Scissors and Thorns

image credits- Pinterest

Penumbra, walls of construction, destruction
black coherent cathartic squalid eyes
numb crooked vertebrae floating
in the liquid air, my body becomes a coffin.
Enfeeble basket of black roses resides in my cracking eyes.

I take a pause, and visit the old creaking house,
haunted and mahogany drooling
over my burning piquant skin,
I feel a co-existence between
the supernatural and the living
Dents of loose threads of hope
circulate, biting my skin, biting my tongue,
biting my amorphous vapours of sick solitude.

I want to weep today, scarring my acidic eye
the hypocrisy, the swollen balls of abhorrence scar me.
I am a vexatious taboo.
How is sustenance a need?
Even the sky dies at night.
I evaporate, disintegrate, amalgamate
only to be a broken piece of an elongated lie.

©My Valiant Soul

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my valiant soul

A dreamer and a believer for the upliftment of women rights. A published poet, author, writer. Believes in dancing and cooking amazing food for hungry souls at times. Loves to write and write till the moon is satisfied. My writings can be found at Visual Verse, Indian Periodical, Sick Lit mag, Duane's Poetree, Thistle magazine, among various others. Curator of Olive Skins.

39 thoughts on “Scissors and Thorns”

      4. well, after much trying, I still feel the same. Let me try to clarify, I was talking about a broken piece of the elongated lie as an entity, not the line being out of context in the poem. In other words, my not so poetic and logical mind tells as soon as a piece of a lie is broken from the whole, it is no more a lie and that felt like the essence of this poem to me.

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  6. Wow!, Devika, what a beautifully penned piece of darkness. Cut and pricked, over and over. It’s an out of body experience while still feeling what is happening to the body, and soul, itself. The numb, bent vertebrate, a crooked spine as one lays or floats, in this case, as liquid (brilliant), in a fetal position. our opening stanza smells of death and I can visualize the broken body, a coffin, and the eyes cracking, like splintered glass.

    The haunting in the second stanza confirms that the soul has left the body, perhaps, and now lingers where love, passion and life once existed. Even in its ethereal state, the soul can experience the biting. This is rich with vivid imagery and urges the goosebumps to my arms.

    The third stanza brings us back to reality. This is no out of body experience, it is real and it is happening. The poet questions the need for anything because as she says, even the night dies at night. In this single image there is that glimmer of hope that the dying night will bring the birth of morning light. Then, those final two lines summarize, for me at least, the whole position of this piece: that when all things dissolve what is broken in that lie is still broken, no matter how many pieces are severed. Each piece still holds the essence of that elongated (over time) lie.

    One of your most profoundly deep pieces, my friend. This is gorgeous poetry!!!

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    Reply

    1. “Cut and pricked” so well defined!
      The opening stanza does speak of death or numb body as you may say and yes that is what pain does to this body.
      I am impressed how you took the haunting to a different level and that too was again perspicacious to me. How brilliantly I can sense your imagination that does match mine though.
      And the ending is something that we need to think about and you have your beautiful imagination banging the truth right there,Alex!
      This makes me feel happy that you have seen so much darkness that I am made of actually.
      Really honoured to have your words on my space Alex! Thanking you from the bottom of my heart.
      Peace to you!

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      Reply

      1. You are most welcome, Devika. I am happy to be able to read and comment on such beautiful work that I truly connect with. Peace and blessings for a great day ahead, my friend.

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