The Art of This-Body

Sidney Carter (Canadian,1880-1956) Portrait after Dante Gabriele Rossetti's The Blessed Damozel, ca 1906.  National Archives of Canada

Helplessness running through the haze of clouds,
Hands swinging, liquified skin and slaps of salt grains.
I prick my soul, to check the shrieking
the altitude coincides with a marriage ritual
in the Altar, in the temple
Between the moist lips
The air halts, pause
and my skin kisses my eyes
Conundrum,    Abortion
Throbbing of mind, the paintings of my room cracks now
like the white eggshell
I drink the art of this moment,  quiet now
I rub alcohol and ashes on my face
Indexation and outnumbered faces,
I am colourblind, I am crooked, oh still I count the maths
I run until I fall to melt into the sand
and to begin my heavy footsteps again and again
My body is sinking, catch, catch.
It may fall like a sharp needle pointed towards the foothills
It may rise like shedding of words on paper
Catch, Run. Catch, Hold. Breathe.




  1. Amazing poem that instantly prompted me to write

    this is what you inspired in me.
    thank you for being an awesome poetess to inspire.

    This swing broke in mid flights purple storm
    we held hands,Cartilage swept us under the rug
    pushing the hourglass off tables
    the crash was roses on a bustier

    the halting air between moist lips, licking with a liking
    sun kissed skin too cute for the eyes to handle

    what a predicament

    these veins pump this perpetuation forward
    membrane holding it all in

    hugging cold porcelain never felt so perfect
    the brush strokes fall out
    3 day worn cardigan
    i cant quite get these key strokes right

    coughing yellow teardrops
    we are the robbers in the nights womb
    wake me from these rules for manipulating
    particle is burnt out
    running hands through glass screen doors

    these boots are broad
    and we’re gonna kick this river down
    i hope they drag the lake
    cause its where my body can be found

    this pitted thimble thumbprint
    diving towards the hard boiled ground
    this zippers always catching
    these nightmares leave me safe and sound

    hey apparition
    leave me cursive
    on this parchment neat

    dried under tension

    leave me suspended
    i’m the coffee in your animation

    light another cigarette
    i hope i’ll be your breath when it goes out


    Liked by 3 people

    1. I am stunned to read these amazing lines.
      What a talented pen you have I must say. The lines and the figurative speech is just the stellar here.

      Thank you for blessing my poetry with your beautiful insights as well. I really appreciate the time to read and write.
      Much gratitude!

      Liked by 1 person

  2. This poem was chaos surrounded by peace, in the most perfect way.
    I loved it.
    Also, this is so unrelated, but the way you write your poems makes me visualise the metaphors literally, while the actual meaning is playing like an entrancing song. It’s just amazing.

    Liked by 4 people

    1. Your review is so mysterious I must say.
      And I am in doubt if your loved it or not as I understand that my mind is not sane right not and it hardly knows what is it bleeding on paper still I loved your this unique response.
      Thanks love!

      Liked by 2 people

  3. What can I say,you always impress with your lines.” Drinking the art of moments,rubbing alcohol and ashes to the face..this line in particular.How did you thought of this line?? Alcohol and ashes,it both says you are suffering,and “sinking catch,catch” And about the sharp needle…👌👌👌🙏🙏

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Yes, those lines express that sadness more poignantly as I feel and thank you for confirming my thoughts about it.

      I am always happy to read your satisfying words on my poetries. Thank you!


  4. Oh my goodness. This is SO descriptive. You have an amazing talent. Sorry if I miss some of your posts, but being blind I have a few problems in seeing stuff. But I LOVE your imagery too. I feel it all with you x

    Liked by 1 person

  5. I envy your talent Devika. I really mean that. My poetry seems so bland compared to your writing. “It may rise like shedding of words on paper… Catch, Run. Catch, Hold. Breathe…” Such a fascinating phrase.

    Liked by 2 people

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