If this is us…

Napowrimo continues

But the thing is everything shall be depleted. This. Us and our stay. What if, I could hold the habit of loving you for once? My eyelids dipped in lemon peel thinking of ways to dream about you. The rooms that still roar about our love making. The walls still cracking a semantic, quiet low noise of our moans and fight. Erratic evenings, whereby we submerge our small elbows in the auburn breeze. I want to cling to the habit of just that. Your coconut hair, small long talks, talks so mellow and crisp almost like I ate my fruit bowl. To hold your poetic words and brown moments of paper noise is all I had dreamt of all this while. To stay connected to your face, slender neck always popping and mind / spring quartet. Nothing else. That’s my habit/ a ritual that I perform each day to listen to the music of things staying lost between us. The Art of a singular dialogue. A singular atom of love. A single You.

Excess- a poem

Napowrimo#2
Not just this:
there is excess of daydream floating around,
a toothless, opaque body of light
what do we name it?
A house full of sighs/ gasps/ swollen people
where objects assume outlines

But who are you? To raise a question?
The minute I saw you, I could not escape.
On the sea floor, a sea- bell tolling
A multi- coloured house without a boundary.
All i see is you leaking from sideways.
You, numb/ like the trees that stop growing.
Everything in you is blue and in excess
Blue lakes& lagoons
Blue islands in the blue lake.
You
Gathering/ grinding/ mixing
everything in excess but 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_sou

Daisy and the fields

my body is a quiet place
it's about flowers stones a silent theatre
green threads of the blue sky

wet body of motifs and beautiful soft wildflowers

today,
the mind wanders for a soulful soul
a shade of velvet love- making,
golden embers, a glint of partial sunlight

my limbs are imagery, as if
my hands my poetry
this womb, a season of creation,
like sea, quickly as breath.
Stars of piquant desires.

We need to have something to hold on

I have thought of inculcating a better routine for this month now. I am happy to have my poems accepted in a few magazines as I thought would be doing for the month of March and I am not writing much. So, it’s okay actually! So, each month I would sit along with my journal writing my morning goals and long term goals and then I would bifurcate it into various aspects like mental, physical etc..and so far I have accomplished a few of my monthly goals. This process helps me to clear out any junk in my head and I stay more focused and perform better in all aesthetic aspects.

Apart from this I practice morning pages in which I would jot down all the random thoughts without caring about the handwriting etc but it’s mainly about a clarity in the though process which is too imperative, I believe. Reading the book “The Untethered Soul” was one of the best books that I read last year. The book reading happened while I was in the process of writing my book Crimson Skins and reading such a mindful book gave me such a vivid imagery of what I need to work upon if I want to heal from inside.

What are your opinions about a healthy lifestyle impacting one’s future? Share your routine in comments, maybe?:)

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Love and light

Devika

A quick update about my blog

artwork source- Pinterest

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Hi all !
I am just planning to engage in a new aspect of blogging and writing my heart out. For sure, I will be doing poetry, Poetry is my heart and religion but for some reason I want to connect deeper and would love to dig in more. I would love to discuss Art in all forms here. Surrealism and things so related. I am skeptical these days about my writing a little so giving it a small hold but apart from that I would love to be tagged for anything new or would love to check out your amazing diverse blogs. Please hold onto my blog and keep coming back to my new aspects of blogging which could be a simple life routine, a few updates anything at all. I am taking an off from my social media accounts once again because I want to stay connected with YOU ALL TOO MUCH.  Recently I did a collab poem with the stunning writer Lucy. Check out that here.


Attaching a poem from my collection of poems Crimson Skins. If you have not ,you can check out the same on all the major e commerce sites. Shared an Amazon US link.


My poetry is a portrait
And there it bleeds
with a straw of life
slipping
soaking a system of events
day by day
in the space of tectonic air.
My poetry is stuck
like a motif obeying no order
no smell of fear.
It stands on the wall
and watches it all happening.
A mouth like an operation room
choking on all supernatural paintings
floating, quietly
transforming into noise

Sending love and light

Devika

Late Moon- A collaboration

I am more than glad to have stumbled upon Lucy’s gorgeous blog and we both decided to do a collaboration together. Please read and let us know of your opinion in the comments. Show some love to her blog as well.

It happened again 
the dead sea full of dried emotions
and the charm to write about withering winters
happened again,
from my arms to my toe nails
with colors and with a paint- brush
the knuckles are red due to migraine,
the bosoms are sagging due to age.
The concept of time throws my memory into a massive ocean
of sins/ fears/ aches.
And I think of myself as a soft folktale,
lost somewhere,
occurring due to occult or a greasy lovemaking.
I count the days back and front
to defy the mouth in exasperation
to write about the shivering body.
Madness is what keeps my soul intact,
I can talk to my mind for longer hours often
with dead bumblebees right beside me,
here- with leaves falling upon my chest
my mahogany textured hair
clinging to a sad tree. (Devika)

If this is bliss,
please don’t leave; silhouettes
played by sculptural midnights
is a song and dance
of memory; the opus rises like god's rainwater
of tragedy and embrace—
it entrances my bones kneed into pride
like a strange dream; a legacy of my footing
in the stone, I saw it today in the past
to defy the orgasmic cult, prime and prime shadows
in the back of my mind,
as messianic blood drops
from my feet
it had crushed the late moon
on its garden bed,
almost thieving the sleeping bear
mentioned for its own season;
the eucalyptus wilts
in my asylumned winter, the violence within my dreams
and the uncoiled warmth of the thorn
into my side, claws into my first
breath.
(Lucy)
Lucy's blog

Untitled.

Dear readers,
How have you been all?
Even though I write my poetry and words and keep on doing so many various projects to help the writing community and people in general
why is there a sudden urge to relax a lot? I agree I need to take a pause. I believe in slow yet productive growth but somehow my mind is getting tired to easily due to all the works I am managing and no its not the stress that I have. It's something else.
Anyway, I wrote a short poem about how I feel.



The air burns,
with a punctured sniff.
the breeze sits on my chest
counting my eyelids, backwards
and the body swells up
without a notion of cold blossoms.
The air petrifies my nail,
the tears stink, often.
It's the forehead,
it's the arm
or is it my lips that hallucinates?
A cobweb, so brutal on my chin
blooming like a flower.
What do I call it now?
The season of spring or a particle of dust.

To the woman- who knows it all

The other day I thought of writing a poetry about healing 
About self- love, growth
Nonsense.
My tone is still abrupt, crooked, melancholic
Orange like the winter sun
My hands are yet pale.
Yellow as the home cooked oil,
The other day I thought of writing
about memories that soothe me
Motionless.
About the barren walks
Only to find how my head still bleeds
The mind that has empty grass,
Wild flowers not beautiful my friend,
Everything wild is not beautiful
for things need a foundation too.
Everything I know is rust
Everything I know is blue rain,
Forgotten like the rains so beautiful
Forgotten like the winter chills in the Summer.
Healing is a slow process
Coiling into a watery 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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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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