Cold talks

>

I have seen women in a room
chilled as the mountain,
drowning in a ravenous shelter of heartache.
A feverish leg that jolts in summer.
Women breathe sand and exhale boken poetry.
Women in my town, dessicated in fumes of black clouds,
they do not speak about the evil talks now.
What is it that revolving between their cleavage?
White as their scarred skin,
summer rains blooming between thin eyelashes.
A star slips on their neck, nonchalantly
and they shove it back in their dreams.
a lullaby is eaten and forgotten, again & again.


P.S- to read some good poetry from different writers check out Olive Skins

Advertisements

My fist – a home of dreams

'MENORCA' - SPRING 2018 KINLY

This picture you see is a firework,
a shooter of transparent memories.
A vivid piece of artwork, fumbling across my face
with veins growing up in the sky
outwards and inwards
a low key noise/ stammering through the delicacy of time/
Isn’t it strange?
The oval diaphragm painted so calmly.
I see this pink sapphire picture
and I see my eyes there,
holding green, surreal dreams of a colorful palette
A quiet breeze of stars.
I see this starry studded picture now,
vehemently sipping bridge of cold laughter,
This is my evolution now,
trees beaming in a subservience forest.

The Final Dance


But then you never returned.
And something orphan slipped from my cheek,
A naked dance
full of black solemn love,
round and so full
of evening stars
sitting and sewing a song so pure unheard before
You never came,
so I announced my happy song
emancipating from the almond-shaped walls.
One such wall sits above my slender nostrils.
And then, I revolved & twitched like the galaxy.
a stain stuck to my dress of love.

Look at me,
goddess of rivers and hallucinations.
I create art with my this eternal sea.
A dance I perform today,
with a hiccupping sigh,
transmission lines pressed between my palms.
I am the goddess of Dance.


 

From Olive Skins

As you all know, I have started this lit magazine especially curated for abstract and surreal poetry which means a lot to me and so I urge you all to head over to this link and read this amazing poetry from a fellow poet.

Please like, share and follow if you appreciate the work.

https://oliveskins.com/2019/06/head-island-time-and-wave/

Midsummer’s mad song

How many times do I need to die
to keep you awake?
A figure of wax evolves and quietly speaks your name to me.
Your tangerine lips,
a lump of sugar and clove
all dissolved in my ears.

What is your language of love?
You reach my body with chemicals gushing
until the body shatters beyond a dot of oblivion.
I part in five thousand ways,
so vivid and distinct,
A chalice of fiction and midsummer’s song.

Darling,
I breathe you like a ghost now.
With a thermometer put on my bosom
and eyes chanting your name forever.


Check out Olive Skins here and do support!

Olive Skins is live now

Thank you for such an overwhelming response for my new literary platform “Olive skins”. We have received some really great submissions and soon would be putting up on the site. Meanwhile, please visit the site, follow and check out the amazing poets we have for now. There is a lot more to come. Some real abstract art!

A poet too insane

How to Calm your Mind

A frequent dancing step of memory
so unique and feverish,
an operation of melodious thunderstorms
circulating/ watching a gluey stare
What is that white noise?
A stare, a semantic of laughter.
A cacophony of strange chemicals.
The molten rhythm of steroid heart.

I am blue today, dark blue.
nothing that remains inside excites me,
I am too numb,
with a shred of melted saint touch still wobbling,
too thin,
Nothing that sits here stays.
A nullified happening of life.