A love song

Let’s roll our tobacco tongues together, a song so pure, the poetry of cosmos. I have a word stuck on my eyelid to love to walk on the lines of your mind. A world created of seismic waves. And this bedsheet witnessing our lovemaking, I have a love song hidden under my blouse, intricate as… Continue reading A love song

A sinned anatomy

  I am a sound today, an inaudible gentle drop of a midsummer dream. Look, I have a scarred arm, degenerated now, An ear so small, obnoxious ways of survival. I evolve each day, still melting on toes. Funeral baths peeling my cold skin. There is abnormality happening on Thursdays, and a prayer going on… Continue reading A sinned anatomy

How do I smell poetry?

Step 1. Enter a room full of dark metaphors, Stir the analogy with the half baked synonyms trying to disturb your mind. Stir further, this thought process so ablaze. Wake up to small neutrons, amorphous floating protons, Multiplying, quietly. Step 2, Unfurl your sins in each room. Step by step, take a needle and start… Continue reading How do I smell poetry?

An ode to my mother

My mother has paper lips / beautiful, stale pages of love rubbing against each lip. She sings a dream of a crochet bag, each night, the times when I am unwell. My mother often dresses in saree that is obscure and restless, a brown hem of her dress slightly caressing my face. And I begin… Continue reading An ode to my mother

Devika Mathur – How I Function Each Day

Originally posted on Sudden Denouement Collective:
Wake up, a Sunday morning, brush… brush… brush. A round bottle of face wash, cleanse cleanse your soul now, rub…rub…rub with your knuckles upside down, breathe. Watch the sky, sip on your tea, a warm ginger aroma sip like an old lady, boredom comes next, one , two ,…

Cold talks

> I have seen women in a room chilled as the mountain, drowning in a ravenous shelter of heartache. A feverish leg that jolts in summer. Women breathe sand and exhale boken poetry. Women in my town, dessicated in fumes of black clouds, they do not speak about the evil talks now. What is it… Continue reading Cold talks

My fist – a home of dreams

This picture you see is a firework, a shooter of transparent memories. A vivid piece of artwork, fumbling across my face with veins growing up in the sky outwards and inwards a low key noise/ stammering through the delicacy of time/ Isn’t it strange? The oval diaphragm painted so calmly. I see this pink sapphire… Continue reading My fist – a home of dreams

The Final Dance

But then you never returned. And something orphan slipped from my cheek, A naked dance full of black solemn love, round and so full of evening stars sitting and sewing a song so pure unheard before You never came, so I announced my happy song emancipating from the almond-shaped walls. One such wall sits above… Continue reading The Final Dance

From Olive Skins

As you all know, I have started this lit magazine especially curated for abstract and surreal poetry which means a lot to me and so I urge you all to head over to this link and read this amazing poetry from a fellow poet. Please like, share and follow if you appreciate the work. https://oliveskins.com/2019/06/head-island-time-and-wave/