poetry

Anonymous

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.


    poetry

    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



     

    poetry

    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.

                                                             Silence.

    © My Valiant Soul


     

    poetry

    Vintage Love

    Pinterest

    “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


    poetry

    Contrast

    Teenagers in the 1950's much more elegant than teenagers now...
    Pinterest
    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
    Uncategorized

    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.

    poetry

    Yellow Segments

    yellow, aesthetic, and art image
    image courtesy Pinterest

    I have detached my cellophane dreams with your cold shiverings

    Sustenance to moments invite a vaporizing acceptance

    My breaths carve my bones as I count the stars,

    Hopes can be delusional, hope can be aimless.

    It only moulds the opening of my bosom

    where a stack of anti-oxidant hid.

    The penumbra of opaque sunrays never lie, it portends a fact.

    Under the quietness of my mole, a layer of satisfaction arise

    Seepage, Integration, Addition.

    My skin kisses my lips, I sit and watch the pervasive love

    Inside the language of gods, a clock of soft murmur arise

    Trusting the humans once again,

    trusting the pillow talks again and again.

    poetry

    A naked Observation

     

    London, 1908.
    image courtesy- Pinterest

     

    Forbid me from not inviting you to the dinner tonight,

    The reservations are kept clean and precise

    We shall make Spaghetti Arrabiata and will murmur talks.

    Talks about new locality, a lamenting voice of new priests doing exorcism

    Surrounding my pesky air, claps and thunder shall be mixed in your wine

    A charcoal dust will caress your cheekbones, piquant games of truth and dare

    A memoir, a brandishing clamour of naked bodies will dance

    Time teaches time about the modals of life

    and human bites time again and again.

    I scream inch by inch like the wing of sparrow (Hush, hush, hush)

    Needles revolve, this golden sundial stands frozen

    Some say the truth, others are clowns well decorated in their own pits.

    Forbid me from not inviting you to the dinner tonight.

     

    -My Valiant Soul

    poetry

    Resentment

    Sun-dried lemon peels occur on my skin today,
    For the sky sings dust and hailstorm
    The segments of abhorrence and sensibilty play a jigsaw game.
    For I have inhuman breaths you gave
    on that turtle path of stinking array of roses clinging my soul.
    I have heard your sorrows, laments to decipher the unknown
    Still I am covered in the darkness of your crocodile shadow.

    poetry

    Stick like a Shadow

    Image Courtesy- Self
    I cling to your mauvy shadow
     Like an auburn Meraki of stars
     In the meadows of lust,
     In the turbid blue hemisphere
     Seeking your Serendipity of breaths,
     Brushing your knots of cryptic bizarre kiss
     And mixing with my tainted red lipstick.
     Swallowing.  Choking. Yearning.

    -My Valiant Soul