she tied me up

She tied me up
with her mental attitudes
gagged me for I am allowed
to write only.
Perhaps she desired BDSM
or any other sexual play
after living together
for 47 years.
She had locked me
into a desk space in the kitchen
where I write my poetry
the floor space where I place
my printed sheets to dry.
But I said nothing as advised
by a sensible woman who cares.
She lives now for her own
pleasures depicting her fashion
ideas
while I translate my novels
reliving them again.
Creativity needs personal space
quaint hours of
concentrated efforts and
no disruption of one’s flow.
She tied me up
repeatedly in support of her
own space
and even if I have to respect
her antics
it hurts me physically
but mentally I’m on a flight.
One may tie up
one’s partner for whatever
pleasures one wishes to derive.
One can tie up
a partner physically
and in a fight with anger and
emotions
but never tie up one’s creative
mind
one’s free spirit and a joyful
dance.

zoltanzelan
©ZJG-Poetry’15.

Alienation.

Alienation

By ZJ Galos.

 

He writes in the morning when the thoughts are fresh and his senses are sharpened by the nights rest and the continuous workings of his mind yield the right words without any strain.

She bumps into hi study, her emaciated body frightens him. Who is this ghostlike appearance talking down to him, interrupting his flow of prose?

“I do not know you,” he replies to a barrage of her mumblings in a language that is foreign to him.

“You have lost your memory,” she raises her voice, as if his presence has annoyed her.

“Who are you, colourful dressed spook?”

“You wish to insult my fashion?”

“I just wish to have my peace, in order to write my own thoughts down.”

And what about me?” He raises his head above the edge of the desk lamp and he recalls her eyes to be familiar.

“Oh gee!” He tries to soothe her word explosion down to get rid of her, but it seems to anger her even more.

“I have been in another world, where this man with a dusky mask is about to fight the golden knight with the blue shield and …

“You are nuts!” She shouts and throws a sketch to his laptop. A dress that is short with geometric patterns like framed medallions.

“What’s that?”

“It’s my design for new fashion shirts.” He looks at it and slowly he recognizes that he had met her last time in the hall of their house. Damned! She must be his wife, he did not recognize her. She had lost half of her weight in just a few months, since they had agreed on separate bedrooms and working spaces. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I am looking at the patterns you chose, and they are familiar, but looking strange in these geometrical framing.”

“It’s my design for the fashion conscious, but I see you have no taste.”

“I am sorry I wish to finish my work, besides please do not barge in, but ask me to meet you.” She is annoyed. Her arteries show on her temples as she raises her voice.

“You are just jealous that I have ideas of my own.” He finds this ridiculous, but says nothing in return. She is visibly upset.

“I want to know why you ran away last time, when I asked you to drink a glass of champagne with me?” He frowns that she jumps around in the past.

“That was months ago and I had no taste for champagne, when I can hardly afford some real food.”

‘But for Val you had time, offering her some too?” His heartbeat raised he yells back at her. “Don’t be ridiculous she is just a young lass.”

“Yes she is crafty and she tries getting into your pants.” He discards her words with a smile.

“Please leave now and draw up what you want to design and I will look at all later.” She steps forward and then back.

“I warn you, how you treating me.” He feels his anger giving way to sadness.

“Please leave now, I will talk to you later. She lowers her head and steps outside closing the glazed door to his study. It has become impossible to discuss anything with her. He noticed that she used his designs to make her own fashion accessories. Fine, he says to himself, if she would just get on with the business and leave him to his own quality time.

He feels like having swallowed a bitter pill and it stays with him. His mind plays a flashback of happy times with her. Sadness closes onto his heart and he feels the air being pressed from his lungs. Is this how it’ll end for them?

Since she stopped taking her medication she has changed 180 percent. There is nothing he can do for her that’ll suit her, as she competes with him for creative work. “I hope, she will be successful and sell more fashion items than he could sell his own work.

‘I am thirsty,” he mumbles, gets-up from his writing desk to fetch a glass of cooled water.