Eyes of Words

Sylvia Plath

No, I don’t write to cherish your cotton melodies.
An orange boy sleeps as I write and decorate my pages with
mannequins of moist thoughts.
There is a broken periphery as my words, letters unfurl the unsaid.

The corrosion of tanned face, the bleeding of fingers
onto this sheet that absorbs my coconut ink, seems seamless to me.
I don’t write to make you believe in my writing,

Fuming naphthalene skies, beneath my words
Iterative slumber happens. A baby is born.
Like ferns and twists of my tiny arms and twists
my words open, a reverie. A Hypothesis.

And so I don’t write to write. My fingers disintegrate and I ripple again.

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.

77 thoughts on “Eyes of Words”

  1. You write because you have to and you write when the sun sleeps. A night owl poetess who weaves words from the ink of her blood, from the marrow of her thoughts and she gives those words life, with eyes, to find their way across the page. This is intricate beauty, Devika. I feel blessed to read this poetry.

    Liked by 4 people

      1. You are welcome, Devika. That is what I got from your words – I was simply paraphrasing ๐Ÿ™‚ I really love this piece because I think it speaks universally to all poets who write for themselves, to give their words life!

        Liked by 1 person

  2. This is what writers write for not for name and money.You explained that in your own classical ways.Orange boy,coconut ink yesterday you used wool of ink and stone of poetry.Do you use this for effect or is there something deep inside these comparisons.If there is meaning then itโ€™s a big challenge for me to solve them to because I never saw any writer writing these kind of phrases and words.Itโ€™s always like hidden treasure. โ€ decorating pages with mannequin of moist thoughts..Moist may represent .fresh thoughts.And my favorite part of this poem is โ€œFuming naphthalene skies, beneath my words
    Iterative slumber happens. A baby is born.โ€โ€โ€ I mean the imagery of seeing sky is beneath my words are soo deep..because you did somethin innovative here by taking reader to deep into the word and them asking to see the fuming sky๐Ÿ‘๐Ÿ‘๐Ÿ‘๐Ÿ‘.Ending was good as always,ripples say that you are again want to float in that thought process.And one more favourite line is โ€œI donโ€™t write to make you believe in my writing,โ€This says what writing is for writer.

    Liked by 5 people

    1. A thank you won’t be enough but I congratulate you for devouring my words to the core.
      You have said the beautiful lines and that is all behind this work although moist instead of representing fresh thoughts can also be seen as teary thoughts. But I really adore your innovative perception.

      Thank you for all your words, means so much to me!

      Liked by 4 people

  3. I would have loved this for the image alone, since I started writing poetry after reading Plath’s novel this year.
    This poem resonates the most for me. “I don’t write to make you believe in my writing”
    We all miss Sylvia, but in your words her soul lives on and as long as you keep writing her bell will stay ajar.

    Liked by 3 people

  4. There is beauty and brutal honesty in this piece when you say you don’t write to please. My fav lines “There is a broken periphery as my words, letters unfurl the unsaid.”
    We write as a testament to our pain which is boundless and needs no validation.
    Bravo, Devika. You go, girl!!

    Liked by 1 person

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