10/26/11

Senses
By Olga Mladinov


The five senses, my five senses, once accredited by Aristotle, now act like mischievous children. They tease and toy with the most sensitive subjects in my conscious mind. Chewing them like bubble gum, or juggling them with effortless dismay, as if they are mere playthings of no consequence. Their humor most amuses me, yet to deal with them is an infuriating concept left for the mindless to ignore.

I recall the many times I find myself walking, and within in a passing, I see you; not too far off in the distance, and my body jolts in your direction. Only to find it is not you, but a distorted mirror image. My unavoidable alertness at the sight of your double is quite the grin setter, yet it is troublesome for the soul. This Sight of mine, is a little giggling miss, but I laugh with her, despite the ache pounding in my chest. For these bizarre and awkward moments are silly indeed.

The spirit of beauty splits itself into harmonizing Taste and Smell, the two forces that embody the honeyed appeals of the soul. They do not seem to be bothered by my distress when they submerge themselves in my memory trunk and pull out exquisite tapestries of fragrances and tastes. They lavish in the aromas of my past, like little girls spraying on mother’s expensive perfumes. Infusing the atmosphere with scents of your savory body odor or your tangy aftershave. Even to this day, the smell or taste of chicken parmesan or burnt cookies triggers them to dance gleefully. At times, momentarily, I would melt and allow the smell to linger into my mind, as the twins dance on the tip of my tongue. And yet, in the split of a second, the fragrances overturn and leave me gasping for the heavens, as the emotions roll in like tidal waves. I have yet to learn the coping method, but I swallow the twins’ perky cackling fest, just to bare reality for at least that moment. I do not know whether or not they understand their actions, no matter how swiftly I fall to my knees and scream for them to stop. But it does not matter, the outcomes does not change. All I can do is pick myself up and dust off the herbs and spices of your luscious soul.

Periodically, I find rebellious Sound taunting my eardrums with the resonance of your laughter or the sweet hum of your lingo. He holds his head upright, with the proud sensation that he is the most mischievous one of all. The little monster pounds and pulses on the walls till my ears ring out and echo your voice. But alas, the echo dies down to a whisper and you are nowhere to be heard. At times, with great effort, I hum to disguise your magnetic tones from my conscious mind. But this only works for so long, before the little hellion runs down my spine, cascading goose bumps behind him, to temp Touch to conspire a formula for glitzy havoc on my nerves.

However, unlike the others, Touch is a bit timid and shy; and renders mayhem on my emotions more so than the others. He doesn’t mean to do so. He is rather quiet and sweet. He pitter-patters up my side and hides in the most vulnerable regions. The back of the neck, the collarbone, the curved waist, the wrist; all places your lips wondered. When he stops hiding, he draws all the patterns your fingertips left behind in gold colored chalk. I find myself in awe of the golden portraits of your tenderness he smudges into my soul. The tingling sensation seeps into my bones and lingers for an indefinable amount of time. He does not know it, but this is the most beautiful complexity one could bestow to the repairing heart. He stands back, admiring, assessing his work and his smile surfaces to sweetly crease my lips.

It is then, that I realize that these senses of mine are to be loved and adored, no matter their actions; for they are me and I am them and it is I who requests their presence.


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I do not know whether I am a poet or a writer or a creative soul unleashing words or none of the above. I only know that I am merely a curious and confused mind, that attempts to dissect love down to the very electrons that spin my entity into existence.