Carpe Diem Haiku *Issa ”O cooling melons!”*

Our source of inspiration on Carpe Diem today is a haiku, written by Kobayashi Issa:

* * *
if anyone comes,
turn into frogs,
o cooling melons!

* * *

The following ones are my attempt not to wander too far away from the mood and spirit of the haiku above:

* * *
trail of cool droplets
rolling down ignited skin
-melon scented ice cubes

* * *
after the storm
bouncing through the flooded field
a watermelon

* * *

Carpe Diem Haiku Kai

Sense. Sensuality. You.

All the…senses with you have turned into something completely new, different. They feel so freshly rich, bring shivers down to my spine, that sizzling feeling all through my body, sweet dizziness of my mind. The taste…intensity…tones…like waves in the ocean when every new one is more powerful…yes, still the same…sort of, still called a wave just like many others but so different in all the ways. Not fitting any frames, neither controllable by anything or anybody in the world.

Like passion…so strong, so delicious that I can almost taste it. By a tongue tip. With a mix of some sweat from nude body, a tear-drop or two from the moment of ecstasy, splashes of…the birch juice with that luscious taste…torrents in shower running down…so many aromas mixed together in one that they can’ t be differed separately. Just altogether. All in one wave.

Or danger. Sometimes so sharp like some rocky top of a mountain. Or so high up when looking down from the edge of a volcano. Or so fast like a motorbike drive in the night without any lights. Not seen, just felt. With the growing thrill and desire to be a part of it. Sensing it bursting out and sliding in the corners of my body I never knew existed.

Wildness. With those vivid colours of rainforests, whispers of a desert, dusty streets of Kabul, crowded trains of India, loud markets of Arabia. Tied wrists with an old leather cord. Or the sharpness of a cold knife blade traced over pulsating skin.

And desire. Burning…hot like an Argentinian tango. Or the raw tribal dances around the fire. When it’ s all there. In the eyes…so clear, yet not shouted out loud…in the moves of the body with the lissom of some exotic flower, still unpredictability of a tiger. The moment before. Just before ravishing when the heart beats louder than any drums.

Care. Endearing like the kisses in an early morning finding their way together with the first sunbeams. Or held hand. Just a look in the eyes, a nod of a head. Or a word said quietly, almost whispered and even with many thousands kilometers apart heard so clearly. Like a gentle caress just with fingertips. A smile. Or a safety net guarding from bruised knees.

Splashed on canvas all of them would paint a beautiful picture. A different one every time since it’ s never the same. Like fireworks. Never repeated. Like every moment, every new day with you.