Tuesday, 24 July 2012
She is not walking She’s churning the sea Sculpting hope Each step cast on the tight rope As sharp as the edge of a tidal wave! She is not watching Her eyes shower stars and dreams hung upon the barbed wire of survival! She is not breathing She’s melting the ring of fire Each flame drips the sweat of her labour into the fat belly of a shark! She is not living She is clothed in the layers of misconception chasing the light and shadow as they squeeze her body in a python grip! She is not sleeping She’s getting ready to swim on the life’s unglazed clay pot risking her self desperate for salvation! She is not rising She’s fuming with discontent fighting to get free from the claws of slavery Wrapped in her arms is a bundle of hungry children! And yet the roof over her head is a tattered norm as fragile as the ray of Sun hitting her conscience with an iron glow!
Wednesday, 18 July 2012
"Sexing up the classics? Don't these idiots know that sensuality is all about subtlety"? This is the headline of Peter Mullen's article in The Telegraph today. Do you think the greatest work of fiction writers like Charlotte Bronte and Jane Austen should be sexed up? That's exactly what Jon Snow was discussing on Channel 4 news. Here' is the chapter 32 from my recently published novel, "Svera Jang". "ROOM TO LET. Spacious Victorian house, centrally heated £55 per week, would suit professional person.” I had placed this ad in the window of a local post office two months after Ahren had left. I interviewed two or three inappropriate people until one day there was a knock at my door. On opening it I was startled by the man who stood in front of me. "So you haven't had any trouble with the foxes Svera", he said with a smile. "Remember me? We met in the cemetery. I've come about the room. Is it still for rent?" I had a number of initial reactions, but the first was suspicion. I had only put my phone number on the advertisement. How did he know that the room was available without phoning first? And how did he know my name? "Before you ask", he said, "I've known you since you first arrived in this city, I've been watching you. In fact I've been watching over you, Svera Jang. I recognised the phone number in the advertisement. I had a friend who lived here. A spiritual friend. A young man who just left". My suspicion melted away. "You know Ahren? You are a friend of Ahren?" I said with a relief. "Yes. He told me that the room was available". I felt enormously attracted to this young man, as I had when I met him in the cemetery. My next reaction was delightful anxiety. Would I fall in love with my tenant? "Come in", I said hesitantly. "Would you like a cup of tea?" There followed a conversation that seemed to last for hours. The depth of the young man's knowledge and his psychic ability to delve deep into the recesses of my mind both amazed and frightened me. But ultimately I felt drawn to him. At the end of our conversation, money was given to me, the key to the house had been handed over and he departed leaving behind a beautiful leather case in which he told me were some of his rudimentary possessions. The next day he returned with two suitcases. He didn't have a car. His parents I deduced were no longer alive. He seemed old beyond his years. Although only 34, he spoke with great wisdom on many subjects. His measured tones soothed my mind. His obscure presence did not disturb me while I worked in my bedroom. He had no T.V. Never received telephone calls or mail. Never had visitors. He disappeared for days on end. When he returned, he would explain that he had been visiting friends in Scotland or Wales and although l longed for him to describe his journey in greater detail, he never seemed to volunteer the information and I felt strangely reluctant to press him further. One day during one of his prolonged absences, I noticed that his door was slightly ajar. It was against my nature to prowl in another person's room. However I couldn't resist further investigating the secret world of my mysterious tenant. The room was sparse and perfectly arranged. Nothing was out of place. The first thing that struck me was a book in German on "The historien om De Dr. Jekyll ond Heir Hyde". I picked it up. It was an old edition printed in Hamburg in 1896. Why did this book keep on returning to my life? Wait a minute, he did tell me he was German when I first met him in the cemetery. Perhaps it was there that he went on his prolonged absences. Germany or the cemetery? I wondered oddly. As I flicked through this curious book dissecting occasional words, I sensed cold air pervade the room, a presence behind me. A hand quietly touched my shoulder. I dropped the book. It was Josef. I spluttered my apology, "I was cleaning the hallway...I noticed your door was ajar...I saw the book on the table. I..." I stopped my self and looked guiltily down at my feet. "I'm sorry. I've no excuse. I shouldn't have been in your room.” At this moment he did a remarkable thing. With the expertise of an experienced gigolo, he gently cradled my chin, looked deeply and hypnotically into my eyes and kissed me gently on my lips. He uttered a reassuring word of forgiveness, leaving me standing helpless, a quivering emotional jelly, in front of this handsome mysterious man. He then proceeded to undress me in a skilled manner. I offered no resistance as he peeled off each article of clothing with the assurance of an aristocratic artist. I had become a mere canvas in his hands, as he gently moved his slender fingers like a delicate paint brush across my aroused and excited skin. "You have a soft walnut skin,” he cooed into my ear as I stood naked in front of him. He walked to the window and in a disciplined and efficient manner closed the curtains and he ran his fingers down my spine like a pianist preparing to open me up to perform his concerto. He took my shivering hand in his and led me like a lamb to the large bed. I lay down in full nakedness and watched him as he slowly undressed. Methodically, efficiently, he removed his clothing in an unhurried fashion. He showed no signs of nerves even though I was a woman experienced beyond his years, lying naked waiting for him. He was the master of all he surveyed as he removed the last piece of clothing. It was now an opportunity for me to observe his body. Tall, muscular, finally tuned. His stomach was flat. His upper thighs thick and smooth, flickering with a slight muscular strain. His eyes filled with lust, yet with a feminine vulnerability, watched me intensely. I was aroused. I wanted him urgently. I spread my arms, inviting him to enter the cathedral of my existence. He approached and whispered my name, "Svera", and laid beside me, close. My name was seduced by the invisible air between us. His lips were luminous butterflies, entering obscure places on my body, spreading a shroud to conceal me from the world. His skin was fresh, sweet and young and there followed a night of love making, the like of which I had never experienced before. His muscular body was hovering over me, tightening the grip he held me close. I shut my eyes and like a floundering fish in the net of his splendiferous desires, I felt breathlessly satisfied. The clock on the wall stood on its one legged pine crutch leaning to rest for a while from its fleeting urgency. I sensed the rays of light filtering through the window. We must have been lying there for hours. Time didn’t matter, but the presence of Josef did. In the arms of his light I was a shadow, filling myself with so much energy that I realised I had a slight pain in my chest. I opened my eyes and found myself alone in the room. I had known he would soon disappear on one of his many mysterious visits to unknown destinations, but I didn’t realise it would be that soon. I did not want to wait for him. I felt a chill around the bed and heard the echo of his words. "I have to travel away, Svera. I’m a merchant. I deal in things from the other worlds. You are so deep, caring and genuine. I enjoyed your company and you will always carry me with you, even though I may come and go. I am a free spirit. Please don’t stay in the darkness. All these years ghosts have been chasing you. First there was Jaz, then Peter, and oh, I almost forgot Jonny. I am neither Peter, Jaz or the man with a pink hat in your dreams. Love, have faith, hope. You will always be the giver, learn to take as well. Enjoy life..." The room scented with a peculiar air. l remembered the same strong smell of Jaz and Ahren. Words were floating in the air like particles of light, sometimes transparent as if they were meaningless, they still filled my inside and yet there was a strange emptiness around me. My clothes were scattered on the floor. The bed sheet was wet, untidy and there were a few hairs on the pillow beside me.......... "Svera Jang", can be bought from Indigo Dream Publishing and you can read reviews on Amazon!