Hear it once again

 

Imagine me in your room,
the aerial space filled with the sniff of rosemary candles.
Imagine how I sit and lift up my chin to decode a language now,
A voice that breaks the linings of the wall.

When you look at me,
You see my words,
my eyes that unravel the thread of apple juice.
(Understand these lines again)
I am a voiceless creature to the nights that go mad running down the aestetic streets,
not to you.
Not anymore to you.
I saw my mother weep once. A veiled woman.
As i watched, I could see that weeping has no cadence.
This is what language did to us.
Maker of places, kitchen sinks,
empty hallways,
gadens, sea- breeze.
This is what happened since always.

The voice got tore away between the shades of sky.
The voice of not shouting, basically.
The voice wearing the colours that go with red hair.
The voice where the woman held it like an infant.
Absorbing everything, silently.

This is the hour that i love when everything goes off to rest,
the hour of darkness, the hour of metamorphosis,
of a change in the landscape without emphasis.
This is the women I adore,
a hot terrain of soft silk and milky dreams.

1:0’clock. This hour is a sin of raisin skies and doors creaking,
something erupts at this very moment.
Familar figures became curious shadows again.

Anna

Pinterest

matching pink- stained
lips of mirrors
Anna, sew her flowers to the hair
like an oil-painting smiling,
something conjuring about her patterns,
the wavelength, the folds
all magical maybe.
Anna, in her mid 20’s
auburn ductile head & hair
with sheets of transparent
cling film, susurrus body.

almost a year ago,
a wife & a mother
with tunnels of story
sun-flower hands of mercury
now shifting,
her body movements
inch by inch,
in darkness & solitude
a shape shifter,
a fortune-teller,
rose collector,
anna is all of it,
a crooked truth.
you pluck a flower
& the land becomes barren.

®MVS


Anna

Pinterest

matching pink- stained
lips of mirrors
Anna, sew her flowers to the hair
like an oil-painting smiling,
something conjuring about her patterns,
the wavelength, the folds
all magical maybe.
Anna, in her mid 20’s
auburn ductile head & hair
with sheets of transparent
cling film, susurrus body.

almost a year ago,
a wife & a mother
with tunnels of story
sun-flower hands of mercury
now shifting,
her body movements
inch by inch,
in darkness & solitude
a shape shifter,
a fortune-teller,
rose collector,
Anna is all of it,
a crooked truth.
you pluck a flower
& the land becomes barren.

®MVS


The way- I am

do you remember the blues
penetrating my veins
of penumbra stoic
sheets?
your cutting voice of thunder
like a thorn poking
my chiselled neck & colour
my white skin turning weird
a stinking smell of appearance
& a missing map between cities.
cities of loss, cities of despair.

And i danced in the hollows of horizon
where liquids formed circles of numb rain,
you haunted me, ghost- like lemon peel.
and i peeled the layers, still & obvious.
With mercury dropping, lightings of heart.

( I am a sun- soaked, mosaic formation of wilderness & weed growing under your chin)

©Image and words- MVS

#NaPoWriMo#25


Cease and breathe

self

Cease and breathe
the essence dripping, red like bird’s paw
emulsifying,
You are the spot, crooked and tangerine
So how do you mark your sins?

••••

Cease and count your curves,
red, pink and blues
your honey-dripping eyes,
facepalmed voice, mirrors bustling.

•••

Stand stagnant, dip into memories
you are a flower seed
A banshee of ghosts quiver
inside your language of lust
inside your pain of more and more.

•••

Cease and breathe,
with tip-toed mercury eclipse
kiss the moth
kiss and burp, your painted nails
red as nature’s love.


©image and words-MVS

#NaPoWriMo-5

When -the -pendulum- strikes

During nights, my body becomes a range of chemicals. The nocturnal nails dip in the swamp of black thoughts. My windowsill evaporates, fumes of my detailed miseries. It’s not saddening what my mind does to my hand and arms. My hair bun, all soaked in summer sweat, dripping anxiety like forlorn tales of missing cities and people. Cleaved heart with tossed skin, my yellow skin delivers light during the phosphene of night.Tangling and swinging, the ebb of my calves lift up like candle flames floating. I cling moist conversation to my entire body parts. Inch by inch. I unwrap the stagnant proliferating blood shadows slowly as my cigarette fades. Silence is the best healer. The wounds chop the underlying skin, razor teeth on my mind. Time defies body, time defies truth, time defies the eye.

I often take a pen and mark my mouth with words and poetry. Periphery protects a savoured soul. Soil: it marks the beginning and the ends like a mirror-crack. Insanity is not what I would call it! During nights, my body regenerates, a cotton swab soaked and firm like Osmosis emerging inside. My body becomes wild.
It’s a symmetry of red dot with a black line. It delivers a soliloquy speech of life and death. Something that my orchid coffin understands and my bizarre soul knows. Chemistry shoots up my body like a talking death hoop. During nights, my body eats my mind.

©MVS- NaPoWriMo#3


Time and again

My lips porcelain and full of moments
and desires, with a beetle evolving inside.
Curious, my arms extend, elongated like a shadow.
Dripping ink and curls,
eyes stained, pink and blue
my curves smile, and Occults occur.
My scratches roar, screams, and a star goes missing.

A dialectic skin grows each day,
with ligaments rupturing
with corals fading, a myth that sits on my lap.
The time eats our pain
and slaps our foot,
to mock the red boxes,
with the wildness awake
to kill a mockingbird.
time and again.

©Image and words MVS

The Patterns and Folds

self

These lines, mahogany smell

Orchid base— prediction,flavour.

A loose arm of sky swings

inside my bowl of emptiness.

The colours dim and the henna evaporates

It criss crosses my legs and eats up my entire body

A parasite. A swollen body.

I walk in the room and the razor cuts sharpen

Folds and pattern twists the softness

and corrodes the dewiness.

A slice of Death iterates here,

Something still at pause ( no gerund, no punctuation)

I think again

about this life,

I walk again

in the pits of life.

I am a liquid naphthalene ball.

Round and white. Evaporating each day.

thriving from square to square.

®MVS


Beneath the shell-Visual Verse

https://visualverse.org/submissions/beneath-the-shell/ Link to my latest work.

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.

It’s all Unnatural

It’s unnatural how you fall for me every day among the sunsets and pancakes. You caress my elbow, a star falls right upon my sliced forehead. The partitions are yellow, perforated, a sublime concoction of moisture and stories to foretell. The hoop of canticle vortex slides on my plump thigh and you begin to smile. It’s unnatural how you pause and speak. A diamond crackles in South. Blueberries put me to sleep in a land cryptic.

My nail cutter goes missing and my nostrils clog. I am a stack of insomnia with your wilderness living in my caramel heart. You wink and the paths collide. Shimmers. Cocktails of foreign kisses. My words vacillate with slick back pepper distorted prints. I blend in your pristine blood and something occurs. It’s all unnatural.

Fabrication of memories flutter. My lips and tongue all in motionless picture breaks. Silence and Love. Love and Silence. My eyelids are soft now, like baby powder on my stomach, sliding and awake. You sit and breathe effortlessly. Alchemy occurs.

It’s all unnatural.