Bringing The Storm Home

Photo: Ganesh Vanare

I adore sexy. The sensual. The sensuous.

Art, dance, a scene, a poem, a passage.

Something which tingles the body, mind - as also something different inside - an unnamed, unpointable, diffused feeling, which is an amalgam of an ache and a yearning.

It is tough to get that right spot (the T Spot!), but when I think I have got there, I love the feeling. It washes over me, and leaves me drenched.

“Bringing the Storm Home” does that for me. The words, the music, the despairing urgency in the voice - I can feel the storm and the sea when I listen to the poem, I feel my heart thudding as the woman searches for the keys to her flat in her crowded purse, I can feel the man first hesitant, then brave, then desperate.

It’s to me the perfect amalgam of words, music and atmospherics.

There are two pieces of music I have used here - a short piece by composer & music producer Rafael Krux called ‘Inspiring Teaser’, followed by the brilliant German composer Sascha Ende’s ‘Rise of the Heroes’. And to my mind they really merge into the sensuality of the poem seamlessly - and actually enhance its aural impact.

Here it - and do tell me what do you think!! I have given the poem and the essay below - just in case you want to read it later!

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Photo: Ganesh Vanare

The poem:

Today you could throw me into the sea and I will survive

I know every pore of me is buoyant and no salt can ever weigh me down

How do I tell you the time for gentleness is long past its prime

You can put a finger where the darning's off above the waist

And tear it gently if you feel gentlemanly, or just down the front if you're not

.

You can see the wild winds do what you're shy to start or finish

The universe is onto me on an evening it has nothing much to do

They wreck havoc on my breasts, knowing I'm ready to step away

I'm twisted around, bent over, powerless, swung, hoisted, beaten, ravished

And in spite of myself, I'm airborne, letting myself be carried from where I might not want to return

.

Lover, be a lover, know the world of symbols we live in

There is a time for umbrellas, there's a time for the storms

We can now scoop the sea, imprison gusts of the storms

We can run along the length of the chaos outside and inside

We will kick debris destroy puddles hear our breath grow desperate

We will run up two flights of stairs, wet, distraught, knowing we are at the end

I would despair for the keys in the chaos of my purse

As you stand with your breath stringed in knots

Your eyes with a fire brought in from the lightning outside

Your eyes with little flames I'd never seen before

And I would fling open the door, I would fling myself open

Desperate clawing searching tearing, in turmoil, entangled in sighs

And we would know and we would know and we would know

Storms cannot be tamed, you have to bring them home

As you sink into me and I sigh

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Photo: Ganesh Vanare

The essay:

Passion as lust is so underrated.

It is bequeathed to youth, dismissed as elemental, in passing, as age progresses it is assumed dead on arrival. It's somehow taken as recreational, it is taken as something which is done - and done with. It is taken as an aberration if it floods you, you are a mendicant if you can control it, a vamp if you let it possess you, an offender if it affects every part of your life.

So much of passion is denigrated, even as we fall in lust before falling in love, even as we give in to it's call and it embellishes our commitment to the other, in untamed and undisguised ways. Love would be lesser for it. It's unpredictability is its source of raw charm.

And when we let it lead us into its dark caverns, we find life's curtains drawn out to the end, and the sun streaming in, playing with the sheets where you lie, playfully asking - now once more, with the sun on us?

Photo: Ganesh Vanare

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If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems talking about the pleasures of love and love-making:

Fallen Flowers

Making Love in a Cathedral on a Stormy Day

Perils of Breakup Sex (or why I can’t keep my legs closed for you)

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