Bitter are the words we use
When we admit to another
That we love someone
Ashamed accents
As if the thought of surrender
In this time and age
Is a sin

We prefer our pickled existence
Swimming in vinegar
Is so much more
Focused a job
(Energetic, complicated)
Than lying in a beloved’s arms
Baring our souls
For the simple gesture of confession
Is therapeutic

And if we all healed ourselves
What would all the shrinks of the world do?
Who would fill up the seats of the psychology department?
Why would one care about anybody else’s business?
When the only juice that matters
Is the one between you and me

Religion, tenets, isms, hyperbole
Would all be flushed down the toilet bowl
In God’s master bedroom
Where would world be then
As we know it today?

Corridors we all rushed through
Would bear silent homage
To unheard footsteps
Elevators which shot us up
To our corporate images
Saturated with cast-off pin-stripes
Sophistication we lived by
Blown away
In the smoke you & I create
After we make love
There would be a oneness to life

Would I then
Care about the muscular strength of your ideas?
When the whole world has gone
Hare Rama Hare Krishna
And would you love
My vulnerability
My innocence?
When it can be bought in bucket-loads
At your nearest, friendly, drug store
Would anyone be calm?
If tranquil was the way
We lived by then

After all…
Chaos is necessary for all of us
To have our pockets of peace
Even if lined with lint
And overwhelmed
By the mothballed odor of preservation
Seldom used
Unless in
Et tu Brutus?

And then…
Caesar ceases to think
Only lives on as a legend
Manifested through hard core marketing
And a parasitic estate
Which refuses to go hungry
By letting a dead man die

But I am still alive
Feel me
Still breathing
I am not the 10
Contrived out of myth
No one’s fantasy
Just a catastrophe
Moulded so
By other accidents

And I often forget
That there is more to me than that
Until you remind me
And I get lost
In the nutra-sweet of your liquid voice
To wake-up again
My stained thighs
The only proof that you were here...

Stumbling through a sleepwalker’s haze
I enter His bathroom
To purge myself
To rationalise
While the life force within me
Drains away
In a weightless sound
Which only You can hear
But refuse to
For we both know
I am a compulsive screamer

Fatima Yamin
Wednesday, 17th February 1998

In the blue mist of my bed
I make love to you
Crushed petals
Softly colouring
My inside

Fatima Yamin
1st October 1998

If I touch you too soon
Will you wither and die away?
Shall I wait to savour...
Unplucked fruit of passion
Or is it too green
To be savaged
by my bite?

Fatima Yamin
Oct 6, 1998

Main Me Poems Quotes Lynx

BTW you're still on Savio's Domain

Fatima Yamin who is a cyber pal of mine lives in Islamabad (Pakistan) & writes for many Pakistani News tabloids (her resume makes me feel rather illiterate so I won't be mentioning her vast & numerous qualifications here on my site.)