakening from death induced sleep
depends on a Prince's kiss. I would call him
a simpleton who had no vision
could he not leave her alone
and find someone better, a matured personality
who would have suited more to his wordly demeanor

sleeping for two decades tenaciously holding to life
is but a scary thought. waking her up by breath
of a kiss, he must have been curious. maybe I ought
to salute to the spirits of both, for leaving a fairy tale
for us. and a hope to live happily ever after.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Photo Credits: http://www.illusionsgallery.com/Sleeping-Beauty-Spence-L.jpg

sleeping beauty----Writers Island

cursed she was by the evil witch
and was made to sleep
for no one knew how many years.
her parents, the king and the queen-
although happy she was not dead,
mourned their daughter's fate.
year by year, they slowly retreated
to other parts of their lives, being
with other children. she was forgotten
sleeping in that bed of hers, weeds growing
around her palace, thick trees covering it-
silence of nights prolonged her agony.

when a lonesome prince lost his way,
finding the palace was his oasis.
slowly climbing the stairs, he saw
the sleeping princess lost to world
when his lips touched hers,
he tasted the great bliss of death.
triumph of the princess was blood
of those who kissed her luscious lips.
under her bed were skeletons
of doomed men lost over the years.