Craving

10 x 13.5 inches; Pen and ink over graphite pencil on tinted drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)

The Vampire (From ‘Fleur Du Mal’ - Charles Baudelaire)

Thou, sharper than a dagger thrust
Sinking into my plaintive heart,
Thou, frenzied and arrayed in lust,
Strong as a demon host whose art

Possessed my humbled soul at last,
Made it thy bed and thy domain,
Strumpet, to whom I am bound fast
As is the convict to his chain,

The stubborn gambler to his dice,
The rabid drunkard to his bowl,
The carcass to its vermin lice —
O thrice-accursed be thy soul!

I called on the swift sword to smite
One blow to free my life of this,
I begged perfidious aconite
For succor in my cowardice.

But sword and poison in my need
Heaped scorn upon my craven mood,
Saying: "Unworthy to be freed,
From thine accursed servitude,

O fool, if through our efforts, Fate
Absolved thee from thy sorry plight,
Thy kisses would resuscitate
Thy vampire's corpse for thy delight."

— translated by Jacques LeClercq, Flowers of Evil

Snail Trail

 

10 x 13.5 inches; Pen and ink over graphite pencil on tinted drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)

I trace the stray strands of coiled hair
Clinging to your forehead,
Damp with perspiration.
My fingertips slick with your saliva
Blends the cool wetness,
Absorbing your attention.
As my fingers travel on your bareness,
A creeper trailing a wall
In search for lubrication,
My parched mouth nibbles your ear,
Sucking out moist moans
From the well of satiation!
My face slips onto your broad shoulder
Held in the cup of your neck,
Inhaling the aroma of passion,
While my tongue licks your caramel skin
Moving south, leaving wet trails
On a map without a destination…
I am a nomad without a planned route,
In the wild landscape of your body
Discovering terrain for exploration.
My tongue lingers on mounds and valleys,
On downy fields and musky clefts,
Heady with a sensual revelation!
When your fingers plough through my hair
With an infectious hot urgency,

I sense ecstasy in dissolution!

Thorn In My Side

 

13.5x10 inches; Pen and ink over graphite pencil on tinted drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)

It's not guilt or a tug of war

Between the heart and the head,

Neither a moral check mate!

But what it is, is a ticking reminder

Of my most intimate dread,

Of becoming like those I negate,

Enslaved by fame, greed and power

Throttling my humanity dead!

Better to suffer this thorn in my fate

Than to become a vicious gardener,

Growing thorns in every flower bed!

Emasculation

 

20.5x28.5 inches; Watercolour, pen and ink over graphite pencil on handmade paper (Click on image to enlarge)

I am not a masculine man.
I deny to fit into that notion of a man.
I recoil from what I must become
To prove that I am enough of a man.
 
Many tried to make a man
Of what they found in me of a man!
Between my legs lay, for some,
Proof enough to define me as a man.
 
Once I was told by a proud macho man,
“Either you grow into a manly man
Or you must a man’s victim become!”
I wilted and curled into a wimpy man.
 
Teased for being the sissy man,
Bullied for not being a tough man,
I grew up to remain, for some,
A complete disgrace to the name of man.
 
I don’t care to be accepted as a man
Because that which confines every man,
I defied; to breathe my freedom,
I embody the fear of emasculation in each man.

Salvation

 

20x30 inches; Pen and ink over graphite pencil on tinted drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)

You peddle salvation

As if, you own an infinite source

To supply the instant high!

Have you inherited it as an heirloom?

Always promising a recourse

To the lost soul in distress,

As if, you have the precious road map

With the only route clearly marked

To lead them out of this mess.

What gives you such confidence?

Who appointed you the guide?

I wonder…

Does a particle of dust find salvation

Just by clinging to your hide?

Yes, I know,

We are gullible

Marinating in our sins,

Fermenting with guilt

We are fallible,

Easily herded like sheep

Seeking safety from imagined wolves,

Settling down meekly

For a life of servitude.

No, you are beyond reproach

For we are to blame!

We put you on a pedestal

With our fears and our faith,

To avoid being responsible for

Our own lives and deeds,

To find shortcuts to repentance

And forgiveness for being bad seeds.

If a dip in the Ganges

Can wash away my sin,

Why bother mending my ways?

Let the waters bear the poison

While I remain conveniently pure and clean!

Otherwise, Straight Acting...

 

20.5x28.5 inches; Pen and ink, acrylic paint over graphite pencil on drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)

Desires cannot be regulated by external forces through enforced conditioning of gender performance and expectation. If the gay dating apps were to hold up a mirror to the society, this failure would be more than apparent. Many gay men describe themselves or is described by others as ‘Straight Acting’ which simply means that this person is ‘Manly’ enough or doesn’t have the tell-tale behavioural markers of being gay. He is not a limp wristed, lisping, willowy, and flamboyantly effeminate homosexual! But it is acting, nevertheless! It is a performance put up to pass as a ‘heterosexual’ man in the cock-eyed surveillance of our society’s stereotypes and standards of judgement! A performance to remain undetectable as gay in the public eye. How they perform in the privacy of a more enabling space can be otherwise. A space where inhibitions and judgements are rare, many of these men can drop the act and be more attuned to their desires and behave accordingly. This constant performance of suppressing desire in the public eye has to be acknowledged and applauded with the cautionary tale of how this affects the psyche of the gay men constantly living in fear of being ‘found out’. 

Isolation

 

20.5x28.5 inches; Watercolour, pen and ink over graphite pencil on handmade paper (Click on image to enlarge)

 

Alone, but

Not like an ant

Wandering far

From the marked trail,

Way laid by the call of a Siren,

Unable to find its way back

To the scent of its people,

Going in circles for days,

Still hopeful

Unless a boot stamps

The life out of it.

Or like a bee

Buzzing around for hours

Inside a glass jar

In a candy shop,

Trapped by the lure of

Sweet promises,

Separated from its kin,

Finding death in the hands

Of a fly swatter.

 

But alone

Like lovers in a crowd,

Majnun in the desert,

Like the naive victim

In love with the tormentor.

Like seeking safety

Curling up in a closet,

Marooned on an

Uninhabited Island

Of one’s own inhibitions,

Or walled up within

A fortress in one’s head,

Avoiding the possibilities

Of infection,

Of failure, rejection and hurt.

Isolation

Of the unwanted;

Preventing what may happen

Deduced from what

We fear to become.

 

The plague trespasses

Over the land of

‘Happily-ever-after’

Leaving behind

A sole survivor. 

Dhatura / Datura

 

29.0 x 9.5 inches; Watercolour, pen and ink over graphite pencil on handmade paper (Click on image to enlarge)

Your face caught in the moonlight

Becomes a moon to the moon,

Two starry eyes glint,

Like pieces of flint

Striking up a fire.

 

The beauty of heat burns my night

My Moonflower trumpets croon.

Your hypnotic gaze

Drags me in the maze,

Fanning my desire.

 

Shadows fold us into earthy delight

Of bodies finding touch, we swoon

Drugged by the nectar,

In each-other’s spectre

Of sensory mire.

 

Psychedelic dreams burn bright

Stinging like thorns of a boon.

Urgency of our need

Scatters the seed

Dousing the pyre.

 

In parting you retreat from sight

No promises of “see you soon”,

Just a lingering heat

Of a shared heartbeat,

Fading strains of a siren’s lyre!

Mandragora

 

29.0 x 9.5 inches; Watercolour, pen and ink over graphite pencil on handmade paper (Click on image to enlarge)

 

Twilight in the park

Awakens the fireflies,

Liminal magical beings

Discard their shadows,

Glowing with urgent eyes

Desires that seek the dark.

 

A bush lightly trembles

Growing into life, lazily,

Like a long drawn yawn

Leaving your bed of leaves,

Flipping tousled head hazily

A smile tickling me crumbles.

 

The scent of pleasure

Conjures a potent embrace,

With promises of resurrection

Flowing in our excited veins,

Needy kisses drunkenly trace

The elixir we warily treasure.

 

Cracks open the shell

Bursting boils of repression,

Sighs escape turning us deaf

To screams in our tortured heads,

Grasping this moment of elation

Before hiding, back in our hell.