BARREN DAYS These days, possiblyI could stay awake all nightwithout lids openwithout an outgrown mass for affectionstaring into the raw rims of oval mouth- night shifters, I say. A thing might be done during the afternoonsbut generally nothing much happens in my houseall yellow- mahogany ruptured landscapewith tainted smiles to watchmonotony of colours, pigments and […]
Poems by Devika Mathur
Fermenting the swan shaped neck- the tears that merge into cerulean lake. People name it- glorious sunset. Mud holes and sweet limes. People name everything they see, They call names and give them back. Circulation of hopes and the nerves attaching to it. Love- Hate. What all do you see? Ladies at work and men at bed. Men at work and ladies all alone. No new moon shines today. Fermenting the loathed swan shaped body tonight.
Listen up
here,
amidst the greenfield. raindrops dancing.
onto our toes.
Heavy atmosphere.
Seagulls atop our fingenails.
Wait, watch the sky.
Wait. Here, count the sky.
seraphic susurrous sighs. Sustenance
climb the stairs Sliding
climb the sky
reverberate Anthropocene
Pronounce Platonic.
Renaissance.
Do not flutter now.
Wait for me.
Let's elope together
into the void
into the madness.
Please click on the poem to read the experimental format of the poem.
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Read my poetry collection ‘Crimson Skins’ on Kindle, Amazon.
Bare skins
electromagnetic cheeks- ripples through air,
soil, air all one-
all one mouth
of untamed fizz.
untamed vestibule---- singular space and singular loneliness.
your skin is a fine example of my night time lullaby,
crescent fall leaf's song, onto my nude lip.
one by one- as I call your name,
I sing a choir and stand in the experimental splash of colours.
I think of your mundane time,
solid blue eye- shared collectiveness.
shared solitude.
Night- my sodden muse.
Outside the window, I think of your sniff
of your favourite sun touched hand,
this space, a white pool of madness,
this is the geometry we stich together,
air in hurdled spaces.
I hear a quiet shout, screeching under my eyes- How long do I float, anonymously? to declare is what I want- space and time stars and grass, look at my one hand, the one that stares you- curvatures of my body= lotus. Lotus that spews water from its body again and again. Call it life. Give it a name- Air, will you be a space to my existence? Water- will you sing songs to my graveyard? Fire, burn along. Do not resist anything further. This day inhales "me" in the most blasphemous way. I do it through a circular band on forehead. I soak everything like a sponge. Watering lilies and eating oatmeal. Please be mine- You, the ferocious 'eye'. Apply a cold balm all through my body- know my persistence of time and know what I mean. ----------------- To read my book- Crimson Skins- India Crimson Skins- US
the body is a loose powder longing through the rooms, vacant mountains of chills. bare chest- a throbbing slitting moan. the moon kisses and watches over linguistics of a body. decoding cacophony of amorphous substance. unwrapping a flower- the body is dream, you must say. it slips and sticks to the wall- a whorl of pink tongue. I sit and produce words during the daytime as I watch over my window for a twig to be stuck to my throat- instead I have maroon dreams and floral nights - sore limbs now, sore words- I shift to a different paradigm, I shift to lotus from rose. The arrangement of bones has a purpose now.
the shriek of my body, a purple loose hanging moon beneath the toes- a shriek so wild stretches through the carcass I have nothing left to weep now for the moon has taken a dip inside the river. I hear my village burning, and see people sleeping so quietly, so wildly as if nothing ever happened. A lullaby lost in a path- mouthless, a blue broken hemisphere. What do I do with my limbs now? How do I sit and regenerate in a porous night?
The bars are white soapy mouth
The sky is an unforgettable moment.
I take out my paper and mention my gratitude list-
I mention
breath
onion
Ketchup
broccoli
Sylvia
rosemary
Pauses
The sun kisses my toes by the daytime
slushing,
suitcases and winter games.
I write too many sad poems, I know.
I write too many absent spirited lives.
Loneliness spews black paint through my crevices.
I bloom too.
I bloom at darker,
soft places
like – a sniff of a mountain or vapourizing lakes.
I must return to my kitchen now-
peel potatoes and count the peanuts
Pink sky-
floral saturn rings of now and before.
I must return now, quickly.
They talk about everything so coarse and grainy-
but not my mouth, empty and cold.
Lukewarm particles of mother’s voice
floating
White/ blue/ grey-
I see shades of attachment and delirium.
Together, through a visceral bone,
Skins aglow- white talcum powder all distorted.
My dressing table is a desert.
A pause. Concrete and blind sun.
I watch my image as strong as an eel,
a pivotal insect preying on itself
frolic, lurid paper towns-
all departing my marigold fingers one by one.
Counting stops and so does the nuptial song
with neon green signs, and yellow street children,
the hem of my lips, spiral now.
Here- I go to my bed..
zig zag,
muted
Collapsed.
with chained ankles,
hush, thrilling lips,
a body floats inside my mind,
dwindling through the carcass,
old and vintage-
a mahogany river of crooked moonlight,
this body blooms and sinks at the same time,
uttering a blob of big sun-shaped tongue
emerging out,
emerging through the stains and walls
through veins and puddles.
this time itches now,
I have wounds all over my barren body
a body- now a pit of marks.
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If you love reading my poems and works you might enjoy my book Crimson Skins. I can’t believe it has been an year since my book published and each time I hold my baby, I am choked with pride. You can get your copies on Kindle, Amazon, Pothi etc. sharing links- Crimson skins – US Crimson Skins- POTHI Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_soul
She is a small island
A voiceless twig to flutter
A crecent of moon dropped from beneath-
the body is resourceful
spun into a river.
Now I am silent as I watch my window
with angular toes amd face
birds so small and distant,
That is that. That is that.
Bones awaiting the hours to fly by,
And here people like light rays leave
Salt without wrinkle
Ceiling without star.
I am calm. I am sand. I am calm.
It is the calmness that settles, flees and aborts
into miniature beings of discomfort blankets and nap.
A rare yellow minute when the birds die in the womb.
Visceral bones
thrush
thrush.
Tongue of birds
A cluster of sunshine.
Moles of heaviness on my cheeks
I have not been sleeping anymore.
How can I?
I see black moths in my dreams
I am too cood now,
Watery tongues,
flattened bones of evening.
Knock knock
A thunder to sip and watch.
Gaps are collected on my knuckles.
I need R. E. S. T.
A rest as blue pregnant sky.
I have a poem published on The Hyderabad Review. Please do let me know if you read it. Many thanks to the beautiful journal.
Love
Devika
Finger's spread through walls licking the green fear a moist mayhem spreading onto my chest chewing the dead society people give names to my existence a continous dreary process I feel oblong and circular shouts rummaging through the ceiling fire in my neck, movements occur as pulse during the time curtain of this thought who am I? A passage or a full stop- a dreamlike stay a touch a vapour mud..earth..mud..earth. The mind stays softer, mine like sweaters in summers, fresh tangerine juice. Who am I? -----------------------------------------------
If you love reading my poems and works you might enjoy my book Crimson Skins. I can’t believe it has been an year since my book published and each time I hold my baby, I am choked with pride. You can get your copies on Kindle, Amazon, Pothi etc. sharing links- Crimson skins – US Crimson Skins- POTHI Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_soul
I have a poem published in the monsoon issue of The Woman Inc. Please pay a read. Thank you.
By Devika Mathur
The shades of skin- glowing like April mornings
a soft warm tone of Gulmohar tree upon my eyelids-
a doorway to oceans, two pebble eyes
Open in the open sky
This tree a meteor of clouds to my mind
to remind me of Earth, soil and home.
Rains: a thunder of God’s voice
Gulmohar tree- pockets of cellophane wrapped on its bark
to bloom something more
tender, quiet roar of women.
I see leaves, rustling
with leeks and violet rays uttering a dialogue of beauty
of dark violet raisin pressed between my palms,
This tree has me. These raindrops seeps into my fist and eyes
as a whole another Goddess.
as a whole another memory.
Gulmohar- your orange red hair blooming backwards
As if life slips from you easily,
So softly as a lover’s touch.
You have a staircase full of outgrown desires
You leave it and…
View original post 127 more words
the yellow stark trees
smiling through the purple grass
with a nocturnal tether to hold us
US- a portrait of clay and dust
full of small longings,
growing and congregations bending
Late autumn, and at night,
we melt-
melting through skins and teeth
through fever and blossoms-
We speak of ripped earth
and a few things more.
Autumn, a kiss of lovers.
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If you love reading my poems and works you might enjoy my book Crimson Skins. I can’t believe it has been an year since my book published and each time I hold my baby, I am choked with pride. You can get your copies on Kindle, Amazon, Pothi etc.
sharing links-
Crimson skins – US
Crimson Skins- POTHI
Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_soul
MY VALIANT SOUL 
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