The Brave Pedestrian

It is like a song that is sung in the dark. Her voice, rising, falling, rising higher Like waves, like the sea And his low voice as he urges her on. He delights in her cries, And she... She delights in herself, in free-falling Away from herself Into herself Hurtling backwards in the soft darkness Towards herself, arms and legs outspread. And she cries out in longing and the Joy of meeting And he responds to her song With his rhythm, Causing the waves in her belly, In her entire being. Waves that collapse upon themselves In a froth of pleasure And a high note through clenched teeth that trails Into silence And makes itself one with the night. Naked limbs softly twine and intertwine all night Warm brown flesh caressing luxurious cool white flesh Now in sleep, now in wakefulness... Silken smoothness pressed against creamy softness Dripping pleasure slowly like a burning candle all night Melting down but not quite going out before dawn. The song continues to play in the silence And ne...

1.15 PM. February 8, 1965. A boy and a girl, unmindful of the sun, Sought some private moments on A lonely pier stretching into the Arabian Sea. An entwining of limbs, heavy breathing, a cry And millions of enterprising sperms were swimming Upstream in a mixture of viscous fluids. Some minutes or hours later, A hard-working little fellow Impregnated a singularly fortunate egg And I came into existence. From being a nothing, a nobody, I became a somebody. The rest of those millions of sperms… Each of whom could equally have become A little boy or a girl Were doomed at this exalted moment To be flushed down the drains With so much urine. So were these sacred moments or profane ones? Moments of creation or destruction? Were they beautiful or ugly? Were they sublime or smelly? Did my dad talk dirty? Did mom's cries of pleasure Disturb the sea...