Rimli Bhattacharya writes

For my friends

I wished them all well, they never cared;
I waited for their calls, they never had time;
I called them several times, they never answered;
I wished them luck, they shrugged it off;
I wished them good health, they didn’t acknowledge;
I was unwell, they didn’t bother;
I call them friends, yes they are, they are my friends;
For I say it’s easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend. 

Polite but Indifferent -- Malgorzata Lapsa-Malawska

Rimli Bhattacharya writes

The Danseuse’s Delight

She danced on the arterial road –

As he asked “You dance?”

“Yes I do” she replied

She danced on the arterial road –

As he asked “Are you a story teller?”

“Yes I am, I dance with stories” she replied

She danced on the arterial road –

As he asked “Are you an artist?”

“Yes I am an artist of my art” she replied

She danced on the arterial road –

As he said “I cannot hear you dancing”

“Do hide behind my shadow and hear me” she replied

She danced on the arterial road –

As he said “But shadows do lie”

“My shadow is my sorrow and sorrows don’t lie” she replied

She danced on the arterial road –

As he said “I see you in my dreams”

“I am an illusion, touch me and I will fade” she replied

She danced on the arterial road –

As he said “Be my valentine”

“I am taken” she smiled in her dance

“No you aren’t” he said softly

“I am an illusion, touch me and I will fade” she replied

“You dance?” he asked

“Yes I do” she replied

She danced on the arterial road

“I am a danseuse's delight –

I am an illusion –

I am an echo –

See my shadow –

Catch me if you can –

And I will be your valentine” she smiled  in her dance

She danced on the arterial road

He stood –

For he knew

She cannot be taken

She is an illusion, a fantasy;

She is a danseuse's delight. 

Dansa, or Setsuna no kyokusen [Dancer, or Curved Line of the Instant] -- Kobayakawa Kiyoshi

 

 Dancer IV -- Rachel Isadora

Rimli Bhattacharya writes

Succubus

Succubus –

I had walked with him till the graveyard.

He would not rest in the sepulcher,

He wanted to return to his former haunts.

Is he dead? I often wondered.

They all called him hellion.

All.

He liked it.

I looked at his coffin.

The tomb had rotted.

The rancid smell –

I looked at Succubus,

The body was white but his blood was warm.

His lips were still soggy with the blood he had guzzled.

Succubus called his women “My fair lady”

They felt his shockwaves in their feet.

They liked him as did I adore Succubus and his thirst for blood.

“Succubus” I called out his name.

He rose from the grave.

No, he did not look like a story book vampire,

With colossal fangs.

Neither did he dislike garlic and crucifixes.

Nor was he a cannibal –

His sense of humor was dark like mine.

He never was emotional.

I panicked when he delved his canines in my neck.

He said, “Let not your blood go for waste”.

He said he will return again for me, my blood.

Succubus –

I approached the bench where he sat sucking my blood.

He was gone. 

The Moirae. Series: Incubus/Succubus -- Rosana Mendes Campos