The night

There are different ways in which i sip my tea the one that dwells inside my chest speaking of you, your eyes are my favourite perfume, a rivetting hiccup that soothes my freckles. My tea speaks of you in ways indefinite. The body is incoherent, beating loudly to sit beneath your ailments, your feverish toe… Continue reading The night

‘I am more than breath and bone’ April 2020 Creativity Prompt Challenge

Originally posted on Brave & Reckless:
One of my favorite Brave and Reckless writing challenges from 2017 was the phrase ‘I am more than breath and bone’.¬† This worthy prompt will serve as my April Creativity Challenge and I look forward to seeing what new pieces of writing or art it might inspire. The Rules…

a/ Palette of cycle

What becomes out of a light that perches on the shade? A coma or a complete sentence? Does a wound heal if exposd to a skin’s love? What becomes of a translucent onion that can not be further minced? A life comes with a moment of quietness through the lens of wet eye. A doctor’s… Continue reading a/ Palette of cycle

The mind of a Poet

  I have this indigo skyline infront of me, expanding the vastness i put my thoughts about it into my blood. not swallowing it down to my veins i have thoughts about thoughts, my pale tea leaves dissolving so fervently into the water, the sorbet pouring down the jug till the rim creaks i have… Continue reading The mind of a Poet

smell of death

this is to my property, to my poetry that sinks beneath the cave of obsolete synonyms a blob of blur pain, a vasectomy to the skin of dreams. There are things still left to comprehend for me, like the voices of women, in the kitchen in the lawns of hilly areas, a tree that speaks… Continue reading smell of death

song of despair

  the body swells in the anarchy of lunatic afternoon the mouth fumbles, softly dripping¬† sonnets from the toes, the face gulps the horrors swiveling across the pale streets, i sing a song so full of flat tune now, in the small clots of blue sky. and I never stop staring at that sky, that… Continue reading song of despair

Sketch in noon

I sit in the open lawn a lawn full of earth and skeptic memoirs the scattered Congregation of unskewered mind. I see a mushroom sprouting here in the garden, the thick shoots clinging another. Co-existence must be a plaster? And then I hear the temple bells, altogether, the sound similar to my mother’s laughter. but… Continue reading Sketch in noon