Home | Hindi | Kabir | Poetry | Workshop | BoloKids | Writers | Contribute | Search | Contact | Share This Page                       Shop Online

Poetry New | A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H | I | J | K | L | M | N | O | P | Q | R | S | T | U | V | W | X | Y | Z             Submit a Poem

Editor's Choice of the Week | Poetry Knowledge Zone | Poet of the Week | Themes | Articles /Interviews

Channels
In Focus

Analysis  
Bolography  
Cartoons
Environment   
Opinion 

Columns
 My Word 
 PlainSpeak 
 Random Thoughts 
Our Heritage

Architecture
Astrology
Ayurveda
Buddhism
Cinema 
Culture
Dances 
Festivals
Hinduism
History  
People  
Places 
Sikhism
Spirituality 
Vastu 
Vithika  

Society & Lifestyle

Family Matters 
Health
Parenting
Perspective 
Recipes
Society
Teens 
Women 

Creative Writings

Book Reviews
Ghalib's Corner
Humor
Individuality
Jagoji
Literary Shelf 
Love Letters  
Memoirs
Musings
Ramblings
Stories
Travelogues

Computing
  General Articles
 
CC++ 
  Flash 
  Internet Security 
 
Java 
 
Linux     
  Networking  
Advertisement
 Boloji Prepaid
 International
 Calling Cards

Editor's Choice 
Adultery

This wretched body
A handful of hungry bones
And aching tissue
Sings the melodious
Mohana raga
Full of purposeless passion
His bony fingers
Wrought such fine music
Out of my rosy-hued body
In the warm summer nights
I steal another's man
Our sweaty union
Derogatorily called
Extra-marital love, goes on
Under drawn curtains
And smothered lamps.

Waves of tiny ants crawl
Under the burning skin
Tingling, tickling
The underside of the knees
This stupid pathetic creature
Wants me to whisper
Love-words into his seedy ears
I cannot do so because
The magic of my electrified body
Belongs to me alone
And not to this moron
He does not exist for me
He is a faceless identity
Who is only marginally different
From the usual man in my bed .


I look at myself in the mirror
I have gone through this all
The creaking door, the sound of the flush
The gathering of the clothes
The small talk, the attempts at politeness
It is so painfully boring .
This wretched body
A bag of hungry bones
And aching tissue
Remains as yearning as ever. 

AJ Rao
May 26, 2002

Editor's Choice May 22, 2005
Other Poems of Editor's Choice 

Top 
 
   

 

 
Analysis | Architecture | Astrology | Ayurveda | Book Reviews | Buddhism | Cartoons | Cinema | Computing | Culture | Dances
Environment | Fables | Family Matters | Festivals | Hinduism | Health | History | Home Remedies | Humor | Individuality | Jagoji
Literary Shelf | Memoirs | Musings | Opinion | Parenting | Perspective | Photo Essays | Places | Ramblings
Random Thoughts | Recipes | Sikhism | Society | Spirituality | Stories | Teens | Travelogues | Vastu | Vithika | Women

Home | Bolography | BoloKids | Hindi | Kabir | Poetry | Quotes | Workshop | Writers | Contribute | Search | Contact


Boloji.com is owned and managed by Boloji Media Inc
Privacy Policy | Disclaimer
No part of this Internet site may be reproduced without prior written permission of the copyright holder.