But this sorrow never ends. The tongue that runs cold due to platonic threads of sins and cold meadows the ache is blooming each day beneath the blue unfolded eyes the colour green- now a tone of burning bodies this is my survival song, you see with lines cryptic sunset on my lap the night never fades away the soil enriched with a glint of my water my heavy overwhelming collapsing lungs. this poem shall not soothe you- instead would ask you to hunt something more some more of air, water, sun , fire. in your neighborhood about the fallen leaves. dry tongues, neck choking. about things so unpleasant you would not otherwise want to know.
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.
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