Countless


 
 
 

 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,
 throbbing now
 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.:)

https://store.pothi.com/book/devika-mathur-crimson-skins/- INDIA

Crimson skins- US

CRIMSON SKINS- BOOK DEPOSITORY

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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.

15 thoughts on “Countless”

  1. Beautifully expressed pain Devika. I especially admire the two opening lines. I found the image quite arresting! (btw: I’m taking a long break from Instagram, but I’m still posting on my blog. So please do visit me there from time to time!)

    Liked by 1 person

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