The Cologne That Got You Excited

You flutter

With the least bit of worry

And I’m weak-willed

Flowers

They expressed midnight with showers of orgasms.

I came on top of my tarot cards

And I saw the sharpest of reds.

Sigils that I marked you with

And your pussy tastes like the medicine I need.

Bitter sweet

And possibilities of

Of Children

We smoke till our lungs can’t carry the weight of our Ashes.

I meditate in the thorns of your pubic hair.

My head has a white hat and your breasts talk to me in sign language.

The warmth of your hands remind me of a purple color.

Let’s rest here on the pavement like beggars as we are crowned by the pirouettes of hungry moths.

I wish light to all

Also heart disease

Melt cheese with your mouth

And smell this cologne

Every breath is a sharp draw

Of the swords in the heart.

If this doesn’t make you hard nothing will.

(C) A.R. Minhas 2019

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“The High Priestess” – (Poetry/ Artwork for Sale)

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I’m surrounded by mystical faces

“Great Simurgh protect me in your wings!”

Shaped like eyes

Pupils dilate like solar flares.

Your tachyons are showing.

I masturbate to activate the sigil

Cum to the sound of a Hummingbird heartbeat

Vision of Cicadas

Revisit in that chamber

You tell your greatest lies in small truths

And your skin feels familiar

Stale smoke and ancient car smell.

High priestess, I came to you that night when I wanted to summon Mercury.

And your lips tasted like strawberry, and I know about your charred lungs.

And we remain sweet like secrets to each other.

(C) A.R. Minhas 2019

Nude Mangoes And Lost Things (Poetry & Artwork Available for Sale)

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(c) A.R Minhas 2019




You Needed Me!



A cake of Molten Love
‘Let’s Eat this in Secret’

Neon Lights


And a sublime Blowjob


To the chirping of Morning Birds.



You know me too well

Oh! Stickiness of Mangoes


Their Nudity tip toeing to the past

Trapped between your fingers

And remember how the laugh track started playing?


Reality erased by Mother
She crosses out my words because they weren’t pretty


And the fire starts above your low cut dress,
The Electric blue of
Thighs

Shape this Obsession


“You are as empty as a perfume commercial!”

Collecting scents

and follow me into the Crystal towers.

Life reflected in high places

Throw them away

These memories have mold in them.

(c) A.R. Minhas 2019

‘Fire Above, Water Below’ – My Brush With Death. (Art available for purchase)

On June 11th, while I was sleeping, I heard a roar.
 
“Get out! FIRE!”
 
I awoke dazed and confused, struggling to grasp whether I was dreaming or if this was reality.
 
My hands automatically went for my glasses, but somehow they didn’t go for my wallet or phone. I escaped the house; my mother carried out by a kind stranger who had bellowed the earlier command, and my father closely following him.
 
We struggled to get to a safe distance as we saw a truck inflamed. The duct-cleaning truck had caught fire, and that had traveled to our neighbors. Our house is semi-detached, and with the right push from the wind, the flames spread across our roof. And I watched with horror as our house was disintegrating.


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‘Fire Above, Water Below’ (c) A.R. Minhas 2019

Then the fire crew came, and they doused the flames with torrents of water.  At this point the roof had holes, and our entire house was soaking in water and smoke. It took them an hour-or-so to put it out, as we watched the place I had so many memories collapsing in front of my very eyes.

My mother, who is dealing with a form of Vertigo, felt everything spinning and couldn’t even sit straight. We had to take her to our neighbor’s house so she can lie and wait for the paramedics. After she was settled, I returned outside.

I kept looking at our house, unable to look away from the fire.

Later on, when they allowed us in the house,  I went into my room, to see the extent of the damage. My room was relatively intact, but everything was soaked, and I could smell the smoke. I was also able to recover my phone and wallet (Thank Odin!)

Also my Tarot cards and ‘The Portable Nietzsche”. (If you don’t already know he’s the one who wrote: “What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.”) It was at that moment the line hit me. “Fire Above, Water Below”, like the ancient saying that described the power of tarot cards. “As Above, So below.” 

The original painting that creeped me out as a kid.

Once out of there, I was also able to get my laptop and phone.  I was able to recover the painting I was working on in my phone. It was an image of an Indian farmer and his wife.

This picture hung in our old house and always bothered me. I don’t know who made it so if there’s anyone familiar with it, please let me know as I want to give the artist credit as well.

 I was working on it before, and after the incident, I made it reflect the words I had heard in my head. I updated it and now before you is my work. It’s littered with me, my memories, my dreams, and my fears.

The process of making this has been therapeutic, as it has reduced my stress level and allowed me to channel it constructively.

I want to use this experience not only to get stronger but also more carefree and express myself as freely as possible. Remember, we don’t have time — we can either burn from the ‘Fire Above’ or drown from the ‘Water Below.’





Futile

Can you understand me?

‘Milk spilt in the hall.’

Dionysus cried himself to sleep.

Roses burning with a magnifying glass.

Melted sugar.

Come to the blue party.

Serotonin for you, and the light fades.

Blind
‘The head line dips to Luna.’

My delusions are mine to keep.

Share the kiss, never fall in Love.
Some people are blessed to be alone.

(c) A.R. Minhas 2019

Fraud

I don’t deserve it.

“You look like you need it.”

          A cherry flavoured kiss.

I still taste you on my beard.

A door knocks.

         An ancient bird that taps.

Shadows close in on me.

          The mouse-trap with red velvet cake.

You don’t deserve anything.

          It snaps. It recoils.

This is how a dream breaks,

And I’m relieved.

You were never real.

          It was all given to you,

          And now you return to take me back.

I laugh at your audacity

“Papers, please.”

I was never here in the first place.

There is a beauty in surrendering.

© A.R. Minhas