I can fill your china cups with vintage memory of us. Where, i see you sipping my lips through the window sill, like a drunk sky & the tipsy moon. In the hitched- run of mundane lives, i drink your cheeks and mole, your legs & fingers like a mulberry pancake, frost often frozen. I like it that way.
i chew your scars with razor- electric nights of thor and acids. I do it anyway.
With a heart of a sun, i flip into your arms, cascading moments of dreams & dreams. Our bodies going wild fire, scratching depths to know the inner depths. The complete forest is lit.We run like mad currents, diffusing slivers of unborn kisses and future rain. We make love like the Himalayas, dwindling with the Pines or something more surreal. Something soft & crisp,the winds, the freedom . All knitted in my precious womb, my
place of togetherness. My thighs dance, magnets sucking my skin to cling me more. It speaks to me about your vintage cups, stain and cigars.
oh, i must be drunk now to sniff your vintage white shirt.
do you remember the blues
penetrating my veins
of penumbra stoic
your cutting voice of thunder
like a thorn poking
my chiselled neck & colour
my white skin turning weird
a stinking smell of appearance
& a missing map between cities.
cities of loss, cities of despair.
And i danced in the hollows of horizon
where liquids formed circles of numb rain,
you haunted me, ghost- like lemon peel.
and i peeled the layers, still & obvious.
With mercury dropping, lightings of heart.
( I am a sun- soaked, mosaic formation of wilderness & weed growing under your chin)
©Image and words- MVS
a birthmark & a taboo
i am a lavish smile of smirk
you incubated me & my head
with soils of murder and hatred
sins of monster & coal of coals.
to kiss your dark soul
i swim like a starfish,
concurrent currents floating
inside my solitary knee-bone
see it, feel it, sniff it
chop it. chop it. chop it
it Shall again appear with
half sun and half moon rays.
like a starfish singing,
unveiling the balmy metaphors
crooked though plumbed
in your anxious fingers of blood
in your anxious mouth of dirt.
“Her heart was made of liquid sunsets”- Virginia Woolf
So, this is how it starts, backwards and forwards
A canopy of fire dwindling in the mercury stars of ocean
Routing the past weeds and merciless eyes
Imbroglio thunders often attacked me, I threw fits and seizure
on these wooden floors on the horizons of your body
and so much vomit, Ah!
But you see the endings do not end here,
My teardrop holds your bones and breaths
uncountable fantasies clinging my necklace
Prolixity of your memories often defeat the pendulum
I carry so much in my heart if precisely stating.
And so this is how it begins in the stardust and galaxies
where I calm my madness and powder my worries
dropping my heavy footsteps into the pool of oceanic torrent
The electric waves do teach me brightness and darkness if you must say
And my heart takes everything you spit on my bedsheet
My heart touches the ebb of mundane sunrises and sunsets
Still working the aftermaths, hurricanes, polemical truths.
P.S- Virginia Woolf’s writings are always resonating and mesmerizing to me. My words are only and only a small tribute to this powerful soul! She shall always be an inspiration.
How do you define my perforated body aches with meteors dissolving? It’s an harrowing scenario with blood screams, thunders stuck to my backbone. Lipids going haywire and my eyes swollen with a pool of tyranny. Nostrils flutter like vintage sheets of paper, obsolete in obscure point. A point of missing mornings and seasons.
Each night, i hang like a loose memory, thermometer and fever, clinging my spinal cord and striking deaths and sins of sinisters.
The autumn leaves wrapped to my bare skin,defying the existence of bequeathed lives I survived. The midnight burning oils & lamps. The clocks of death. And my earthly body.
I perspire like an old lady, clinging to the curtains of pink breaths. With a casket of stars & hope swallowing like an infant, I fight oh yes I do. I precipitate and conjure in my linings of thin mucus, coughing disgusts and disgusts.
How do you define my motionless body now?©MVS
i have swallowed the stars
in my tropical mouths of nostalgia,
coping the insanity, wireless tracks
with sweat and ink
ink and tears.
a blush of my cheeks
and seizure occurs
between our wild sheets
our vermilion warmth.
i sniff the old papers
to give me paper cuts,
threading a crisp jawline
point of felicity
& elision of this
moon dust heart,
i walk spherical
fetching your wet lips
wet mouth and language of Gods
i pronounce you my dalliance
& my nails clutter
in your toxin scent.
As already stated this is a collection of some profound writers and a web of survival stories that always make me proud. Proud of the fact, that I am part of this stunning community. The writings here are strong and makes you feel your bones like never before.
The writings not only intrigues one’s mind but also acts as a safe heaven for the survivors and the warriors. If you are a feminist or even a part of it, it’s the exact place for you and your tales.
The collective is currently seeking out for some RICH, EARNEST yet POWERFUL writings against Women exploitation and a lot more in honor of National Poetry Month. You can find the further details here.
Please do read the previous writings of our collective before submitting to Whisper and the Roar in order to avoid any rejection emails. We can be a bit choosey when it comes to some real writings. So give us some real voice, something that makes us go breathless.
Till then keep reading – the Whisper and the Roar!
Curator of Whisper and the Roar.
your fingers sweep saline dust
on my collarbones of dirt & dead hopes,
with figaments of knots, sordid closure.
ancient bells marking my face as salinity,
A staircase is kneaded inside my soft nerves,
my soft calves, my soft body..
the memory stinks & stuck
of you, of your black socks i slept in
your scent like vanilla sky,
enamored & ventilated, once
it’s a morbid tale of two now
Ships of lost city
with concrete desoltution
rubbing the corners of my thigh,
my plump breast, my void eyes.
it’s a tale people talk about now.
it’s a rotten sky now.
If you ask how am I today, I might tell you—
Darkness growling like the dead, a sad weed or a burned tree. My fingers ache each day
to feel the autumn on fire. Like mordacious nails, scratching the inside of my conjured mind. I know, you might feel nothing. Speechless?
Oh, pluck my skin, see the inner scratch, that is my scream.
Hidden in the ball of vexation, my lips drifting apart, to say thy name.
My pale eyeballs feeling the dead dreams. Oh, how dark, can you see?
I am a hideous soul of stale flesh and paralysed hymns, still surviving.
I am stale lotus blooming in the eyes of the razor-layered body.
©My Valiant Soul
Your belligerent electric eyes
of swamps and tea bags
like vapours & death
picking my hair strands
to dissect me further,
oh you, mouth of monster
& shadow of half-naked moon.
i lie on my bed & count my reverse
motionless screams, words, screams
here in this room of death & poetry.
chapters of skin peeling, numb iris,
transparent lips of missing skies
i forlorn my ankles
of you and me.
and shiver the scoundrel body.
for this body is a madhouse.
like a concave arm of wax
dripping insanity, clocks
bells and words crooked-pungent.