poetry

Protection

My days in afternoon are nothing like yours,
I spend most of it by bird- watching,
Somersaulting colors of the sky,
I sip my chamomile tea to prepare my mind 
for the evening’s strangers visit to my head.
My days are nothing like yours,
I adorn my necklaces again and again,
repetitive rituals often act like a slippery therapy.
Quiet and nostalgic.
Moments of velvet sadness.
I end my nights by weeping a little more,
by diffusing some hot coconut oil in my lamp,
to cease the heartache with a portion of leftover food maybe
as insane as it must be.
These are the things I do, to protect myself.

I wrote my poetry book – Crimson Skins out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here- IT’S AVAILABLE AT HALF THE COST ON POTHI.:) I have posted the reviews for my book in past posts, check it out if you are skeptical. I would appreciate it.
Crimson skins – US
Crimson Skins- POTHI
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poetry

Meteors

 


Bones indigo,
lacking a piece of earth,
inside your mouth of stars
a tremor of zodiac signs
Like a Taurus blooming.
 
You sprinkle lust
on my bosom
bubbles of thin colours,
a 4 am  moonlight sigh.
Tender mouths of mud and water,
unborn fruits of the ultimate kiss.
This is us.
 
My hips now like a parched lake.
I am made up of unpruned divinity,
an untamed odorless shadow of sky
between the thick sheets of a dark city.
 
Beautiful sun,
how you grow all over  me,
with a swollen tongue licking my mouth,
as if collapsing in his arms.
Inside my mind, there is a temple.
Rain
Sun
Earth
I will crack my eyelids open, now.
 
-----------------------------------------------
(I wrote this piece a long time ago)
I wrote my poetry book – Crimson Skins out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here- IT’S AVAILABLE AT HALF THE COST ON POTHI.:) I have posted the reviews for my book in past posts, check it out if you are skeptical. I would appreciate it.
Crimson skins – US
Crimson Skins- POTHI
Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_sou
poetry

A concern to self-

And there is almost nothing but this silence
with which I caress my pallid numb thoughts
mud stained- inner knuckles,
fingernails growing all small and ugly
and not just that,
but I sleep with my dirty longings as well.
Bed of misery beneath the flesh of tongue.
Endless field of dark fragmented hopes/
You name it.
I wonder if this will be the season of spring inside my dreary grassland
Of beautiful spring flowers
things that resonate with the Earth, the moon and the stars.
Will it be a hiccup or a lost prayer?
———————————————————————————-


I wrote my poetry book – Crimson Skins out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here- IT’S AVAILABLE AT HALF THE COST ON POTHI.:) I have posted the reviews for my book in past posts, check it out if you are skeptical. I would appreciate it.
Crimson skins – US
Crimson Skins- POTHI
Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_sou

poetry

The lovemaking

The hem of my body is paper

and my tongue- the silk threads of ice cubes

The night spreads its monotonous tone under my moan

the voices that erupts my chest often,

about your skin:

about your name:

the existence of the Sun inside your wounds,

the mouth opens and a soft touch sits inside

The touch is of your scarlet memories

the sea beneath a mountain.

Nothing remains to be said now.

The body demands a blindfold

a language beyond comprehension

it wishes to float

to tear itself apart

with veins that sing songs of Spring.

And here,

a thing blooms too.

A thing exists too.

And here,

madness is an unleashed song

on my forehead of desire

like eye of sin protruding from all the corners

soaked in a desperation

counting backwards the hiccups spend under the sheet.

life · poetry

The itch



the itch,
the orange glass ceilings always fail my existence,
an inhuman thing sinks beneath my eyelids
walking abruptly, in patterns unknown,
there are things which makes no sense
a loose river like madness
a loose butter like sky slipping from my white hands,
my hands which are now counting the marks of my footprints
making a spiral knot about this moments,
this momentary void inside of me,
this permanent injuries inside of me.
as everything engulfs everything
the violence in its own chest
the cold murder of my hands
and the body still counts the days left to breathe.
 I wrote my poetry book – Crimson Skins out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here- IT’S AVAILABLE AT HALF THE COST ON POTHI.:) I have posted the reviews for my book in past posts, check it out if you are skeptical. I would appreciate it.
Crimson skins – US
Crimson Skins- POTHI
Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_sou

poetry

The body


The flesh is incoherent
the nuance of this body is sand
all things that sit inside my bones, tremble
like sounds unheard,
from the Indian mountains it begins to crack
piece by piece
as if it is the wail of time
as if there is no neck to this body.
Humans- all that they love, sinks beneath,
somewhere.
And my eyes become wrinkled pomegranate seeds
awash beside the uprooted trees of misery.
I wrote my poetry book – Crimson Skins out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here- IT’S AVAILABLE AT HALF THE COST ON POTHI.:) I have posted the reviews for my book in past posts, check it out if you are skeptical. I would appreciate it.
Crimson skins – US
Crimson Skins- POTHI
Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_sou
poetry

The Kali Project: From Start to Finish

Originally posted on Indie Blu(e) Publishing:
An exhaustive account of the inception and the fruition of the Kali Project by Co-Editor Candice Louisa Daquin At the beginning of 2020 … I had a conversation with Indian surrealist poet Devika Mathur about an anthology of Indian women poets. I had just edited Devika’s first poetry…

The Kali Project: From Start to Finish

life · poetry

This Moment

I got Hipster

Inspired by- Eavan Boland

A balcony.
Brewed tea. Things are getting ready.

a neighbour folds her dried out clothes.
Another vendor strolls across the streets.
Oranges and papayas , he screams.

Stars and moon,
things become raw at night.
Opaque tunes of the clouds distorting,

things pause as the sun sets in.
This moment,
a women walks in the kitchen
to get things ready for dinner.

A bizzare hustle,
Fruits ripening,
An old painting getting chipped.
This moment.


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poetry

If I could- a poem from my book ‘Crimson Skins’




If I could
I would elope with my insanity
with a lavender bud blooming inside
my cheek.
I write mad things
drawing the turbid face of a blue lady
as if she has no blood vessels.
Breathless.
Slow.
Melting.
Twirling in my skirt skirts,
twirling along the locus.
My breaths inflate this entire galaxy.
like an elastic stuck to the tongue,
this tongue that is motionless too.
If I could, I would sink in an ephemeral elegy
denying the neon green hope.
A snivel of moist grass.
A question of reality.
I will smirk & dance
and clap & clap.
A century of feeble screams suppressed under
my soft skin.
This madness makes me complete; I say so.
A sea of voice hidden under my curves.
I carry so many of you
here & there.
If I could,
I would melt along with you.



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Find attached all the links to get your own copy. AVAILABLE ON KINDLE.
I wrote my poetry book – Crimson Skins out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here- IT’S AVAILABLE AT HALF THE COST ON POTHI.:) I have posted the reviews for my book in past posts, check it out if you are skeptical. I would appreciate it.
Crimson skins – US
Crimson Skins- POTHI
Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_sou

life · poetry · prose

The Night

And after the things have been quiet,
a slow nocturnal pause returns
a pause to collapse again,
There is an endless whistling,
with a bleached sky
a bleached portion of the sunset
I can still touch it,
the surface of things breaking apart,
the nuisance of the blood vessel
the hanging canopy of faces: dry/parallel.
The night takes everything within itself,
abandoned by all,
it has not the face of love.
I know the sniff of abandonment
where the night spews distorted loneliness
through my body – a pool of flustered pink love.
———————————————————

I wrote my poetry book – Crimson Skins out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here- IT’S AVAILABLE AT HALF THE COST ON POTHI.:) I have posted the reviews for my book in past posts, check it out if you are skeptical. I would appreciate it.

Crimson skins – US

Crimson Skins- POTHI

Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_soul