A landscape-


the rivers that speak of us,
warmer bodies
 nectars of jasmine and hibiscus-
a lady from photograph,
biting a strange loneliness sitting onto her bosom
a strange memory of distilled longings-

a lady that sulks and pronounce everything watery,
dreams of wildfire and river-beds

I travel through her caricature,
her oblong drifting fingers,
eyes of pain and despair-
eyes- a mirage of limbs too,
I watch her and think of this pregnant sky

day and night.

She- a soliloquy od soft pastel dreams.
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Longings

Story pin image
Longings
My days are cryptic
with mellow songs
sunflowers pressed on my bosom,
on my chest.
My days are usually full of lies and loneliness
with a wildflower travelling through my veins,
Where a mind refuses to sleep,
a haunted manor of poetry painted carpets
   a garden of lover’s daydream
At sunsets I visit temples,
where my sins could fade away a little
 along with the leaves of my hope
along with the tree that grew along with me.
I sometimes wish to marry that tree of hope,
the one that nurtured the oblivious lips of dull moon,
filling it with moonflowers
filling with hanging creases of paper lanterns,
 a fading memory wilt often.
Somehow
Somewhere
Where my body trembles like a low music,
a sister’s ritual of love affairs:
I am not sure what do I long the most
the memories or the moments?

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Arbitration-





Scissors often draw a diagram
On my cold slender hands,
A light peeks in, as if to tell something new.
A light 
A hope.

A hiccup that stops another hiccup.
This light, a soft tune to my ears.
What do I consider this art of life?
A hummus stain on my sequin dress.
A quiet noise, inside my vase body.

It's interruption.
If a thing dies, let it be.
Let the hand sink.
Let the light go.

Let things go.


Get my book here-
Crimson Skins

To my readers- thank you

I am writing this post to express my gratitude to all those who recently bought a copy of my book ‘Crimson Skinsand left such heartfelt messages, emails etc about the impact of my book. My poetry collection was written during the more coarse phase of my life and I am glad, you all loved it.

It’s a request if you have read it please leave a review on amazon/ goodreads as it helps indie authors like us.

“she entraps the sky in her fingernails” (A goddess)– (From my collection.)

You can buy your copies here-

Crimson skins- US

Crimson Skins- India

thankyou.

The Awakening-

artist-Ramesh Kumar
If I could,
I would evaporate through your mouth
a doorawy to dreams
and tiny dots-
wild mushrooms dancing atop our bodies
as if we have trapped the moon in our eyelids-
eyelids that do not utter a word,
flowers on terrace,
static noises
we scratch water with nails,
dirt on our palms
to know the film of our memory
floating in the lake
through breasts, heaviness
and Autumn that still looks upon us and smile.
smile to see us vacant
and full, altogether.
An awakening of God's music
temple bells- gongs
negating everything else/
but this stays
this blooms.


---------------------
Please checkout my collection- Crimson Skins now on Amazon, Pothi and kindle. It will mean a lot to me.
Crimson skins – US
Crimson Skins- POTHI
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Summer-

The collarbone cracks open,
a petal of your name,
a thick cloud of lust
sounds that speak only of splitted grass
I see you
and I think oh 'home'
honey-suckled touch,
tongues:
tongues interwined into sheets of desire
of lukewarm, misted talks
about us and hopes to stay.

           It is Summer now,
a season of orange hope,
golden grass grinning through the wind.
It is Summer.
I am inhabitated by the scent of it
that twirls my skin and turn it into faces of love.

I am a Summer-myself
bleeding through my cold sphere
daylight:
water on my toes
a gossip you all want to hear.
I am Summer for you-
for you to cling onto 
for you to breathe the scent.

I am stoked to announce that recently Indie Blu(e) Published its another beautiful anthology Through the Looking Glass– which includes my poem about Mental Health as the theme was the same. I urge you all to check out the same here .

Have you read Crimson Skins yet?

If not please check it out on Kindke, Pothi, Amazon etc.

Crimson skins – US
Crimson Skins- POTHI
My newsletters are filled with poetry, worksheets, mindfulness etc.
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sense of staying- a poem

Hi, Welcome to my poetry world yet again. I guess we all have no better solution rather than staying positive and hopeful. I am glad to feel this positive vibe yet again after all that India has been through and is still dealing. I am trying to do as much as I can and that includes taking care of my mental health as well.

Sharing a poem. Let me know your views and in general how life has been treating you all?:)

And maybe this shall never end-
Here, I rest my palms along with the stars,
honey-suckled, 
twigs of sunsets
hoping for tree of wishes
a spoon of lukewarm winters
which sits beside my small mind
a roar of summer breeze,
producing so much that only my heart can see,
 and maybe this shall never end-
yet I long for coral sweaters,
grass 
                attachment layered sky
above and below-
           the dreamcatchers
            in the grainy rain.
Our mouths unravelling
and spitting a tongue of hibiscus growing
scrubbing:
scrubbing all the sins away
lights spinning- gold,
poppies in a bathtub
and leaves fluttering across our bodies-
we want this,
           a human touch
a human being, indeed.

If you love reading my poems and works you might enjoy my book Crimson Skins. I can’t believe it is soon going to be an year for my book and each time I hold my baby, I am choked with pride. You can get your copies on Kindle, Amazon, Pothi etc.

sharing links-

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Jasmine

The sniff
lingers
between the hills and the mountain
a sniff to overcome a dismay,
a snippet of a saint
through the threads of fragile life.
Jasmine- a floral drop of snow
now between my knuckles,
rubbing
against my pillow
a cry for dreams,
a lotus shaped prayer.
Jasmine- a quiet nostalgic hope,
prayers about fairies and daydreams,
The sun and the waters,
echoing wool of the sunburn.
The sniff-
my mother's voice
an elastic memory
of tales and despair.
Hi, Do check out my published book, available on Kindle also. Let me know what you think of this one?
Crimson skins – US
Crimson Skins- POTHI
My newsletters are filled with poetry, worksheets, mindfulness etc.
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a thing of loss

artemisdreaming: “ Malcolm Liepke The color. ”

Hi, Thankyou for sending your prayers through my last poem. I am reading poetry again and getting to Art as it keeps me going.
I am coming back to my writing my poems after a while 
a lot changed during these times.
(Pandemic- second wave)
My yellow tree remained un-watered all this while,
humans burnt,
relatives, families submerged with tears/ fears
see my poem has started to rhyme, even.
Keep on reading
you will sense no sensibility
a bunch of lost flowers now
archaic, frenzied-
razor sharp like tongue of cries
bodies once warm now muted,
cold, without a twin flame.
the situation has become small and painful
like a setting sun, only that it is not beautiful.

Understanding Poetry

artist-  Alexandra Levasseur.
How much is too much?
Inosculate, squalid words on your sheet
the layers that speak of my heavy mind
are supposed to be easy to ingest?
How?
The air is as pellucid as my eye of misery.
but the words do not stop here
the words do not stick just to the head
there is death occurring these days
enough for me to write a lament
a lament about this stomach
this body
this hour of existence.

the hour that speaks of loss
survival requires prayer   hope and warriors
who are we, I ask?
the sufferers or the healers?
The syntax is an old odium
I refuse this hour
I refuse the way you swallow my poetry
my half- burnt mind is my solace and a tragedy.
 Disintegrated shreds of light.

Hi! The rise in the pandemic cases especially in India , in my city have taken a serious toll on my metal health and I am sure it is equally bad for the rest. This poem comes out from a place pain, misery. Thank you for reading.

Generally I would attach a link to my book, etc..but I do not feel right now so you can ignore.

Stillness

the voice cracks in the summer sun
I hear things falling apart
underneath my door knob
behind the cobweb- almost gone now
i hear things decaying,
distorted as the morning yawn
the leaves so parched
the sun , cold and warm
there is a music that stops playing as i write this
the music that speaks about fallen dreams,
listless curvature of atmosphere.
stillness is what i observe 'stillness in my body, my toes and lips
the earth so happy and warm now
almost like a cerulean sadness
torn into threads of bruises
into diverse sects of lemon dried faces.
the hands so small and white
with my bosom hanging restlessly on the table.
there are things so peculiar occurring everywhere.
restless yet a still monochrome pattern of life
Hi, Do check out my published book, available on Kindle also. Let me know what you think of this one?
Crimson skins – US
Crimson Skins- POTHI
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no space to love

source-pinterest

Napowrimo#12

the poppies won't die tonight
I sense the drama through the bleeding faces again
the parched vase of you and me
the horizon of us-
a hallowing question to that equation
     the fields seem  opaque,
dreary, with  white sunflowers
I run and burn
to sniff your presence
to sniff the existence
the love equation to the sky
and to things beyond

my feet seem to be the carrier of our love poems,
enthralled and quiet
almost like a woman lost in translation
Chips in frost.
   cold    barren
as if a tree unfolded a leaf so huge
  
the love rises
and sinks
and stinks,
it breaks and fills the spaces
with things so small
almost like a hurricane,
moths fluttering,
  there is no place left to make love-
not between such damp sheets, at least.

The Hunt

But this sorrow never ends. 
The tongue that runs cold
due to platonic threads of sins and cold meadows
the ache is blooming each day
beneath the blue unfolded eyes
the colour green- now a tone of burning bodies
this is my survival song, you see
with lines cryptic sunset on my lap
the night never fades away
the soil enriched with a glint of my water
my heavy overwhelming collapsing lungs.
this poem shall not soothe you-
instead would ask you to hunt something more
some more of air, water, sun , fire.
in your neighborhood
about the fallen leaves.
dry tongues,
neck choking.
about things so unpleasant
you would not otherwise want to know.
Hi, Do check out my published book, available on Kindle also. Let me know what you think of this one?
Crimson skins – US
Crimson Skins- POTHI
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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.
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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.

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.