Corona

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I see you hanging from the roots of the mighty moon that join the oblivion distance between our naked space. This space is Point Blank. Your screams scratch your inner linings of delicate skin, producing an hour of a shooting star. A river of pervasive murmurs.

I walk along, to slurp the pain, the gain, the withering, the blooming onto my toe ring, soothing yet mystical. Burn the ash, lit the fire. Do you see the distance?

Flicker the holy waters onto your collarbone, smell its corona like fragrance.

Melt along with me into fragments of desire, lost yet found.


©my valiant soul

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Wild Star

 

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image credits- Pinterest

 

That night was like firecracker. Galaxy overloaded with the stardust. The hums of two souls on this bed sheet could be heard above in the oblivion red sky. The music that our touch produced, the chains formed of lust, the golden promises, the congruence of love. That impeccable mystery rocked the spaces above, it rained heavenly like our jocund voices were heard. The smell of your skin mingled with the Celebration flew across, through the fields brushing those mustard crops and to the valley declaring thunderstorms. The collision was into our breaths, into our sighs.

I saw you bitting my tongue. My pink tongue.

My moans took the form of transparent dewdrops, it was a paroxysm of fire and ice, gliding through your sturdy caricature, flowing diligently into your mind. Creating motif. Chemical formula finally lingering your colossal enigma. The intrusive knots of passion.

It was the thumping of our heartbeats, the intoxication of love, the caress of your touch, making me that fragile flower blooming in despair. A lotus. A shadow of your soul dancing on Earth.


P.S -My poem Soul on Soul published on Spill words. You may check my work here.

©My Valiant Soul


 

Dark- Tea-Tales

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image credits- Mary Cassatt

Come sit, have a cup of the black tea, I prepared.
The story is long for your forlorn heart would claim the pain in a moment or two.
The chain I talk today, oh, sorrow is diabolical.
So frugal, barbarous.
The inside of my heart left the colonies of fairy dust as if.
As I cross my wrist, hear the crackle of the bone.

The crackle of my solitude.
lit in my eyes,
blazing
the burning glaze you see,
the dilapidating music you hear,
come sit, have another cup of the black tea.
The ruckus runs through my dry skin, joining dots on my skin,
creating shambles like a dead corpse
creating paradox.
The arms extend late nights to grab a bottle of comfort, you see?
The comfort — a meadow, oh, the sweet meadow.
Peace like the ravishing Orchids, white nature.
Yes, the soft feather stating, gorgeous wings, infinite joyous tales to discover.
Oh, you finished the tea, wish a refill?
For this soul can say the darkest of the chronicles,
like the flowing wishful, the evergreen Ganges.

©My Valiant Soul



 

The way it is.

 

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A box of hidden muse resides in my heart. I try to hear the amorphous murmur the times I am cold in my warm blanket. The smoke and ashes brew a pool of blurry images, my past tales that plunge deep into my veins, unable I am to move. Numb my thighs remain, numb my eyes remain.

My room walls have gone pale, shooting bullets in my mouth, it hurts.

The conundrum scissors mock my caricature, forming turbulence on my ceilings, in my ceilings. Nothing erupts out but the insipid cold droplets of heartaches, drop by drop it falls on my fingernails, burning like ice, cold as ice, that is how numb I float in the horizon of duplex walls.

Like my chin resting on that eccentric needle, swords fighting producing my legs and arms, now they remain silent and here is the time, when the incumbent work is at a halt.

So I wither and wither.

 



 

The ball of shadow

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Creating maps, a shadow of present and future,

I am scarlet, red ball of hope,fire with golden skin drooling in my cerebrum.

I hold your forlorn secrets of love, euphoria

Thoughts of tranquility, bewilderement.

The tassels of my veins drop from the abyss to your cascading voice

Voice of unheard owl,

Voice of stale rum from your creaking cabinet

Hear, the roar, then circle around the chords of fire and I shall put my sonder finger,
The soft baby fur in your twinings of eye

I may melt away, like the hot wax after the flamboyance of my stainless charm you see

That flickers on the epidermis of a new born child extending from it’s arm

Hanging to the knee joint of it’s granny.

Her skin, my revealation, my reflection.

You tell your clandestine tales as shackles  to me, yet mingling in the soft comfort of

My nemesis-the Moon.

Curl your spirit, trim the patchy mud

Produce bouquet of roses

A potion of clairvoyance.

A coffin to immortal souls.

Jump on my palpitating marks of grace,

Swallow my gifted praise

Swallow the mercury,

The titanium I wear

the caress of my toes tickling your cold winters shrug

Embracing the pits you produced

The heinous acts of disgust

The conundrum play.

My vigor holds marks of indelible faith,

An alacritous Sirimiri

To compose the monotonous dry days

My nectar, sweet honey-suckle home to wanderes, the bandits, the truth holders

Producing a teacup of auburn rays

An array of shimmery light

The colossal rhythm on fingers

A dandelion kiss.
-myvaliantsoul.

The-wisdom- is- her

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Mother: You are a hyperbole of the moon and the star, a hubris of soliloquy.

Like floating wax, you extend your skin to my mouth, forming chains of bewilderment

chains of congruence     chains of mammoth frills of hope.

You lie in the darkest of hours with a sparkle of holy water on your chin, the pink chin,

the orange chin, the grey chin where all the clandestine secrets are packed between

your teeth and the parched lips, you give blossom to my hair extending to my curves

the scarlet, metamorphosis pattern of face

Opulent serenity lies in your blood, I see my reflection

Time, death or a crooked  tree, you put embroidery incumbent to survive the veracity,

harsh or simple.

Objects around you become opaque, hollows of orange skies

squares of white ice, the eye of Satan

I absorb all the conjectures knitted in the black of  your eyes

to the stars in your magical touch

the fidelity to produce a seed: a seed I shall carry

a seed I may fail

your liquid, pale truth of surviving I inhale in the morbid tales of summer

only to form the web of ink and paper burning inside your motionless,

sturdy, an amalgamation of Supreme Ant  intoxicating, all pouring inside

basket of void, dulcet, a white star.



 

Shades of emotion-the black-the red-the grey

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The Black

Hoops of the anxious soul are hanging in the most voracious way.I hear thunder, rustling silence.This is my first phase, anger.

The intimidating red eyes. The eyes of satan, they say. The faded shades of grey, charcoal, as my wrist remain crossed.

I put my wrist on top of my forehead.The sagging forehead.

The conundrum geography exists right here, sharply ecstatic.

Hot wax, profound depth, a lingering cold wave.

A dark, gruesome heart.

A ghost- like canopy of thoughts.

The Red.

This is a melancholic phase.

A lugubrious red sorrow shining on my pinky finger, the tales of the darkly skinned elbow.

the bends on my skin, my crooked skin.

the way sky forms uneven patterns,

leaving us bewildered of the richness, the great creations.

All I see is complexities, the bars of a collision, gateway of numbness.

A stoppage.

The vague dreams.

Now the heart is crooked.

The Grey.

A wave of cornered soul resists like the last droplets of rain.

Tiring yellow pages, not desiring to be read further.

Monotonous paths, monotonous tones, monotonous human.

I kiss my pain in a breezing way, hugging my own doleful pits.

the screams forms chains of comfort, the sky is indicating a pattern,

the crookedness is recovering into a deeper hole

name it comfort?Name it a bliss. Oh!Don’t name it.

As it’s still  a vivid hole, murky,

dark, distilled in my conscious, collided with my mindset,

it’s grey here, my palm is feverish

my eyelids are the coherence of deeper shades of grey

this is the phase,

this is the ultimate revival, mystical.