We do it our own way

i can slurp stars out from the sky
garnishing your surreal body,
where my lips stick to your moist words.
A refined way of picking your name.

Coltish your patterns give me jolts, often.
you have mirror- mosaic eye,
one’s that make your body numb.
A piquant chisel touch, maybe.

A lampshade residing beneath our bedsheet,
capturing our love,
observing our total madness.
we decide our own insane galaxy, love


Sudden Denouement’s First Short Story Literary Prize – Open For Submissions Nov 1, 2018

So proud to be a part of this! All those interested in some story submission, check out this!

Sudden Denouement Collective

Since its inception in 2016, The Sudden Denouement Literary Collective has had the privilege of featuring some of today’s most fearless writers. With members that span the globe and editors who share a passion for pushing boundaries, we as a collective have enjoyed reading, promoting, and watching the success of each individual artist as they have grown in their craft and left their mark upon the literary world.

Now, as writers and readers, editors and fans, we at Sudden Denouement Literary Collective are ecstatic to open up the doors to our outstanding, award winning collective, and invite you all in to pull up a chair and tell us your stories.

The Sudden Denouement Literary Collective, and Sudden Denouement Publishing, are pleased to dip our toes into the waters of great literary contests and announce our first ever short story literary prize with a call for submissions from all of you.

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October and poetry


Branches of sky
detonates,
uttering words of roar,
it gives a mirage of October
dispersed
A swamp of shining fingers,
saying poetry in love.

I have a strange connection to poetry,
it kills and speaks to me,
unlike you and your methods.
A death star, on repeat.
And I celebrate my October,
doused in the bowl of slippery nights.

Darling


Darling,
a bumblebee of your name comes
and sticks to my comatose body
strewing words of your lips,
porcelain slick drops of rain.

There I am, endlessly counting
the threads of time,
your body like chemicals rushing,
talking tounges, flesh sinking in nature.
something surreal we deliver to autumn,
a painted silhouette of love.
We gulp the harrowing throb of time,

inhaling the movements of our doused body,
in a swamp of emblematic sheets of symmetry.
We become a pattern, a floral one,
darling...
this is how i take you,
Afternoon red sun.

lost.in. winters.

Misty hills, hauntingly beautiful: Shimla, Himachal Pradesh
Peels of orange zest
stuck to my tongue,
shading my mouth.
cold, frivolous air
slapping my cheeks,
lamps of cold night lit.
I sit and observe,
how summers played with my brain,
almost erratic,
now the winters will do the same
an art of regeneration,
something lost,
Pain comes from the folds of dark corners.


Tunnels and swamps of chemical emotions
peeling inner skin,
chop chop chop
a sound of pain,
winters are like this,
they fumble inside your body,
like a thing so beautiful.

Living with poetry

 

Each day i grow poetry out of my stillborn toes
where words drip honey, moisture and powder to evolve,
Words.   They rotate inside my iris, whirlpooling like catharsis.
Inch by inch, shifting like the moon,
embossing the sky, they perch on orchids,
to suck nectar,
to suck poetry from there.

And I see and grow outnumbered limbs all over my body.
The facets from my skin leak poetry as a seduction,
Romancing to ink, stains and silhouettes,
Life’s favourite romance is with poetry.
I have prolonged life maybe
and words are a lengthy delusion,
Quieter yet stronger.

I lit a forest inside my body.