Sunburn

Where do I stick flowers now?
The empty faces,
the mundane eyes.

The silhoutte of a dark river
shifting its path across my face,
turn by turn;

Where do I paint red shades of sunset now?
A myth of potpourri,
a lake of setting cold nostrils.

I pray and repeat my rituals,
a soothsayer of my belly now,
a tale forgotten.
A night of crippled stars.

Where do I sit and attach these sunflowers now?

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Buy my poetry collection here-

https://store.pothi.com/book/devika-mathur-crimson-skins/- India.

the time that sticks

you began under my belly
squinting skins of colour,
like a lizard of disgust
a mouth of powder,
father of pains,
pills and potions.

Rub my thigh,
a concave liquid secretes,
you numbed my heart,
the age of 5, father,
the abuses, you kept slipping
you numbed my lips,
the outgrown teeth and hair.

It began like a hoax,
a daydream, soft and fermenting
under my curled lips
and a sudden nightmare of arms,
a sudden floating plethora of body parts.

(Lost my ink once again.)