Vacant voices

A moment elongates itself like a thick sleet of froth
thin as a membrane often,
it’s a horrible need to ingest the petals
something that slits the skin and tongue,
watch the phantom of atmosphere,
how incorrigible swirl waft the cheekbones.

Often voices stuff my vacant rooms with leftover light.
Voices like “Oh you love”…voices with intense roots.
I retrace footsteps back in my lawn, trying to discover my untamed breaths,
trying to burn the unlit clump of log( wet and careless things are beautiful).
I often feel like a ghost, entrapped like a white air
tip-toeing in quiet hush old house.

I am broken. i am pale with an ever-growing quench of burning thighs.
I am what i am anyway. Lost. Amorphous. Melting.


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.

49 thoughts on “Vacant voices”

  1. Such a powerful poem, with breathtaking phrases! How you slay it each time, MVS, is beyond me, but boy am I glad you do! So lucky to read your work. ❀

    Like

  2. I like this, powerful deep, and you know I had this weird thought when I saw this girl infront of the mirror with a cigarette in her hand, isn’t it natural for us to mistaken the cigarette for the brush.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I think my absolute favorite thing about all your poetry are your phrases! You use such rich vocabulary that essentially digs into my soul and yanks me forward. Such a talent! πŸ’œ

    Liked by 1 person

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