Poetic Encounter With A Whore..part 1

Old habits die hard and so does the craving for lust. A person, who in real worldly sense never attained the acme of success.someone, who, as a friend of mine says, has a kaleidoscopic enigma attached with. An assembled piece of unsolved jigsaw with a bit of some faded colours and yet to shine panoramic colours...a dead poet whose intellectual glamour never really shone! Invisible to the eyes of ignorant...atleast that’s how I chant my survival mantra...yeah...That’s me!

And the lust often takes me to the world of delusion where by indulging in my animal desire, I get the feeling of salvation...the nomenclature for this heavenly abode, in the sophisticated language of our ever perfect society is red light area..Whore house. The house of prostitutes...did you whisper, its world's oldest profession?? Ssshhhhhh...dare you, call it profession, openly! It’s an act of destitude...done by some disgusting souls who are deprived of moral values which is so essential to our survival..! So you better be convinced!

Oh! I am diverting from my story! Stella is the name of that tidal pool nymph, the eternal beauty but more of salty category! She is not kind of a normal whore, who at a mere site of me, jumps at me, tears apart my rotten clothes and lies in a passive posture! Even I don’t like doing it in hurry! Some up and down movements and back to the real world of earthly hell. I don’t have to address the meeting of national security council.afterall I am a failure, whose intellectual quotient and carnal desire perfectly complements each other. Every time, I visit her, she gives me the same attention, her ever increasing tricks of innovation while performing the act fuels my lust even more...was she the same with every customer? I never asked and she never really bothered to answer it. That was my self-appeasement trick! It used to make me feel as if I am her best customer, and this thought always enhanced my derogatory self esteem! Why to spoil it by asking?

Stella perfectly knew the pulse of the customers. It was never a tough task for her once she discovered the reasons. Few are not satisfied with their wives! Some of them have lost their sex drive and they want to find that treasure depending upon, her skillful maneuver! Better halves of few were not willing to flight their, night fantasy! For some, they are bored of same partners. Spice up the scenario. Poor males! Why did you guys marry? I often feel jealous of Stella’s popularity and charm! Is it mortally possible for a person (prostitute wont sound good, no?) to fulfill demands of so many with habitual expertise?

I am not wicked nor am wealthy but I am rich in a sense, used to be her classical reply! And that sense is? Enjoying the act! Despite all the repeattitions, day in, night out? Oh...yes! Isn’t it our primary survival duty...mating...and remembers I am a proud member of the oldest profession of the civilization! The only person, who ever commands that statement! I do have the option of crying, complaining, throwing tantrums. But why should I? It pays me well! And what a person wants the most? To be desired!! No!! See...how many of others are more desired than me? See their eyes! As if I am the last mirage of their hopeless life! They lick my feet...they fulfill whatever I say...they hypnotically dance to the tunes of my young, taut flesh! And sex is only the culmination of this satisfying process! This is spiritual. But isn’t this spiritual quest is discovering horrifying new levels of suck? I ask incredulously, wondering how she would appear in a corporate classroom teaching the tips of professionalism to the new recruits! Well, I had my quota of problems but when in trouble or in doubt, run in circles, scream and shout...but to yourself...and never go out of the circle...that was typical of that buxom beauty!
Never felt like falling in love? Love, like fame, is fleeting when there's no hope anymore. Stella said! Source of intellectual glamour? But, alas I couldn’t publicize the source of those words of wisdom! Afterall, even I have some moral standing in the society. As all these insights progressed further into love making, this dead poet never felt like living again. The moments of orgasm were literally the ones when you are closest to divine power. Sexual meditation, I guess! Because of a whore!!I never like to go into the state of life which is nothing but phase between dream and death. And I love to oscillate between these two extremes. Time spent with Stella is dream and after that hiding into her bosom, all exhausted, was death. The eternal peace.

But I move again to the world of life, where hell manifests itself on earth. I return, thinking of my next meal, carrying the meaning of saturation in my heart, both mentally and physically. As I again feel like adding one more poem to the failed collection of mine, I visualize Stella and I wonder what really happens in a book when it is closed. Naturally, there's only letters printed on paper inside, but, even though... something has to be going on, because a great story suddenly appears when we open it...could that story be of Stella? But a story won’t be able to do justice to this whore because when you've tasted perfection nothing else will satisfy and words will fail when it will be counted the most!
Stella, imagine, two beings looking into each other’s eyes... And the sea behind them. And the sky above them. And the sand beneath their feet with flowers all around, fragnance of lovely air...
Will you marry me, Stella? You escapist poet, if stupidity was a disease, you would be dying! You belong to the breed of pathetic souls, who never take any actions! You visualize and pen down something which never exists and you think that will help you in making a living. Send me dead flowers to my wedding, and I won't forget to put roses on your grave...
While remembering all these, I found myself knocking at her door...the same evening...