By Swati Moheet Agrawal
Pleasure or Bliss?
Umpteen desires,
every desire unquenchable,
clamouring for attention:
you wanted a new relationship
and now you have it,
you wanted a swankier car,
and now you have it,
you wanted a palatial house,
and now you have it.
But the pleasure is already gone
and your mind has started weaving
news webs of desire.
Your discontented mind
keeps you tethered somewhere in the future,
always hankering for something new,
chasing shadows,
never arriving anywhere.
Pleasure
is momentary,
transient,
the most superficial thing in the world –
always dependent on another person
thing or external circumstance.
Bliss,
your core,
your innermost nature,
your original nature.
Bliss,
it never comes
and goes;
it is already there –
within.
***
The Only Time She Will Believe She’s Beautiful
The gown hugs her body;
svelte and sprightly,
the black luminous silk,
a striking contrast against classic ivory.
Mane coiffed into elegant curls,
bouncing around her delicate shoulders,
slender fingers, scarlet lips,
calm and poised countenance,
radiating an aura of compassion and love.
Passersby
turn around for a second look,
but the only time she will believe
she’s beautiful is,
when it is said by
the man she loves;
when she sees herself reflected
in the hazel of His eyes.
Bio:
Swati Moheet Agrawal lives in Mumbai, India. Her work has appeared in The Drabble, Ariel Chart, Café Dissensus, Friday Flash Fiction, Indian Periodical, ActiveMuse, Setu, Kitaab and is forthcoming in The Dribble Drabble Review and Free Flash Fiction. Follow her on Instagram @ swatiwhowrites
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The first poem actually radiates practical truth as pleasure indeed is affixed with the consent and comfort of others and external sources as you point out while bliss is internal and there’s nothing cryptic about it. Your poem only demystifies that core of truth.
The second poem springs with a surprise ending when the supposed him becomes HIM yet the idea of female personality being funnelled through the male identity of approval is strongly felt in your lines.
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