How many times do I shift my bodily postures?
from a room so cold, so absolute,
to a room full of hopes.
There is a never -ending system
of dying things in here.
I move like a ‘banjaran’
wishing for dead leaves,
painted auburn sky
sunlight hitting my pale, loose skin,
I move to hide my burnt scar,
layers of cold ripped moths biting each other.
How many times do I slip from this moment?
wrapped into a crochet woven by memories,
How many times do I defy my existence?
Fragments of red – like winters forming on my chest.
How many I times I become countless?
(banjaran- a wanderer)
I would appreciate if you could check out my poetry collection Crimson Skins through the links below. Read it on Kindle maybe? Share and spread.:)
A few years back, I was lost in the era of pain and wound, emotional and physical reverberation. Times that made me crippled, head full of variety of aches and then I decided to print my emotions into a voice louder than my pain. I wrote my book with labor, love and sweat. I am grateful for the lovely, heartfelt reviews it received. If you want you can still read my book Crimson Skins on Amazon, Kindle available worldwide. I would appreciate it. Thanks.