Dowry

Its 1am. I am potbellied in bed with a bowl of chips.

I feel blissful to Sufjan Steven's 'Concerning the UFO Sighting' 

Succeeded (erratically) by Cat Stevens' 'Rubylove'.

I am sighing with pleasure; I feel just so good.

Cat Stevens' Greek reminds me of my mother's.

The maid who observed a potential husband from afar

The potential, unsuspecting.

The matriarchy in such decisions; the courtship that followed.

This morning's conversation bares little resemblance.

The gold and silver given to compensate a woman's mere worth.

The 'selling' of a much loved daughter to an unutterably, isolating stranger.

Oh, the detachment ensuing.

Encounter with this subject matter, for the third time was in a film. 

'The Royal Affair' no different in such beleaguerment.

This time mutually so.

The 'crazy' king trapped surrounded by unfair expectations,

The charming queen unloved and destitute in contact

Till King Lancelot saved both;

Slept with one, empowered the other.

On happier notes,

We are saving Wellington one email at a time;

One smile handed out on a silver plate;

Boxed in tissue paper, and exposed on arrival!

The English language is to be exhibited from henceforth,

With a cheap promise of word games in definition, specifics and context.

Chomsky would chomp with vigour.

I want words to be visceral henceforth,

Almost skeletal and bearing all truth,

Resembling no cliche.

I want the word 'love' to have more effect on me;

To precipitate the overwhelming joy rising,

Like new breath, from the pit of your stomach

Arresting your heart beat momentarily

And exiting excitedly from your mouth.

Not before making your eyes water with epiphanic in-control;

Your mouth curve into a sincere smile of love.

Right now there is something so detestable about the four letters,

It lacks evocation of the majesty of such a feeling.

But eros, filia, and agape all make sense now!

Love is no longer a timeline of love.

But is love ever free of  shackles, and skeletal brides and grooms of this century?