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my guardian angel

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my guardian angel

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I am her adoring disciple
She is my cathedral of love
A guardian angel
Forever watching over me
For when she spreads her wings
I am blessed by her poetry

She is my religion 
So willing to bear any cross
Loving unconditionally
While making sacrifices without fear
My loving angel would injure herself
Just to baptize me with her tears

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This is for YOU.  The most unselfish, self-sacrificing woman I have ever met.

Providence, My Friend

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Providence, My Friend

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Hey babe, why don’t you post somme-in on the LA blog one of these days?

o-k-A-Y and what kind of a piece you’d like it to be?

Anything…about you, me, us, just burp your thing baby

You sure? Remember what happened the last time I did that?

You mean the bio you did of me?

Uh-huh. THE statistical fiasco of the century, that had over 900 views in less than 5 days and an average of 5 likes per zillion views. God, you were sulking for days, Papi, worse than those folks PMSing over our love. And I’m telling you, the ladies must have cursed me so hard I still haven’t recovered from the hiccups they voodoed on me. Half of them fled from your blog life, one fourth took up Yoga and the other one fourth burn my effigy every time you post my picture or mention my name in your post. Hey, deflate that chest already, they hate you equally!

Hahahah, Mamasita. But hey, come on, I didn’t sulk…I was just disappointed..are those two the same?

————xoxo—————

At this point, A Tangle of Weeds crosses her arms in a very business-like manner (she even borrowed his necktie and tied it around her night shirt collar) and looks straight into the eyes of her (not really) Lonely Author who gives her his “damn baby, I love you” look. (Yeah I will have to make a video next of the Lonely Author’s mannerisms. Then, we might as well shut down both blogs and renounce the world. Such is life, sigh!)

————xoxo—————

Providence, my friends! I mean LA’s friends. Hello and a grossly un-timed welcome to yet another special edition of A Tangle of Weeds being exclusively aired here on the LA page the first Mondays of every month. Yes, your raised eyebrows are justified. I just created that slot. But not without consultations with the CEO of this blog, i.e. Andrew. Oh pardon my impudence, I forgot to introduce myself to the newbies here. Ahem ahem, damn this phlegm! I am the Managing Director and you’ll see my name if you are patient enough to read till the end. I tend to pee never endingly on the LA blog. Alpha feline trait, that’s right.

So what I’m really saying is that I’m here today for an reason. Not that I’m anywhere for no reason (LA is giving me an appalled look of “Babe, did you flush your sense of humor too? Yes I can hear his thoughts). Anyway, the reason is My King wanted me standing at the balcony of our castle alongside him waving at his smiling, seething, laughing, fuming (all kinds including the ones who come to watch from behind the bushes) but still loyal subjects. Bloody hell, who just threw those rotten eggs?
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Sorry guys, that took time…(not easy to wash off egg smell, you know….the things I have to endure for love, sigh!)

Anyway, by now, most of you know (well now you know) that he’s given me all rights to this blog, including the one of investigator. Oh no no, don’t get me wrong, I’m not the possessive kind (LA almost choked on the Pepsi he’s drinking)..let me complete alright..not possessive ..umm..unless I’m compelled to be, under the following two circumstances:
1. By those who keep trying – to our utter dismay – to hit on him. Did you know, jellyfish are amazing creatures? Oh it’s related. I never speak incoherently.
2. those who disrespect/disregard our relationship. May your life be filled with abundant love so you can feel happy about ours.

Having said that, it is my birthright to be the poet in tattered jeans who rescued him, to continue rescuing him from the hazardous side effects of his erstwhile reputation of being the heartthrob of WP (No need to lie on that pretty ass with that wicked smile and rub your thumb over your sexy cleft, LA. I said “ERSTWHILE”).

Keep writing you guys, continue enjoying the poetry on this blog without any prejudices. And keep love and laughter high on your agendas. I sincerely thank those wonderful supportive friends and readers who are genuinely happy for us. And the rest, well you gotta take me with a pinch of salt, my friend. Because I am the staple of his Cuban diet.

So long. With love. Going off the air in
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*Click*
Nandita

Endnotes: (for the convenience of those who might be scratching their heads)
The Lonely Author (LA) = Andrew = My King = Papi = Him = He (Yes, they are all ONE person)

A Tangle of Weeds = Nandita = Babe = Baby = Mamasita (Again ONE person = Me)
There are ONLY two people in this post, irrespective of the different names and addresses (not location address, phew!)

My Crescent Moon

Moon

My Crescent Moon

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She believes she came from the dark side
Never realizing she descended from the stars
More stunning than the rings of Saturn
She radiates a love as red as Mars

I admire her imperfect little craters
Loving every phase unless she’s blue
She will forever be my crescent moon
Longing to be new

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My beautiful Poetry Whisperer was feeling a little down during our conversation on Friday.  Hopefully, this Saturday morning surprise will lift her spirits.

(Yes, baby, I left the five o’clock shadow for you).

Introducing N. To My Mother in Heaven

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Introducing N. To My Mother In Heaven

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Hey, Mom, How are things up in heaven?………………What?!……………They play bingo up there?

Look, I’m calling you to tell you I met this girl……………Yes, another girl…………….But she is different. You will like her……….Yes, I know I said this before, but she is special……………..Yeah, I know I’ve said this, too…………,,,…Are you rolling your eyes?

How is she different? Well, first she is very smart…………….Hey, what do you mean I don’t like smart girls?……………….Yeah, sure I’ll name you a few. How about er……………er………………then, there was…………….SIGH……………… Okay, okay, I get your point.

Well, she is beautiful, a talented poet and speaks 6 languages. Yeah 6…………………No Ma, Spanish isn’t one of them…………..The whole world doesn’t have to speak Spanish…………………Yes, I am teaching her.

Her name is Nandita. …………….. No, she isn’t Cubana………………. Yeah, her name ends with “ita” but that doesn’t mean she is Latina.

Jesus Christ, Mom. Yes, she eats rice………………………..Ooops, sorry about that. Hope the big guy didn’t hear me.

You always said laughter and love are the things that matter most. You always told me love is sacrificing the “me” for the “we.” Nandita believes that, too.

No, I haven’t met her yet…………… Hay, Dios Mio………… Tragedia??? This is not a tragedy.

The heartbreaking part is not that I haven’t met her yet; it is the fact that you never will…….,,………How will Nandita know what a wonderful mother you were? How will you know what a great wife she will be?

Sniffle, sniffle…………….No, Ma, I am cutting up some onions.

Yes, I brush after every meal.

Thank you for your blessings. It really means so much.

I miss you, too.

haunting memories of her

 

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Drink enough wine and combine them with lonesome thoughts and your mind can conjure anything.  Monday night, thoughts about what would happen to me if my precious Baby said goodbye, plagued me.  This is a product of that dispirited mood.  Something very different.

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haunting memories of her

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her absent love hangs heavily
like the dusty drapes in an abandoned mansion
forbidding hope to enter
forever entombing me in darkness

white blown kisses float aimlessly
appearing as wandering apparitions
chanting unanswered questions
in search of eternal light

pale ghosts of affections lost, torment me
dragging my unrequited carcass
burying me alive with haunting memories of her
in a tomb I could never escape

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Don’t worry.  Love is on the menu for tomorrow.

Photo Credit:  ghost of love 2 by marcianus

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Your Love Rains Poetry Over Me

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Your Love Rains Poetry Over Me

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In search of the sweetest oasis
I’m parched from drinking sand
After an arid life sadly roaming
Lonely deserts as love demands

Your arrival was a major storm
As wet metaphors matted my hair
And a precipitation of pink passion
Left us a quivering shivering pair

Douse me with your tender verses
As your love rains poetry over me
Immersed in the bliss of your oasis
Let your downpour deliver ecstasy

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Photo Credit:  Don’t ask.