Scars of dreams

This vintage arm
is like a faded memory
a corpuscle
of streaming hope
the greys and the reds
a turbid of morbid dreams,
Scars slid, dancing,
they seem happy.
Scars are my baby now
forever, inside
my hallucinating body of madness.
pain is my adamant bowl of Ganges.
slipping between fingers of sickle.
Moist, melting inside somewhere
scars, you make me beautiful.

©Image and words MVS

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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.

41 thoughts on “Scars of dreams”

      1. You are welcome Devika. I just missed two of your Instagram stories. I just saw them (Pablo Neruda and another) when I woke up in the middle of the night. Now it’s gone! I don’t want to miss any of your beautiful posts

        Liked by 1 person

  1. “Vintage arm”, I don’t think I’ve ever seen that phrasing before. A Devika original.

    And this:

    “Scars are my baby now
    forever, inside
    my hallucinating body of madness”

    It’s both painful and beautiful. Very nicely done, lady.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Scars are stories, scars are courage, scars are victories, scars are what we are! What an ode to scars this is. I am so happy you wrote this, D! And it’s absolutely beautiful. 🌸🤗🌸

    Much love darling!

    Liked by 1 person

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