An Ode to Maya

If India were to read this..she'd raise her brow and say, "D, this isn't an ode.. it's not in appreciation of Maya." (Well.. that would certainly be tough).. but i can't very well call this a sonnet (more than 14 lines i'm afraid), an elegy, a metaphysical poem, etc.
So it's in appreciation of a interesting conversation on a pleasant afternoon.

The ball glittered and swelled,
with jewels on breasts and veils on show,
fantastic masks birthing fantastic eyes
A Peacock, a Harlequin, a Whore.

Golden liquid and red bubbled,
kings and queens were laid flat on stone,
white gowns got painted leafy green,
And birds of prey stalked the floor.

There a Highwayman grabbed a Goddess,
and there a Vixen smiled at a joke,
glasses may have clinked and raised a din,
the chandelier splintered on secret doors.

But a woman in white, or sea green, or was it red?
in a mask of gold, or silver, or black?
Sat in a corner and looked about,
not a wallflower, not a showgirl,
just Ego willing to wait it out.

So still she sat, so still,
how long she would have stayed,
it cannot be told.
but then there was a diversion.. a shout
and in that moment it was red she glowed.

She turned her eyes and watched a man,
beautiful and compelling, dressed in flesh,
eating and drinking and kissing with fervor,
Filling his appetites to the core.

Her body loosened as he sipped women and wine,
warming her with glances from slanted eyes,
and when she moved with a need for drink,
he smiled a slow sly smile.

she moved past columns,
pedastal now empty,
carried forth by a force
of little doubt.

the goblet gleamed in her feverish eye,
her graceful hand reached out,
almost touched the amethyst crystal
but instead stroked a thin mouth.

Like a cold gleam, blinding
in a flash she looked white.

The flush in her senses
quietened and quenched,
the strength to build walls
and a different hunger spread.

this man was elegant,
patrician and sharp,
he beckoned with his mind
and broke her apart.

still again, she stood
torn between the two,
beguiled and tempted,
commanded with reason,
indulgence and abstinence
a dance that wasn't new.

But now it was her turn,
her tune and her power,
the men wait for release
and Ego sways about.

Cause and Effect

5 Reasons why the women who can't drive, can't drive...
(most certainly written soon after the bike lessons)

1. We are essentially fatalists. If an accident can happen, it will happen. If it can’t, it will still happen.
2. Women are thinkers. Since we can’t be expected to concentrate on the road and save the world at the same time, we choose to save the world. Okay.. sometimes instead of saving the world we’re thinking about the gorgeous dress in the window.
3. It requires trust to be able to drive without getting a heart attack. You have to trust the idiot in front of you not to brake suddenly. You have to trust that the guy in the snazzy car isn’t going to want to prove himself by veering close to you. Women don’t trust easily. Obviously except for when we love someone.
4. Women are multi taskers by nature. We are genetically programmed to talk on the phone, cook and go through work at the same time. Driving curbs our natural instincts.
5. Shy women especially can’t drive.. you need to have a good abusive vocabulary. Either you abuse or you suffer from high blood pressure.

I'm an Indolent Panther I am

The law of the jungle favors the big people. The lion may rule but he’s really got to learn to move around the elephants with stealth and style and apparent nonchalance.
Mars is leaving for Cesspool. He’s got a new job there with TV19. Though he’s joined on for a web magazine they’re launching, I suspect that Paris is fantasizing about him on TV.

With him gone, I’ve got to pull up my socks, pull down my helmet straps and get my ass ready for a bike lesson.
And so.. at 5 in the morning, Mars and I are up and riding out. He sits behind me and clips out instructions.
“Start button. Accelerate.”
“Never use the brake and accelerator together.”
“Don’t go into sand and water.”
“Slow down at the speed bumps.”
He’s quite a good teacher, ofcourse he'd be better if he had nerves of steel. Our approaches are different.. he doesn’t want any accident at all and I’m just aiming not killing anyone.
Okay this is not bad.. whee.. I’m riding on a road. No problem. Heh.. I’ll take Paris to Chocolate Dips on the bike next time she comes. Though maybe we should walk when we go there. hmm. Or.. O crap! O crap!
I hug the side of the road till we’re almost in danger of kissing the trees. Mars sighs.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting out of the way of the truck,” I say belligerently.
“Okay. It’s a little extreme but you should ride the way you’re comfortable.”

We ride some more. I studiously stick to the left side. My left arm is hurting from clutching the brake so hard. A truck passes by and I don’t shudder. I think I’m improving.
I’m almost ready to whistle, (only I don’t know how), when suddenly I feel a change in the sound in my ear.. it’s a silent whooshing approach. My body feels the hum and generates the fear.. it’s one of those silent, speeding killer buses.. I just know it. All of their own will, my throat, lungs and lips form a choir and start whistling. A lesson from the King and I.
The elephant passes by and I am alive, safe. I am a survivor! Fit. Ha ha!
This bit of success goes quickly to my head. I veer off the side of the road and cheerfully pick up my speed. I’m not an expert yet so I can’t look down and check the speedometer but oh I’m fassssttt. I giggle to myself. I wonder how fast I’m going. Must be 100 at least.
I enjoy the moment.
Mars approves, “Very good. You not only need to know the rules, you should also enjoy a ride and feel the bike. But slow down now,” I smile smugly, “stick to 40,” heheh..i'm so fast i'm even scaring the flying Martian, "it's good you're comfortable at 60 though."
What?!! 60? a measly 60’s that fast? I’m obviously a dare devil only in my imagination.

In the next 20 minutes I discover while I may follow all the rules of the jungle, there’s no saying that other gazelles and cheetahs and lions will do the same. I’m secretly resigned to the idea of being a mole but it’s a fun thing to learn so I stick at it.
I start humming. I don’t know why but I’m singing you’re to good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you, lala heaven to touch.. lalla so much..
“India dammit, you’re going to break my back.. avoid the damn holes and slow down at the speed bumps.”
“Umm.. yes yes.” I nod vigorously to show I got it.
Mars isn’t very trusting. He repeats all the instructions.
“Never use the brake and accelerator together.”
“Don’t go into sand and water.”
“Slow down at the speed bumps.”
Thoughtfully he adds, “Keep a straight line, but you can veer if there are potholes.”
I’m adding one of my own to the list. No thinking while riding. No wandering while riding. Think straight. Keep your eyes on the road and your hands upon the wheel. Oh. . roadhouse blues.. Keep your eyes on the road and your hands upon the whee-eel. Roll baby roll, roll baby roll, baby rollll.. all nigh-
“India! Ind-ee-a, god. damn. it!”
Eeps.