I must say that this time the picture demanded something more raw and constructive. It took me some time to write this one but glad I am to see my verse in Visual Verse and also the other amazing writings. Do check it out.
Something is missing in the pit of my stomach. I feel the charcoal staircase rupturing, then filling in the cracks of the blank moon. Devastation. Delusion. I see my blue arms extended to the poles of molestation, a sudden resolution of black and white vintage movies. My kitchen sink evaporates somewhere. Devastation.
The monotony of this body screams till my black walls fall, a sunken truth in this concoction of empty bowls and folded curtain stretches. Elasticity. The hands are empty, crooked, decayed.
Oh yes, there is an eclipse appearing on my black braids, swinging swiftly like my lips did once to lick that butter kiss. Appearances and traits are cellophane clinging to my white forehead. The lights appear bound, seized. Stagnate.
I pray and pray to wither the molten frames and fragments. Catharsis. Purification.
The cheek tint once filled the blue sky, the blue water, with sheets of pure cotton. Fidelity loops sinking onto the carvings of my feet. Parachuting in the snow. That was then.
For now, I see the mockery of time sitting onto my sharp laps, like a reservoir or a womb, gazing as I decay and fall and shatter and shatter into ashes.
I am a shallow bone of desires
burning in my own rivalry among galaxies.
Vinegar-faced my legs drool on my mouth,
Everything is opposite here.
When the earth rains and the sky listens,
the precise water-droplets of mercury,
churns my anxiety.
Where my war is my peace.
the hallucinations are my paradise,
poking my raisin breasts,
Osmosis of mind, osmosis of soul.
For everything is sustenance.
“Under your skin, the moon is alive”- Pablo Neruda
My body has gone counting
The twists and folds of your skin.
My hands have carved a tattoo
plunged into your chest,
where a basket of sunrises glitter
like the moon’s hideous smile.
I have heard the murmurs of your heart
where white earth blooms.
Like sagacious door-knob,
And the small key-hole,
where I flow like mesmerizing dust,
Aurora hair sparkles,
golden Orion of moon slice resists in you.
Crackles, splinters, chills, winters
found in your wet earlobe,
as I walk upon the moist earth,
my sagging dreams
only to meet your infinite luscious skins of skin.
Tropical horizons of numb walls,
Wherein lies my dead mind, impotent veins.
Inside of my skins bursts, spelling the blank point
where there is no moss, where there is no sapphire
Sustenance to soliloquy dreams dipped in blank paints
Who am I?
A corpse of redundant hopes, a pool of mosquitoes, tortoise eye.
Stammering lips gather a thorn, to poke my swollen window,
who shall remember? Who shall smother?
It’s all blank.
How do I express my anxiety?
Let me dip my nails and bite my skin,
with the horrors of iterative chills
like a wood spanking my cheekbones
Colour changing, chameleon tongue.
I am pulverized in this shade of trance,
with my thoughts eating my red eyelids.
Pich and pluck or pluck and pinch
Spit and run or run and spit
The ebb of heart rises like high tides in sigh.
I sit in this corner, burning now
along with the burning ink.
Aberrant words on typewriter,
Untamed lyrics floating on my coaxed eyes
Longitudinal waves coincide here, an apparatus of dust
Shaken dreams, like a mirage of ghost
Bisect and dilute your reality into my wine.
spill your black cuts onto my yearning lips
Screech the thunders underneath,
shout and scream, kiss the scream
Words often pinch naked souls.
salt and pepper, tobacco and vapour
Twinings of butter pokes the stratospheric coherence,
Something appears blue, something still a clue.
Beneath the sound of every clap exists a hand
few are coloured while the others are lost,
Turquoise water, hazel Earth
preach me the alien tales of your body,
make me rain
make me rhyme
make me discovered.