poetry

The voice

Have you ever washed your face like a duck?
standing infront of the mirror, that speaks an insane story about you?
a swamp of retractable wounds.
It’s not about the dirt I carry,
this emptiness sits and gawks at me, like a mother.

I often watch the pattern of breakouts on my cheeks.
Is this how I shall die, slowly like a mole?
Ah, even the moon often casts a pneumonic sound on chest,
and the heaviness is inexplicable.
Salmon- skinned my arms, speaks a tale of afternoon,
a silver silhouette tale of remorse.
the day when I evaporated and never came back.
I am afraid though of my shadow,
afraid of my own body organs.
These lips may slip like Thames
and eyes can be dissolved, mortified.

/ Nobody in this room knows survival/
words are winter to these humans.
They are cold, obliterate.

Today, I do not care.
I do not care for petrified unction.

In hummus, fingers dipped in maniac voice
and mind speaking something demonic,
I might be hopeless as they say.
Call me elastic, a warped box.

Yes,I lack moisture.
A tune to drink and fly.
That’s the voice of a woman.
A clinging kryptonite photo frame.


34 thoughts on “The voice

  1. You nailed the tone and imagery in this piece today, D. It’s the type of poetry I aspire to write and adore to read. You also had a lot of fantastic lines, but since I can’t share them all (I’d quote almost the whole thing back to you??) so I’ll share only one:

    “Nobody in this room knows survival/
words are winter to these humans.”

    Wow. ♥️🎈🤗

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Thank you for noticing a different tone in this one. I know it’s still dark but that’s how I feel and you have just made me humbled yet again with your sweet words.
      I actually am glad that you liked that line too. Feels real, no?
      Thanks love.

      Liked by 3 people

      1. We can always find beauty in darkness and other times we need to simply bask in darkness— I’ve saw both from your poetry, but I did note the change in tone here.
        that line gave me goosebumps and I had to read it again. Powerful.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Have you ever washed your face like a duck?
    standing infront of the mirror, that speaks an insane story about you?
    a swamp of retractable wounds.
    It’s not about the dirt I carry,
    this emptiness sits and gawks at me, like a mother…..this paragraph is stunning💙💙💙💙💙…wow…such an intense words and feel you compared with duck And it’s cleaning of face in water…we observe things devika..I mean when you like to write poems to put something intense we chose intense tools or intense objects or nature’s or something..especially when it’s dark theme people always try to explore gloominess through body ,emotions,negativity etc..but how can you see that in duck…!! Oh my…YOU ARE GIFTED..

    Liked by 1 person

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