i have lived a thousands lives,
yet this winter is like a moth.
it has eaten me up,
from my toenail to my collarbone.
now i am naked. skin in pieces.
this winter, shallow waters of broken promise.
this winter, a conch doused in anaemic water.
i am no human today.
i weep like my ceilings.
wrapped up in my own silent time.
Who would pick me up?
like moon conjuctured upon my laps,
drawing seismic patterns.
its all about this winters.
P.s I may be taking an off from here. You all still can find me on Instagram by the same name.
i guess, at times i walk on the waters,
the ebb, a reminder of my narrow chin.
i have a thing for kissing life.
and i do it precisely well.
i kiss and drink the sweetness,
the stars and the sound of the bells.
i metamorph into a syllabus of a veritable smirk.
dreams hold my mouth and put me back to sleep until i am awake like colours,
vibrant and throbbing a dark spot.
at times, i become seasons,
my body, a criss-cross of lanterns.
it’s small and beautiful.
And that’s how i inhale smoke,
my voice tore away like sunsets falling into the rivers.
streams of gushing ripples on my cheeks.
there was a time once,
when poetry was all Mediterranean Sea to me,
with potholes and hammers,
squirming noises of silence.
The semesters of trimmed life makes me a moon,
a person in illusion,
a mirage rising inside the languid skin.
i offered hope,
the final gleam,
protrusions of my bone
like sediments rafting.
i offered ignorance,
a slick of tongue,
spitting and spewing nocturnal thoughts
the elbow balances the shades of anger,
with disgust burning like orange lust.
i am walking
i am walking like the moon,
shedding a splinter.
i take this hanging time
and gulp it like a pill,
again and again,
i open my eyes now,
to swallow the feeling of numbness.
an icicle sharp,
unnumbered and undissolved,
moles on my body swell up.
Fever, rage, thirst, migraines.
this is the final stage of observance.
I count the enormous voices,
stranded, circulating and trotting.
olive tears swathed into blood corpuscles.
i am all dissolved now into emptiness.
yet, i am alright
the galloping strides of heartaches
i am white & floaty like clouds.
thick sheets of molasses.
Old lavender strings hanging on my chest.
i am a convex memory of wax.
flashback of old days speak to me,
like vintage numbers,
vintage walls & laughters.
i have a thing with people.
i mark and eat them along with the spaces.
completely. Bones. ashes. all in me,
as i create my nausea myself
dripping down my red lips.
i create and dissolve.
you would burn in waters,
if you could feel my skin now.
smudged dose of love, insipid flaky fingers
this arm hurts now from resurrecting my soul,
streams of rivers lynching my soft neck.
i long for love and loneliness altogether
cleaved moon dripping honey on pale skin.
you kept me breaking, like twings and forests.
sliced ounce of crooked lemon zest, burning.
it kept me hurting yet alive, you see.
i could feel the faulty facets
leaking sideways of my languid arms.
topsy turvy my tongue, this moment.
i am moth, sucking glaze from marigold,
camouflaging dust & bitter taste of you, perhaps.
this is me, this is survival now.
swallowing all that I see.