The mind of a Poet

 

the urge to feel freepic.twitter.com/bL3Xi0SkmD

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 you in my mind now,
sipping my cold talks,
between the creaking of mountains and bed,
I split & tear
quenching, reaching like tides.

A poet’s mind is never too quiet
it absorbs even as the sky expands with colors so unbearable, quietly.
And i do not refuse death, so that you may know.
I knead my loneliness safely down my sweet- ankle apple,
all through th trembling small palms.
I keep it to my body, somehow.

on many other occasions, I would weep through a lipstick and a forlorn tale,
a tale you must not know,
eating a fruit so wild,
shutting off the dim lights
There is a process of a thin black band expanding
as if the body is swaying through the knowledge that is wild.
I am often so subdued as if everything is disgusting.

The poet’s mind is too insane to write a word like
//

M I R T H//

through the shards of the ceilings.
Death makes so much sense to the poets,
they almost survive the death each night.

Published by

my valiant soul

A dreamer and a believer for the upliftment of women rights. A published poet, author, writer. Believes in dancing and cooking amazing food for hungry souls at times. Loves to write and write till the moon is satisfied. My writings can be found at Visual Verse, Indian Periodical, Sick Lit mag, Duane's Poetree, Thistle magazine, among various others. Curator of Olive Skins.

22 thoughts on “The mind of a Poet”

  1. I wrote a lot of poetry in my twenties and that last line really resonates with me. Hi there. I am inviting you to check out my blog about my book which details growing up with undiagnosed autism. Thank you.

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