A bygone station

Fever, Siesta, Contemplation…

It is wonderful to fall ill, once in a while. When my mind refuses to pause in a hectic life, my body echoes Neruda. It reminded me the power of a timely pause.It showed me the sublime sensuosness of silence, by keeping quiet. My body stood naked before my mind and temperature soared up. I noticed how dilated my pupil became and how red my lips turned. I trembled at my shivering heart, while the clock counted to 12. My senses became more sharp. I could see the flame in the eyes of my reflection in the mirror, flickering like a terrible fish. My nostrils widened to pick up my wild scent. Dews of perspiration garnered my moustache, with the lips below, so red like the blazing sun of the evening sky. My limbs were weak, every joint demanded rest. I could feel the muscles. My dorsal muscles are infidels-they were into an illegitimate relation with the softness of my bed whilst their solid marriage to my bones. When chill creeps through my nerves, warmth crawls through the hair in my chest and clasp the hair at the back of my head. I’d shiver, tremble and grunt like a wounded beast in the warm and soft bosom of my immunity. Lukewarm porridge and the naughty lemon pickle spiced up passion.The warmth crept over me like a Cow girl. Light and shadow lay intertwined on my body.Outside my window was a Sun who was lost in kissing the suprasternal notch of a scorching summer and climaxing into the wet monsoon. Cold air blew through the window and warm air rushed in and out rhythmically from my lungs.




I am a farmer, sowing seeds and hope, with a body promised to the Earth and a heart bound to the soil. My fever, like the Earth is round and plump..and a heart beats within her, like a fuming core.
I admire her lust for the delirium of death and the zest for the luring life..

#Celebrating fever!


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