Treasure Island

indira babbellapati

(visakhapatnam, india)

a breathing fantasy

i create
a quiet midnight hour
around me all the time
and migrate myself
into a world of solitude...
where i feel your breath
down my neck tickling
myriad memories of your touch
sometimes in the real wee hours
i'm left all by myself
contemplating this notion of love
whether it's a fantasy i created
to survive myself in a barren piece
cut off from imagination
and the ability to dream
no, no, no...
screams my voice for
the oft repeated voice alone knows
the messages of love it carried
to you across the cruel
geographical spaces...


Submitted: Thursday, December 31, 2009
Edited: Wednesday, March 03, 2010

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  • Alison Cassidy (1/2/2010 5:50:00 PM)

    You share that ephemeral link between the personal and the divine in this rather lovely poem about loss and love and the anguish of remembering. You express the power of the breath to transform and inspire, while letting the reader feel as well, the depths of your despair at your abandonment. A very moving poem. Love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ (Report) Reply

  • Crenshaw happytime (1/1/2010 1:19:00 AM)

    may your nights soon be filled with a real hot blooded passion inspiring hombre! happy new year from all of your very happy readers (Report) Reply

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