Arbitration-






Scissors often draw a diagram
On my cold slender hands,
A light peeks in, as if to tell something new.
A light 
A hope.

A hiccup that stops another hiccup.
This light, a soft tune to my ears.
What do I consider this art of life?
A hummus stain on my sequin dress.
A quiet noise, inside my vase body.

It's interruption.
If a thing dies, let it be.
Let the hand sink.
Let the light go.

Let things go.


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Crimson Skins



		
	
			

			
				


	


	
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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.			
		


	




	







			

			13 thoughts on “Arbitration-”		


		
		
    
					
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    Hmm it speaks to me of the hollowness one finds in others’ interface with one’s art, the rarity of genuine understanding in it. But I guess that’s just what I’m taking from scissors and hands.. Anyway, the language and imagery provokes thought. The hummus stain on a sequin dress is a particularly fine juxtaposition. I hate dissecting a poem because it’s either lazy or overdone. But yeah. I guess I’m trying to appreciate it in some way, but it’s probably hollow.
    

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      I really appreciate you stopping by my words and digging it at its depth. I wonder hiw accurate you can be as poetry can often require bizzare mindset. I am glad you like what you read here!:)
      

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