RaINbOw PumPkin

The rain nursed her
The spectrum of colours spoke to her
“I need you to stay” she faintly mumbled to nothingness
Stray tear gone astray.
Raindrops matched the trickle on her cheek
Violet skies against the smoke
Drew a panorama of monochromic world
Crowded with just shades
No trace of colour…
She smiled.
She blew the smoke on her window again
It recoiled back to her.
She opened her eyes…
The rain, the smoke, the violet
Monochrome reflections
Her impressions lay buried.
The deep indigo made her restless
Patience coiled itself against angst
Her fingers wrapped tightly against the wasted joint
Her other hand gently rested on the hardbound leather book.
The word inevitable blurted itself “hope”
Her fingers nervously traced through the rusted pages…
The faint rustle echoed through the room
The smoke escaped her lips
The ache was oppressive
The echo suppressed her
Another drag, another calm, another chaos
Another colour, another vision, another illusion
The faint blue of the rainbow
faded into the drizzle.
The green was brighter
Than the shy grass that hid itself from the window behind a fence.
She let the window open
She read out the poetry
The ash fell between the yellow fold amidst blurring words
The words …‘the shadow’ got soaked in her salty tears.
The flirtatious drizzle rushed in…
She smiled a weak smile
Another drag sent her into a momentary delusion
The cheerful yellow and orange
caressed her thoughts
A frozen iceberg
She saw the sunshine
She felt the rain
A bittersweet rapture
She sunk in the moment of release…
A rush of pain and ecstasy
The last line read “this is the way the world ends, not with a bang but with a whimper”
She understood.
She felt alive.
Numbness sought a way out as the smoke rose above her eyes….
Grieving happiness engulfed the being that arose from above the illusion of surrendering
Her eyes shut themselves to capture the elusive moment…
A moment of desperation and hope…
She drowned in the pleasure
The rush of motley colours…
a kaleidoscopic climax…
the pinnacle of her release.
The red brought her death again….

WHOSE CHASE IS IT ANYWAYS?!!

Why is it presumed that the man always enjoys 'the chase'?
Why does the woman always have to play the vulnerable puppy?
Do men get intimidated if a woman reverses the law of gravity for tomfoolery?

It’s often presumed that a woman enjoys being chased. I don’t deny that women enjoy the attention. Women love the frills and the thrills that come with the pursuit. They love being pampered. They love being cajoled. They love the flattery. They love the smooth talk. They love the surprises. They love the cheekiness. They are sometimes totally pathetic puppies… they totally love to lap it all up, the attention, affection, addiction … in that order.

However change the equation the other way round. It’s not a first that a woman would attempt pursuing the guy …but it’s just a revolting venus attack to men. It totally knocks the socks off their cold feet! Is it the “ick factor” for the guy? What’s really remarkable is that he could be the ‘I dig intellectual independent women’ kinda guy sporting a torn che-guvera t-shirt, worn-out floaters under his casual jeans, boasting about his favourite author Simone de Beauvoir, and air-guitaring to led zeppelin’s black dog OR alternatively he could be at the extreme end of the spectrum kinda slick, suave chap with a laptop bag resting on the shoulder of his expensive Gucci blazor, a pair of bright white Puma shoes to top his golf gear in his walk in wardrobe, relishing his dream date of four course wining and dining baby …but the stick snaps when a woman offers to buy either of them a drink. Is it the conditioning that makes the ‘switch’ in their head go – “WTF!!”

While it nurses the male ego to be pursued; it’s an insulting mockery to their narcissist roleplay of the playboy

Is it that the man equates some kind of powerplay to his roleplay as an occasional Don Juan? Men believe they are connoisseurs of seduction. Their roleplay involves taking the ‘lead’…be it the car, the dance floor, in the board room, the menu order, the bed … wherever. Thus do they feel robbed of that power play if the law of seduction gravity is transgressed by the woman? Or do they feel their male gaze is affected in the process? Do they feel effeminate to be pursued? What makes them insecure?

But what if the woman prefers to pursue rather than be pursued? "Is it worth an attempt to pursue that superficial numbskull wuss?" Besides that numbing thought that crosses her mind, I don’t think she cares about the judgement thatz thrown her way so much, coz she’s taken a conscious decision to transgress the equation anyways.

But it baffles me when men nonchalantly assume that ‘the pursuit’ is their prerogative. But then, no one’s pursuit is so easily understood or dismissed – the man or the woman’s.

But the law of gravity of whose chase is it anyways continues to tightropewalk on the reed thin line of -

What does it take to pursue your object of desire - a preferred choice or a preferred gender?