Experimental(Love)

Listen up
here,
amidst the greenfield. raindrops dancing.
onto our toes.
Heavy atmosphere.
Seagulls atop our fingenails.
Wait, watch the sky.
Wait. Here, count the sky.
seraphic susurrous sighs.                                                                                               Sustenance
            climb the stairs                                                                                     Sliding
                            climb the sky 
                                         reverberate                                               Anthropocene
                                                       Pronounce                     Platonic.
                                                                   Renaissance.
Do not flutter now.
Wait for me.
Let's elope together
into the void
into the madness.

Please click on the poem to read the experimental format of the poem.

————————————————————-

Read my poetry collection ‘Crimson Skins’ on Kindle, Amazon.

Barnes and noble

Bare skins through the night



Bare skins
electromagnetic cheeks- ripples through air,
soil, air all one-
all one mouth
of untamed fizz.
untamed vestibule---- singular space and singular loneliness.
your skin is a fine example of my night time lullaby,
crescent fall leaf's song, onto my nude lip.
one by one- as I call your name,
I sing a choir and stand in the experimental splash of colours.
I think of your mundane time,
solid blue eye- shared collectiveness. 
shared solitude. 
Night- my sodden muse. 
      Outside the window, I think of your sniff
of your favourite sun touched hand,
this space, a white pool of madness,
this is the geometry we stich together,
air in hurdled spaces.

Singing songs through a poem

source- Pinterest
I hear a quiet shout,
screeching under my eyes-
How long do I float, anonymously?
to declare is what I want-
 space and time
stars and grass,
look at my one hand,
the one that stares you-
curvatures of my body= lotus.
Lotus that spews water from its body again and again.
Call it life. Give it a name-
Air, will you be a space to my existence?
Water- will you sing songs to my graveyard?
 Fire, burn along. Do not resist anything further.
 This day inhales "me" in the most blasphemous way.
I do it through a circular band on forehead. 
I soak everything like a sponge.
 Watering lilies and eating oatmeal. 
Please be mine- You, the ferocious 'eye'.
Apply a cold balm all through my body- know my persistence of time
and know what I mean. 

-----------------


To read my book-
Crimson Skins- India 
Crimson Skins- US

Bare Noons-

the body is a loose powder
longing through the rooms,
vacant mountains of chills.
bare chest-
 a throbbing  slitting moan.
the moon kisses and watches over
linguistics of a body.
decoding cacophony of amorphous substance.
unwrapping a flower-
   the body is dream, you must say.
it slips and sticks to the wall-
a whorl of pink tongue. 
I sit and produce words during the daytime
as I watch over my window for a twig to be stuck to my throat-
 instead I have maroon dreams and floral nights -
sore limbs now,
sore words- I shift to a different paradigm,
I shift to lotus from rose.
The arrangement of bones has a purpose now.



The end of a lullaby

the shriek of my body,
a purple loose hanging moon
beneath the toes-
a shriek so wild
stretches through the carcass

I have nothing left to weep now
for the moon has taken a dip inside the river.
I hear my village burning,
and see people sleeping so quietly, so wildly
as if nothing ever happened.
A lullaby lost in a path-
mouthless,
a blue broken hemisphere.

What do I do with my limbs now?
How do I sit and regenerate in a porous night?

How have you been?

I do not believe in new years- a new beginning. I have a different mindset related to it and I do not want to sound gloomy but here I am to know how you all have been?

If I have missed some stunning work, I would love to read it. Let me know what are your goals, plans, habits etc for this month, this year, or anything which fixes in you in a good way. A reminder- that I am not talking about toxic positivity but anything which enhances a soft corner in your heart. Let me know in the comments.

I have given a theme to my this year- “Satisfaction”. I am trying to connect my works with the theme. It’s not a resolution ..because there is nothing like that, I guess. I believe in mindsets and habits rather.

Recently- I shared this issue of my newsletter here which throws more insight on this topic-

animation love GIF by Rodrigo Tello

read maybe?

The Weekly Shine- a newsletter wherein I curate poetry, mindful lessons, soulful artworks- basically something for everyone. Come read and subscribe maybe?

Lots of love

Devika

Pink evenings and low days

The bars are white soapy mouth

The sky is an unforgettable moment.

I take out my paper and mention my gratitude list-

I mention

        breath

onion

      Ketchup

broccoli 

    Sylvia

rosemary 

     Pauses  

The sun kisses my toes by the daytime

slushing,

suitcases and winter games.

I write too many sad poems, I know.

I write too many absent spirited lives.

 Loneliness spews black paint through my crevices.

I bloom too.

I bloom at darker, 

soft places

like – a sniff of a mountain or vapourizing lakes.

I must return to my kitchen now-

peel potatoes  and count the peanuts

Pink sky-

floral saturn rings of now and before.

I must return now, quickly.

The white haze

They talk about everything so coarse and grainy-

but not my mouth, empty and cold.

Lukewarm particles of mother’s voice

floating

White/ blue/ grey-

 I see shades of attachment and delirium.

Together, through a visceral bone,

Skins aglow- white talcum powder all distorted.

My dressing table is a desert.

A pause. Concrete and blind sun.

I watch my image as strong as an eel,

a pivotal insect preying on itself

frolic, lurid paper towns-

all departing my marigold fingers one by one.

Counting stops and so does the nuptial song

with neon green signs, and yellow street children,

the hem of my lips, spiral now.

Here- I go to my bed..

zig zag,

muted

Collapsed.

The Old Body-





with chained ankles,

hush, thrilling lips,

a body floats inside my mind,

dwindling through the carcass,

old and vintage-

a mahogany river of crooked moonlight,

this body blooms and sinks at the same time,

uttering a blob of big sun-shaped tongue

emerging out,

emerging through the stains and walls

through veins and puddles.

this time itches now,

I have wounds all over my barren body

a body- now a pit of marks.

—————————————————————-

If you love reading my poems and works you might enjoy my book Crimson Skins. I can’t believe it has been an year since my book published and each time I hold my baby, I am choked with pride. You can get your copies on Kindle, Amazon, Pothi etc.

sharing links-

Crimson skins – US
Crimson Skins- POTHI
Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_soul

Through the voices.

She is a small island
A voiceless twig to flutter
A crecent of moon dropped from beneath-
the body is resourceful
spun into a river.

Now I am silent as I watch my window
with angular toes amd face
birds so small and distant,
That is that. That is that.

Bones awaiting the hours to fly by,
And here people like light rays leave
Salt without wrinkle
Ceiling without star.

I am calm. I am sand. I am calm.
It is the calmness that settles, flees and aborts
into miniature beings of discomfort blankets and nap.

A rare yellow minute when the birds die in the womb.

A cluster of bones

Visceral bones
thrush
thrush.

Tongue of birds
A cluster of sunshine.
Moles of heaviness on my cheeks

I have not been sleeping anymore.
How can I?
I see black moths in my dreams

I am too cood now,
Watery tongues,
flattened bones of evening.

Knock knock
A thunder to sip and watch.
Gaps are collected on my knuckles.

I need R. E. S. T.

A rest as blue pregnant sky.

A new poem published

I have a poem published on The Hyderabad Review. Please do let me know if you read it. Many thanks to the beautiful journal.

Love

Devika

The existence of an unknown-





Finger's spread through walls
licking the green fear
a moist mayhem spreading onto my chest
chewing the dead society
people give names to my existence
a continous dreary process
I feel oblong and circular
shouts rummaging through the ceiling
fire in my neck,
movements occur as pulse
during the time curtain of this thought
who am I?
A passage or a full stop-
a dreamlike stay
a touch
a vapour
mud..earth..mud..earth.
  The mind stays softer,    mine
like sweaters in summers,
fresh tangerine juice.
Who am I?


-----------------------------------------------
If you love reading my poems and works you might enjoy my book Crimson Skins. I can’t believe it has been an year since my book published and each time I hold my baby, I am choked with pride. You can get your copies on Kindle, Amazon, Pothi etc.

sharing links-

Crimson skins – US
Crimson Skins- POTHI
Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_soul

Gulmohar, When it Rains

I have a poem published in the monsoon issue of The Woman Inc. Please pay a read. Thank you.

The Woman Inc.

By Devika Mathur

Nature, Green, Flower, Garden, Plants, Wallpapers

The shades of skin- glowing like April mornings
a soft warm tone of Gulmohar tree upon my eyelids-
a doorway to oceans, two pebble eyes
Open in the open sky
This tree a meteor of clouds to my mind
to remind me of Earth, soil and home.

Rains: a thunder of God’s voice

Gulmohar tree- pockets of cellophane wrapped on its bark
to bloom something more
tender, quiet roar of women.

I see leaves, rustling
with leeks and violet rays uttering a dialogue of beauty
of dark violet raisin pressed between my palms,
This tree has me. These raindrops seeps into my fist and eyes
as a whole another Goddess.
as a whole another memory.

Gulmohar- your orange red hair blooming backwards
As if life slips from you easily,
So softly as a lover’s touch.

You have a staircase full of outgrown desires
You leave it and…

View original post 127 more words

Autumn Lovers





the yellow stark trees
smiling through the purple grass
with a nocturnal tether to hold us
US- a portrait of clay and dust
full of small longings,
growing and congregations bending
      Late autumn, and at night,
we melt-
melting through skins and teeth
through fever and blossoms-
We speak of ripped earth
and a few things more.
      
     Autumn, a kiss of lovers.
-------------------------------------------------





If you love reading my poems and works you might enjoy my book Crimson Skins. I can’t believe it has been an year since my book published and each time I hold my baby, I am choked with pride. You can get your copies on Kindle, Amazon, Pothi etc.

sharing links-

Crimson skins – US
Crimson Skins- POTHI
Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_soul



A poem from – Crimson Skins.

Sharing this close poem of mine from my book.

To get a copy –

Amazon US

Pothi- India