Still Evolving

Sharing my one of the poem that published in Visual Verse

A nameless flower, born in the thistle of cacophony.
My white thighs wrapped in the cellophane of expectations, suffocating and palpitating.
I marked my mother with scars, when I was born, she survived and cursed.
I am a girl, a white penumbra of the dark moon.
Chopping and twirling exists right in my aching stomach
my pale blue eyes, devouring the truth, sustaining the myth.
I am a ball of false mushy hopes.
I evolved each time eating the paw of time
the perforated sky, the unborn lilies of the fields.
The humanity eats my loops of scratched skin,
like the fights of animal, I am lost, swelled up in my dirt
The haywire of unseen puddle of disgust puts my jittering teeth in
total eclipse, a black afternoon of dying autumn.
Here, my fingers poke my sustenance churning the evolution of my vapid firm breasts, for it is still evolving
For the mixture of raisins and cactus still, thump my vagina.
I wake up each morning eating your unhuman thoughts in my breakfast, I see you smiling under the black sheets
And I know, I am a bedazzled drop of that liquid ice
Still hunting, still fighting until I am a beautiful form of
solid atmospheric lush.




This moment explodes into million segments of sunshine and liquor
streaming of roses, bullets slaps my tongue,
to spit the naked lie.
I walk on the fields of white hemisphere
where Poetry romances with me,
Silence is best experienced in the moments
when our body is Old utensils
Breaking my knuckles I smirk at that windowsill
where ashes of my pain melted, floated.

Oh, silence of beauty
come and coincide with my jawline
like the language of warriors
inch by inch slip into my white palms
dividing my delusions into a periphery of the star

Dissolve into my thick shadow of moles and wide dimples
cleaving my reverse staircases
spread like white snow,
spit frost on my forehead
Here, something Paranormal occurs.
And everything is just a white beauty.
Magical. Unearthly.

My one more poem up on Visual Verse.



I sit here absorbing my own vault tears, sobbing the dirt that was under my blanket. Moist blankets and roses crawl like an uncanny mist all over my face and crack me here on my nostrils, on my thighs that now lie like a drunk teenager amidst the forbidden land, a forest. Earlier this morning, I made myself a cup of coffee thinking how to cope up the last day’s bruises and to survive once again, but darn to my coffee. The taste is still peculiar and hideous.

I sit in the sunshine later to enhance my beautiful body like a golden shimmer and to hide the darkness, back to back I chant Sylvia’s Plath “ you do not do, you do not do” and sync its voice with my unheard screams. I gaze at this perforated Universe, trying to understand the images real and the ones still haunting me. I think of my mother, I think of my sister, I think of my Husband, my eyes still lost between the latent lights and the iniquity of unheard footsteps kicking inside my mind.

I am a quark, motionless and Vintage sulking the gravity of your eyes and iterating its resonance in my mind again and again. Thumping. Striking. I fight and flap as I hear your murmurings dropping like a dirt on my vermilion hair strands. You know how I wanted to kill your sibling, Time. desiccating its thunder and burying the dark blood veins into a pit of abstract mannequins. Oh, time…you are a Devil perhaps.


As we Sink

Wandering the Good... — pictureperfectforyou: .

i have watched you swallowing my winter talks and gripping my crooked breaths
I become an empty air in my body surviving for your arms and tongue
the weeds that grow inside our bellies, something divine occurs
like doves and pigeons, we flap and nurture
my red nail paint chips and get dissolves into your teeth
you ingest me with soaked balls of kisses and softness that of the moon
I see you like a shadow i want to digest and churn into my stomach
i see you as thunders and the Himalayas
perhaps, I can be the icicle of your cheeks sitting onto your lips
screaming my undertones of solace and then
bites, bites, some more bites.

At this point, i am floating like starfish, Corals
at the nape of your neck
where i once tattooed my clandestine tears, now volatilized, faded
and so i eat you like my favourite breakfast
day and night
night and day.




Between the crooked lines and my deaf poetry,

i hear raspberry bowl of emptiness swinging onto my anklet

the sourness, the bitterness

strike right here in the perimeter of earthly images,

a vague amplifier going berserk

silence, noises, screams, Pause.

I am a stained tea- coaster, resting on your blue table

i crave a coffin or a bed now, for I want to cease

till the season changes and my blood spills ink again.



Related image

Today, my writing is divine. With the savage to sink myself in words, I am invincible. Language embellishes me like wrapping petals of roses to the moon. I know my heartbeat today, rapturous, melancholic like almond skin.
I feel the bruises not the scars for scars are permanent ink.
I remember that sad lady lying drunk on the street, I saw myself decaying in her.
I know not today I will be like a dead stone for writing is divine today.
Dragons or mermaids do not alter my dreams. Life shall be Claustrophobic in many ways, where my silver cup of paradise might be scratched.
But I have a tooth of gold to flicker.
I have known the past and the present. I choose wisdom always.
Words created me, for my soul is a rolling stone. I know the pen is my destiny.
Cries, peals of laughter and hunger, I know all.
I have sipped the cup of poison too, so I do not fear, I rise.

©My Valiant Soul


Still to be Brave

If you may ask-
How do you seem to be brave all through the charms of winter?

Even when the cupcakes of Yule sits on my tongue, poking the frost on my breasts

Hear this evaporating silence, the language of concrete sand melting into this segment.

The eavesdropping of sanguine moon, pulling my hair up

to listen to my talks as my cigarette drops the ashes on the surface of your face

i melt into the rim of the broken glass that you dropped

you heard my heartbreak and my pillow talks

and the winter is dying now

i sit here in the Onion layered chair, screaming the cling

that pathetic cling,

swing, swing, swing




People are like stagnate rubber elasticity

with structures clinging our forehead, sweating cold sweat

Impulsive, off-hand contusions of smiles

Like eruption of S W O L L E N E A R L O B E S

A segment of Paraffin wax coating the lights on my ceiling

Mourning and screaming( inaudible noises, inaudible voices)

My windows ache the heartbreak and the candle refuses to lit the other twin

People will cleave to the formation of inheritance: soil

They are always temporary, they shall leave you like the parallax of a stigma.

®My Valiant Soul

In Corners


Disintegrating into tiny molecules
Apodictic stack of liquidized oxygen,
I watch the flame of burning candle,
Watching myself tremble and shake
With its every movement, counting the segments
Of my heart

Palliating toothpick sticks to my deep slumber,
Waking me up to sustenance,
Waking me up to these painted walls.
I am made of church bells, with each strike
I am conscious, murmuring to the chords and veins,

having the atmosphere in my mouth
Outer horizons of Cerebrum are perhaps a mystery yet,
I struggle each day to listen to the whistles and puzzles
Rupturing beneath this thin membrane,
Floating still in congruence with anxiety.

©My Valiant Soul

Things I will Preserve

There are things that I want to protect. Like the oxidised carbon,
like your mouth and my ferocious voice.
My earth shaped body: heaven resist into my temple mind,
like your inundate doses of love prayers to me.
Your sun-kissed pavements, mosaic dreams.
Your vintage lullaby’s while I am a mess.
The sunsets that we adored while we clicked our moist tongues
There are things I want to count time and again.
The hush oceanic fingerprints you carved onto my bosom
The silence that we sank into, the eruptions of sordid lust and galaxies revolving
If I had a red box, I will preserve your words, pictures, stained teacups,
the old mahogany chair on which we did crosswords together
That old whiskey smelling blankets I hid
after you were gone,
I want to count it again and again.
Your white shirts piling on my navel,
like a tropical meadow of white roses
The cold layers of evening when I drank and danced
You kissed me like a newborn baby’s skin,
My abhorrence divided right here,
Till my skin melted, aroused and melted again in yours,
I will count that further and further.

Published yet again in Visual Verse.

Many thanks to the team!

©My Valiant Soul


Like fresh breaths and cinnamon aroma
I wrapped your almond curve of palms,
preserving it into my oceanic eyes
Monsoon lilies. Iterative Petrichors.
I swallowed your words,an Orion of kisses

Only to know you will chop the slices of apple,
bit by bit
Smudging the sweetness, smudging the rhythms,
smudging my dreams.

    This Moment

    I love this street photography. Black and white street photography, abstract photography.
    image credits- Pinterest


    I will explain the inaudible question today,
    The nerves of my brain, poke the inners of black skin,
    Time is boundless, the clock stares my power,
    Like the drunk stare of a beggar,
    This memory shall fade, this body shall become liquid,
    what shall remain is my shadow of beauty,
    I ponder the fidelity, It reckons my pink misty heart
    where a seepage of dust, solitude, infestation resides.
    Time heals everything, and what about the healing of time?
    I hear the crackling of my wrist, speaking veracity to me
    I hear burns and see ashes.
    I swim in my own generated swamp of lies,
    And a sparkle of love.
    I am a ghostly moon walking naked on the surface of volatile Earth,
    Do I scare the truth now? Or I am the truth?
    My Body becomes a wild forest, nails chipping, sentiments floating.
    Love, despair, contentment, diligence, heartache’s.
    This moment sucks the weed and the ice, I learn something about—this hideous moment.

    ©My Valiant Soul


    That Silence

    I am walking on my own laced path

    with frills and throbbing water

    Discern the reality, Observe.

    Titanium clocks strike the moment of truth

    I am as soft as the morning baked bread,

    Eyes peeping into your glass carved twists,

    Sonder. Hallucination. Expectation. Ashes.

    Death shall come eventually,

    choking your doors and my windows

    What does human fight for, if not humanity?

    Coffins: decorated and flowered

    I speak veracious lights of thorns,

    Concave, convex

    Puddle. Soil. Palpitations.


    © My Valiant Soul


    Vintage Love


    “Perhaps when you will leave, you will take something of mine: chestnuts, roses or a surety of roots or boats that I wanted with you, comrade”— Pablo Neruda

    I doubt the incubation of turgescent moment
    where my hands might be swollen
    and your tongue all opaque,
    I do not wish a lush firmament
    or kisses of holy verses,
    For I crave is the skin and pores
    and countless breaths you take
    like torrential piquant roses and wine
    You rotate into my feverish mollusc body
    Like an Equinox, you conquer my susceptible shadow
    Walnuts cracking piece by piece,
    the susurration sound to be heard
    mapping your virile chest and hands
    Too many secrets of love to be unveiled tonight
    like letters, vintage photographs, Pure breaths.
    I crack bit by bit into your wonderous mouth
    Detonating into million and million pieces of delicate memory,
    And each time, you hear me.

    ©My Valiant Soul


    Teenagers in the 1950's much more elegant than teenagers now...
    Circulation of stars was more familiar during
    those sincere days when our bodies felt the lust,
    the smitten rose kiss, the dandelion slaps
    on our naked, yellow tongues.
    Telephones were intriguing, for addiction kills.
    Fingernails did not chap, broken things did mend.
    Inside the tubes of bars, ladies enjoyed
    with a brew of solace and poised wise.
    My teeth crack to see the irony today,
    humanity dies, numbing the skies.
    Sometimes when I walk on moist roads,
    The oak and the cactus pigments my impeccable skin,
    slapping mud onto my thighs, making me realise a sigh!
    For life's revenge is time,
    And nothing binds the state of time.
    My latest work published on Duane's Poetree.
    -My Valiant Soul

    Our Poetry

    Pull me closer to your diamond skin
    a place that eats all my molested scars,
    in the walls of books and poetry
    you shall be my muse, the other half.
    of my upcoming poetic line, upcoming splinters of ice,
    we make love castles,amidst the dirt hanging like spider web,
    Precise knots of commitment are the strongest.
    Skin:a reverie of splashing memory,
    Something that your lips eat daily.
    Turn by turn, inch by inch
    we mark each other’s soul
    creating geometry, defeating geography.
    My collarbone is star dust today,
    Ebullient scents from your whisky eyes
    expand my artless poetry,
    like the writings scribbled onto my library walls,
    pink, orange, brown.
    Infinite, Indelible.

    – my valiant soul

    P.s_- To my love, my constant.