I have done a guest post on my twin's blog as part of his 100th post celebrations...actually, mine was the 100th one!:)This is also the poem which I wrote in half an hour for the poetry competition at the South Zone Inter University Youth Festival(the topic was 'old age') and it got me the 2nd prize.

You can view it here

"I am a feminist," she said, gazing intently at the pastel blue wallpaper.

"So...you hate men?" He had propped himself up by the elbow and was staring incredulously at her.

"No!" she protested. "It’s not like that! Feminism is not about hating men. It means, it means-"

But she never got to explain to him what feminism meant. For even as she was searching for the words to make him understand, he had leaned over and sealed her lips with a kiss.

"I don’t know what feminism is," he whispered hoarsely, "and I don’t care. But I know you’re female...." His lips were now travelling down her neck and over her bare breasts. "And I know you’re feminine...." He sighed and let his head rest on her chest, listening contentedly to the rhythm of her heart, as she tenderly tousled his hair the way she knew he could never have enough of.

"Yes, yes," she muttered, totally confused. "But feminism doesn’t mean not being fem-" Her words were cut short as his smiling deep brown eyes pierced hers and she got crushed in a tight embrace.

"I love you, baby," he murmured as he rolled over on his side and pressed her hand to his lips.

"I love you too," she heard herself say. And she didn’t know why, but at that moment, as she watched him get out of bed to shower and get ready for work, she felt like laughing, sobbing and puking, all at once.

Not long ago was the earth
An abode beauteous,
Carpeted by the velvet green,
Roofed by the halcyon blue;
And ribboned by babbling brooks
Of a metallic sheen.

Gnarled giants stood patient guard-
Wizened gentleness cast in
Frames stout and hard,
Peering at the cheerful white clouds
Scurrying across the azure above.

The giants laughed at the pranks
Of the frolicking streams,
As they wound by their knotty feet
On their journey to the lushest leas.

The clouds loved the leafy fragrance
Of the canopies that stroked them,
And at times, their woes they wept out
Against the loving brown bosoms.
Confided the winds in these soothing giants
And left with souls purged
Of the burning angst.

Birds perched on the giants’ arms
And sang to them mellifluous strains,
While the giants smiled and swayed
In rhythmic beat, their emerald heads.

But invaded into this paradise
The ruthless villain Man-
With hard glittering eyes
Full of avarice and lies,
Carrying razor-like smiles,
And something shiny besides.

The cold metal glistened in the sun,
Held in Man’s brutal clasp;
With stony swipes they fell
On the bewildered hapless giants,
Whose limbs they hacked,
Whose hearts they pierced,
And left lying dead
In a pool of betrayed blood.

The whole land went into mourning
Of their beloved giants;
The velvet carpets tore and smudged,
The halcyon blue paled into ugly grey.
No more did the birds sing,
No more did the winds sigh,
No more did the brooks laugh,
No more did the clouds cry,
No more, no more....

And where once resounded
The lovely dance beats of life,
Echoed the sinister silence of death,
Sharpened by metallic silver blades.

Each shimmering star,
A soul shivering
In the loveless cold-
Broken hearts scattered
Across a murky blue reality,
Trembling with untold grief
Amidst the unknowing,
Unfeeling, steady moonshine.

A woman’s love runs deeper
Than the springs of sorrow
That crisscross life;
A woman’s love is purer
Than the first snow that swathes
The mountain tops.

A woman’s love flows free
As the doves that wing
The cerulean dome;
A woman’s love is gentle
As the happy breath
Of a sleeping babe.

Mysterious as the mist
That swirls in a vale astray;
A woman’s love is wild,
Like a forest fire
On a summer’s day.

A woman’s love, honestly returned,
Swells like the tide
On a full moon night,
And engulfs her lover
In perennial spate.

A woman’s love, if basely spurned,
Kindles fury- that shakes the hills,
Stills the roaring seas;
And spawns hurt that smoulders
In her grave.

Here, hold my heart,
I’m much better off
Without this throbbing pain,
Without this need to love and to feel,
To laugh and to bleed.

Here, take my heart;
I’m much better off
In a static scorching summer
Sans emotion and all;
The colourful spring
Of blossom and birdsong,
Leads but to a melancholy autumn
Of smiles turning yellow and brown,
And falling off my life
With hardly a sound-
Like the tears from my eyes,
And ending in a frozen winter
Of perennial pain.

Here, hold my heart,
Please take it and leave,
And just dump it
In the nearest trash bin
You find, thank you.

This love has grown mouldy,
Left neglected in the monsoon,
Got rusty with disuse.
Words tender and true at the time,
With stony silence now turned stale-
Our perfect symphony
Long decayed into cacophony,
Memories of Heaven before Hell do pale...
Worm-eaten dreams and cankerous vows-
So much for our garden-fresh love!

Delivered in a bright blue carton,
Bought at an exorbitant price,
From that cheerful chubby lad
In the store down the street;
Sigh! Our hard-earned time
Gone down the drain!

"Sorry, madam, I’m afraid nothing
Can be done about it," said the lad
Politely, cheerful as ever,
When the unsatisfactory product
I thrust on the counter.
"The affection, I agree, has curdled,
The happiness has rotten, the memories mouldy;
But the pain, the hurt, the bleeding wound,
Are still so fresh, as we promised."

Cursing myself, I returned dejected-
I should have read the fine print
On that bright blue carton
Of garden-fresh love.