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Where I live my room is cotton blue

Red shambles line the walls 

They glow in star-light

Star-light however, is rare- 

When it comes,

I bask in its titanium rainbow hues

And hide my secret joy from others

        – I do not share it – 

My furniture is simple: 

String theory occupies a corner

In the other a Quantum designer bed,

(With original particle legs!)

Ornate, so richly satisfying 

My Quark aesthetic gratified 

My expensive whims are few:

Two armchairs preside o’er the center 

Cotton blue as well and terribly old

“As old as the Universe,” the dealer said 

And I believed him, saw no reason to doubt

“As comfortable,” he insisted, “as star-nests!” 

My eyes, caressed by Baroque Serendipity

Caught just a hint of their Classical Grit,

An off-set design of Martian make

Their exquisiteness calms the never-ending ache 

Of my constant and obsessive search for Beauty 

A large carpet of Space-time continuum 

Splays the floor from line to line

There are moments though, when I feel it clash,

Red shambles fade in its proximity

Colors, you see, are carnivorous, 

Or better yet,

Cannibalistic –

They tend to feed, 

One off the other,

Discard the superfluous

Keep only what they need

One must be terribly, terribly careful, 

Cautious even,

When coupling colors – 

There are times when a matchmaker

Derives undue pleasure from the fight,

Punch drunk colors get eliminated

And winner, of course, takes all…

A Black Hole painting hangs o’er the bed,

Its market value three-fold to what it cost

I own an anti-matter eiderdown as well,

Occasionally I wrap myself in its soft warmth

Tiptoe to the open window

Sit on the sill, hypnotized by a quasar beam

And dream:

Beauty, in all its elusive glory 

Makes its way through the Universe

At times She stops to bestow

A positron or two of her magic elixir. 

As I sip her gift

In an instant I am filled with a strange energy

Drowned in a  torrent of molecules 

From brain to eye to arm to hand 

Elation courses through the paint brush

To its very tip

Faster, faster, faster

I apply a glaze of outer-space

Over the clashing carpet of Space-time continuum

I tone it down to a bluish hue 

An improvement to my eyes

Interference red pulls my carpet to harmony

Once more red shambles breathe

They glow again with blues floating underneath

Though my rag reeks of turpentine

I lay my head against it,

Find comfort in its fumes

My spirits rise to touch perfection

So may I rest

And put my soul to sleep.

                                                     December, 2012

Fornarina

Sunday mornings in Fornarina shoes                                                      

I take my walk

A multipath branches from the threshold

The same I always take.

Before I move, I listen first

To all the sounds of the Universe

They determine how I choose my way

I must tune-in to the background noise

Of purpose and direction

– Do I go right or left?

Right brings me to Saturn’s Rings

Left leads to Jupiter, a not so pleasant course

But once beyond, quite worth one’s while

To see the binary stars.

But I prevaricate

Though I thrive on indecision,

I should set out  

Or I shall miss the morning crowd,

For, to walk in Fornarina shoes

I feel I look my best and must attract

The eye of the casual passer-by 

who nods approval

“Nice shoes,” he’d think, coral pink!

A look of sporty elegance..”

Clear as a bell, those unspoken words,

And so I am fulfilled… 

Not, though, for very long – 

My not- so- young body 

Craves the comfort of the shoes

While the craving due to pheromones 

Has become somewhat reduced 

To a vague nostalgic yearning- 

As I wander, I am well-grounded

Reassured by brittle sounds of crunchy earth

They accompany my morning journey

Autumn leaves spiral down from MilkyWay trees, 

An ochre storm,

Traffic noise muffled by the fabric of the Universe

I reach a bend in Haley’s Comet, the river is full,

Fumes from a star factory fill the air

I watch as nauseous gases rise

Clouds of nefarious portent unfold

They roll upwards towards Infinity, 

a place I must explore

– Not now, not yet, only when I am ready

I say to myself that someday 

I shall free-fall to Infinity

My not-so-young body will be stretched to a superstring

“Ah, thin at last!” – my inner-self smiles

I may not then be recognized, so say you,

By the casual passerby –

But I worry not unduly, for I know he’d know me anywhere,

In my Fornarina shoes.

                                                               December, 2012