when i die-

you will find ink blurb, parched words,
acoustic in air,
a hot burning potpourri
and my ink romancing with words.
this is what i will leave when i die-
a torn cloth, stinking souvenirs,
words like thick and sick stick to my tongue,
a concave road of anxiety on my wrists.

for i had no people in my pockets,
i had no eye contact,my conversations with stars
made me fall in love with the moon,
and its dark now, nocturnal love.
nocturnal soul.

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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.

65 Comments

  1. You know I can feel this poem …It’s so wonderfully composed and one who gets the real essence of it …
    This line ” a concave road of anxiety on my wrists β€œβ€¦..Too good ✨✨✨✨
    Regards
    _Muneeta Aneja
    _innervoice28

    Liked by 1 person

  2. The build-up to these lines are distinguished and complete, but these lines:

    “this is what i will leave when i die-
    a torn cloth, stinking souvenirs,
    words like thick and sick stick to my tongue,
    a concave road of anxiety on my wrists.

    for i had no people in my pockets,
    i had no eye contact,my conversations with stars
    made me fall in love with the moon,”

    stand alone on their own. This is true grit writing, Devika. Sincerely.

    Liked by 1 person

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