It’s about us. Our static atmosphere which keeps changing its dimension. Through the clandestine mouths of river and a dark cloud. At times, there is nothing but a tainted shadow our love growing a thick layer of fungus. We grow, anyway.
We grow and talk about the leftover meals, the swollen flowers of our garden, everything falling apart. Hush! We do not speak of the silence that lingers our throat sitting like a huge wound on our chest. The sad, forlorn shackles of stark grief. What goes beyond is treacherous, as if. A landscape dipped in the shades of sunsets and piquant feelings, a leaf coiling into a serpent. A flower wilting into a moth, things happen, just like that.
The screams are a reflection of an unslept sky. The dying women in neighbours. The abhorrence that is a moisture to the nature. Nature- it often mocks our grilled love and considers it a green fever. We grow anyway. We grow through the carcass, a catastrophe of splitted existence. Through kitchen sinks, chairs and through people, we grow like melted wax. A sharp body shedding its skin through and through.
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My god! Image and the caption! Love reading you always
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Hey! Thankyou so much for reading.:)
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dream to conceive
convince to believe
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I was very moved VS, this is lovely.
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Means a lot, thankyou.
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Your writing is divine! ❤
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Oh! Thankyou. I am probably blushing. Haha.
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Wonderful imagination Devika ! I love reading your poems and write ups 👍🤝
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Thankyou for saying that. Appreciate it.:)
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Excellent….YBR
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I’ll be honest, this actually painted a a very vivid surreal picture. its amazing! and your style of writing…. wow.
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I so cherish comments like these. Thank you so much.:)
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