emitting poems

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a beautiful turtle

Zebra mussel on an august window is nice
to rub on cheeks and forehead.
Manifestations are the plums of my mellow.

I pick fruits
and flowers
and hold between fingers. I am pleased to stretch fingers.

The light on everything is going to have my eyes for a long time. My urges are cold steel buttons.
Felt in suddenness.

A tall, wide eyed
doll
hanging on my shoulders

breathes on my neck.

In a blue picture,
penguins dive one after another to save their lives
from disappearing cold.

Reddening sky of red sunsets will be of the blue moon.

Krills in a cascade lie awake on wet stones
Worms gnawing tangerine melodies
and slides down to the belly
gripping the tangerine.
Divisions of taste hang in the air. I reveal art.
Unlike my last poem. This time,
it is a mellow dream and I have let know
what covers whatever…

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Poetry published in Madras Courier

I am more than elevated to share the news that my poem The Exit got published in Madras Courier which is a 233 old newspaper and is a reputed brand. Many thanks to the editor for accepting my work.
Read my work here.

The Look

 

I remember the absurdness of clouds spread over my head, hovering. Blue lilies dancing in the sky. A quiet place of porous Gods. I would stare at the sky, releasing my chemical reactions in the thin air. My orange vase neck, oscillating between the concrete human eye and the prism of soil. I would name it Illusion.
Phonetic switch of moonflowers and blurred windowpanes. I saw it all.

At times, I would be a God myself, walking through the soil where the humans sew each other, excavating noises. Annihilation of a cold muse in the sky.
There are shapes and humans walking up above, flickering heir worldly eyes. I have it all,
in my pockets full of moaning psalms,
rolling down my sliding cheeks.
I carry a piece of everything, everywhere I travel.

Thought factory

我爱你 - i don't own any of these pictures!! #aléatoire # Aléatoire # amreading # books # wattpad

I sit here. In the park full of overly grown people.
I see a black sky, lights flickering halfway.
A subtle ripple of a thought gushing in the man’s eye,
standing next to me
I emboss his voice to the sky, somehow.
A bush full of flowers,
sweet nectar from the eyelids
submerging my feet in the lush.

I walk and stay close to this creeper,
sticking to my bosom.
I adore the soft lust it whispers to the ear.
in the winter night,
where do they all go?
here, amidst the wild eyes,
amidst the lilies here speaking a foreign language,
a child’s laughter disappears somewhere.

The trees have begun to dream again,
oscillating between the heaven and the hell,
and in this darkness, I become wild and small.
Like a wildflower on the pathway.

A red dimness hovering my hand,
cold cough of the night
spreading like a red bright flower across the faces.
Where will humans go, now?
A temple, a church, a mosque?
Or will they sleep
with an enormous restlessness.

else

Trust me, she is a genius.

a beautiful turtle

Closer is a look. Worse.
Lizard stares through the khus bundle.
Bright pomanders.
Tangerine tongue.

People eat quietly on the table.
These people don’t know
their beauty
and would like to be told.

I learn about a new color,
Azure.
Rain is of the beautiful.
Lizard only hides in the rain.

I stopped
talking
too much
in poetry.

I break more
lines
than
before.

A man with good taste in everything
told me
that
I don’t know where
to end.

He has come to know
that I know the world
just
through the magazines.
So, I fear.

“For something like a drum
you must use a word
like
dilapidated.
You tear
flowers and papers.
You don’t tear the drums.”

You look at abandonments two years
after.
The look is closer.
You save things and keep looking.
Lizard falls down
from the bundle.

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Exodus

 

Pinterest: jazxlove ☆☾After all,
the leaf shall die,
evaporating from the inner hemisphere of a tree.

And all that left is plastic,
a rubber ball
which might die soon,
Humans create temporary memories
and watch it detach.

Droplets of June nectar
in the dome sky
crackles,
with one stone eye.
And then you see a tunnel
that stares back.

A nightmare is black
spitting nothing, yet
glancing the beautiful fall.
Fall of things and people.

It is in the end when the soul falls,
whimpering,
drawing a night out of the sky,
uttering facts about the exodus.
It roams doused in silver buckets.