Published at FVR
Time aches like my joint pain today,
A word of despair in the air,
With a chalice submerged in anxiety.
There is a bomb/ a knife somewhere hidden,
Hidden like a cult practice,
Destiny is a crime, we all commit,
Slipping our cheeks between the pale trees,
It’s almost death to see oneselfheld by this thing
A roughened lip speaking of a dark wasp,
Slips like a mother’s touch.
A knotted red hairdo,
How do you shift your mannequin?
The nude sun dressed like an orange hydrangea,
Flapping throughtalks of mind.
A generation is born inside the mouth,
Wobbling this entire body,
Time sits here on my lap,
And watches the bizarre
Belligerent touch of life.
Devika Mathur, is a poet from India. Her work has been published in Subterranean blue Poetry, Visual Verse, The rye whiskey, Indian periodicals, Sudden denouement and elsewhere.
She blogs athttps://myvaliantsoulsblog.wordpress.com/
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