Sunday and Breakfast

Here, I speak the truth to you,
the lies of occupation in appealing people’s sorrow
and the green urban dirt— a ghastly deduction of smiles
makes me a crooked vase of emptiness.
Monday: oh, it pours the spikes in my stomach
and churns the pancreas till the heart bleeds.
Saturday: a monotonous tone of soils parching,
producing fungus and mushrooms
Nothing remains, a wall of concrete harmony.
This tongue here craves the stardust of sunshine if any.
Something between moist eyes and moist thighs goes missing,
something between the linings of bricks and charcoal is vintage epoch.
The aprons, the tables, the cigarettes
the Sundays and the breakfast of savouring
my thunder, clasping the pharynx of my scandalous worth
is my favourite.

©My Valiant Soul

Published by

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.

31 thoughts on “Sunday and Breakfast”

  1. The mundanity of life expressed in the most prolific way. Almost profane with such subtlety and grace that makes it too irresistible to not pant and sigh in one breath. To cut my long nonsense short, I loved this.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This piece captures very well as you have described it “the occupation of life”…
    The everyday things we need to do to just “live” life become essentially a job in their
    mundaneness and monotony. The glimpse of specialness you share is a tiny snapshot
    of a lazy Sunday morning. I know, as we all do, the value of such “true and real time” with the
    person with whom we have chosen to share our life. To me the poem raises the question of how do you make sure you are not just living life as “the occupation of life” with the clue being…
    how to make life like your snapshot of “Sunday and Breakfast”? (Perhaps just my interpretation.) The answer…like anything in life you have to make it happen. You don’t settle for the hypocrisy of people who have accepted the “occupation”. You don’t worry about other people, their forced expectations of you, and you make it a choice to make life special every day. And I am sure you will Devika. Have a nice day star diamond.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. How do I even start to enunciate my feelings after reading this strong comment! I would like to appreciate that minute part which you have picked Forrest about the monotony of job and the way of dealing with it.
      Your words are always generous and wise. You never fail to disappoint my faith(if any) which I generally feel happy about.
      All your words deeply encourage and support me.
      Thanks a ton, Forrest!

      Liked by 2 people

  3. A beautiful build up of the mundane and oft times dragged out work week to savour those Sundays. The image you chose tells the story of how you love to lose yourself in the thunder when you have time. Again, this is vivid with your usual gorgeous imagery and another glimpse into the poet herself! Love it, Devika!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. On the first viewing this piece seemed hopeless, but after multiple viewings you glimpse the hope. The green urban dirt, the pancreas that still bleeds and the fungus still growing. On an infinite plane of concrete, the broken weeds will still break through and wave with all their remaining strength in the wind. It is those forgotten, derided stems that we must cling to.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Amazing and beautiful – my favorite line is
    “the Sundays and the breakfast of savouring”
    It speaks to me of a peaceful calm morning with a dear love, and I think goes best with the picture.
    I love this!

    Liked by 1 person

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