Eila Mahima Jaipaul
Biography of Eila Mahima Jaipaul
I was born in Brooklyn, but I now live in upstate NY with my family. I am a faux stained glass artist, a lover, a journalist, a thinker, a mechanic, a passionate person... with much too much time on my hands. I've been writing since I was 16... perhaps one day I'll be good at it?
'For when I sample your angel'd prose, my heart soars... my soul is bliss... '
One can only dream!
Eila means 'the Earth' and Mahima means 'Greatness'
for more poems...
Eila Mahima Jaipaul Poems
There is no sweeter sound, than my breath, held hostage, captured amidst,
An Intimidated Poet
I lost my pen, love it ran out of ink. all I have left is a pencil with
The Things I Do With Lips (or I Will Kis...
I will kiss you good night good morning good day
The Last Words That Fall From Knowing Ey...
I can hear you whispering in the night silence of my room my heart surrenders to you... like the sun to the moon.
A Beautiful Dream
you appear there in front of me very nearly transparent your presence looking like a reflection
I want (erotic)
I want you to forget all else except the scent of intoxication the feel of sensuality, while I lavish your body, with my mouth
leaf skeletons stems hollow tiny veins, rigid support air
Caressing You With My Words
Can you feel them, Love, Softly touching your cheek Tracing the lines of your mouth Trailing down your neck
...And They Say Love Is Blind
I ran easily through the night despite the path I was one with the shadows slipping through moonlight
If I Were A Poet (writing you love poems...
If I were a poet I would mix taboo words Into verses that resemble sublime metered stanzas.
A Call Of Lovers
I still feel where you touched me beloved of heart and soul I am not a love lost
I Woke Up This Morning Thinking Erotic T...
I woke up this morning thinking erotic thoughts I want you to penetrate my mind Slowly, deeply, rhythmically To enter my deepest thoughts
Sensual Scripts (A Poet Makes Love)
your hands speak a language only my body can interpret, writing mystical glyphs on my skin inscribing poetry on the curves of me.
A Firefly In The World Of Dreams-
closing my eyes I sleep body floating in darkness without substance whether I lay up or down
I wanted to hear them hail from your lips
speaking of portraits not painted yet,
journals empty not yet committed to the hue of sin
with a story opening without any end.
a diary of lovesick appraise, to become the sculpt of us
our mirror with adoring eyes...
but the pages were worn, at times full of ink
violet and ripe, nothing like me.