If I could, I would evaporate through your mouth a doorawy to dreams and tiny dots- wild mushrooms dancing atop our bodies as if we have trapped the moon in our eyelids- eyelids that do not utter a word, flowers on terrace, static noises we scratch water with nails, dirt on our palms to know the film of our memory floating in the lake through breasts, heaviness and Autumn that still looks upon us and smile. smile to see us vacant and full, altogether. An awakening of God's music temple bells- gongs negating everything else/ but this stays this blooms.
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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