My days in afternoon are nothing like yours,
I spend most of it by bird- watching,
Somersaulting colors of the sky,
I sip my chamomile tea to prepare my mind
for the evening’s strangers visit to my head.
My days are nothing like yours,
I adorn my necklaces again and again,
repetitive rituals often act like a slippery therapy.
Quiet and nostalgic.
Moments of velvet sadness.
I end my nights by weeping a little more,
by diffusing some hot coconut oil in my lamp,
to cease the heartache with a portion of leftover food maybe
as insane as it must be.
These are the things I do, to protect myself.
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. Crimson skins – US Crimson Skins- POTHI Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_sou
And there is almost nothing but this silence with which I caress my pallid numb thoughts mud stained- inner knuckles, fingernails growing all small and ugly and not just that, but I sleep with my dirty longings as well. Bed of misery beneath the flesh of tongue. Endless field of dark fragmented hopes/ You name it. I wonder if this will be the season of spring inside my dreary grassland Of beautiful spring flowers things that resonate with the Earth, the moon and the stars. Will it be a hiccup or a lost prayer? ———————————————————————————-
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. Crimson skins – US Crimson Skins- POTHI Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_sou
the itch, the orange glass ceilings always fail my existence, an inhuman thing sinks beneath my eyelids walking abruptly, in patterns unknown, there are things which makes no sense a loose river like madness a loose butter like sky slipping from my white hands, my hands which are now counting the marks of my footprints making a spiral knot about this moments, this momentary void inside of me, this permanent injuries inside of me. as everything engulfs everything the violence in its own chest the cold murder of my hands and the body still counts the days left to breathe.
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. Crimson skins – US Crimson Skins- POTHI Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_sou
If I could I would elope with my insanity with a lavender bud blooming inside my cheek. I write mad things drawing the turbid face of a blue lady as if she has no blood vessels. Breathless. Slow. Melting. Twirling in my skirt skirts, twirling along the locus. My breaths inflate this entire galaxy. like an elastic stuck to the tongue, this tongue that is motionless too. If I could, I would sink in an ephemeral elegy denying the neon green hope. A snivel of moist grass. A question of reality. I will smirk & dance and clap & clap. A century of feeble screams suppressed under my soft skin. This madness makes me complete; I say so. A sea of voice hidden under my curves. I carry so many of you here & there. If I could, I would melt along with you.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Find attached all the links to get your own copy. AVAILABLE ON KINDLE.
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. Crimson skins – US Crimson Skins- POTHI Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_sou
Things do not attach themselves to our void, till we allow it to occur. Things- broken, upsetting they instill our hearts and soul with remorse and pain. A haunting truth about liberation is when we clench our minds limited only to the point we think we need it, it never occurs. What about the next step?
The next step of releasing our fears and not ingesting the feeling of guilt and sadness always. The process requires abundance of acceptance. Acceptance of our mistakes, acceptance of knowing our worth, our dreams as well acceptance to not expect from others.
Prayers can be addictive. I have watched myself for a month not going to the bed without chanting a hymn or “om mani padme hum”…it’s strange belief or a meditative medium as if I have someone to hold on, I never trusted humans and somehow I suffer from social anxiety and therefore I know how strong my bond is with miracles and prayers. No, the reason is not limited only to this. While addressing about my insanity and delirious thoughts in the form of poetry in my first full length collection- crimson skins, I cried and managed to write somehow.. I later found out my journey with healing. About something beyond pain…something surreal yet realistic. I dedicate each day ever since to my writing process as a slow, healing journey. A quiet, nurturing interaction to my soul. It’s all about the Self!
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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.
And after the things have been quiet, a slow nocturnal pause returns a pause to collapse again, There is an endless whistling, with a bleached sky a bleached portion of the sunset I can still touch it, the surface of things breaking apart, the nuisance of the blood vessel the hanging canopy of faces: dry/parallel. The night takes everything within itself, abandoned by all, it has not the face of love. I know the sniff of abandonment where the night spews distorted loneliness through my body – a pool of flustered pink 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.
The women of my time spend too much time thinking,
thinking about the leftover foods
the leftover oil, cucumbers and what not
The women of my time speak a vacant language
a kind of verbiage which makes you stutter
they have a lost glory eyesight
they wish to see things yet falls on a flat surface.
The women of my time are petite and so full.
Full of things that break a human heart,
a cupboard full of memories disguised as polaroids,
fancy teacups clinging the sounds of romance
Arteries of lust flowing
lust for things beyond your skin.
They do not tuck in emotions in their garments.
Hot spaced cheeks splashing words of mahogany
the hem of skirts always full of raisins and butter.
The women of my time eat wounds like spices
more precious than the silver gems
their robes
all shades of the sunset, transformation of a child, maybe.
watching her swath their eyes becomes terrible often
terrible as watching a melting moon.
Women of my time prepare a soft warm water bath for themselves
to swim,
to eat the sins,
to eat something beyond the plastic walls,
they do shiver
yet they do not pause here.
The women of my time are goddesses: a figurative speech about liberation.
They sit and watch the open sky as if they have the light in their puerile palm.
If you like this do consider checking out my poetry collection on-Amazon. And on Pothi– India
I am quiet too often like the empty hallways, humming a song already forgotten with a tilting toe towards the sun a sigh: pink fingers dipped in pain a sigh: pink fingers dipped in hallucination there is a staircase now falling beneath my parting head half towards left, half towards right days whistling on sea waves about my country in flames, about my city in illusions
watching a cloud things fall under the feet now a complete loss of sense tiny leaflets fluttering
green songs that reflect nothing. the survival becomes a pungent smell often with absent glares and a blue sea that is a part of my dream.
My poetry collection is receiving all the love for which I am truly thankful to each one who supported it. I produced my book out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here-
Yellow – scratched and heavy an unknown desire to melt between the stasis of the sky. Yellow, a color that dissolves inside my thin muscles, my tongue wired up with your name, a loose sheet of kiss and melancholy, Yellow: a quiet tapestry that hangs loose bearing limbs out of balance bearing mouths dripping foolish sins. An external pain of the body, a pain crisp as our bedsheet
I am a bunch of memories that belong to the sky patched and cornered.
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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.
