A concern to self-

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?
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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.
Crimson skins – US
Crimson Skins- POTHI
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The itch



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

This Moment

I got Hipster

Inspired by- Eavan Boland

A balcony.
Brewed tea. Things are getting ready.

a neighbour folds her dried out clothes.
Another vendor strolls across the streets.
Oranges and papayas , he screams.

Stars and moon,
things become raw at night.
Opaque tunes of the clouds distorting,

things pause as the sun sets in.
This moment,
a women walks in the kitchen
to get things ready for dinner.

A bizzare hustle,
Fruits ripening,
An old painting getting chipped.
This moment.


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If I could- a poem from my book ‘Crimson Skins’




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.



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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

A Memoir about Prayers and Healing

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!

——————————————————————————————————————————-

 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 Night

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.

Crimson skins – US

Crimson Skins- POTHI

Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_soul

the women of my time

Dreamy Spring/Summer Inspo - Album on Imgur

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


Read my new published work here Modern Literature

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Falling Dream

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-

Crimson Skins- US

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

Yellow- a poem

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.

__________________________________________

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_soul

A love tale

Beneath my chin
above the nape of the neck
a heralding discover I utter,
a tune of orgasm in sunshine
a tune of roaring diaphragm,
here, I sit and count my fingers dipped
numb and electric,
so much despair
that stares back.
So much to reach
just a hand
cold, cold, cold
and nothing else now.
Limping and stuttering,
between my cold clavicle
with bones so thin and weak
There is a waterfall of endless poetry
dripping from my bosom
a monotone of soft , quiet landscapes.
It spills again,
roaming in a silver night

I produced my 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.

Crimson skins – US

Crimson Skins- POTHI

Subscribe to my newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_soul

Countless


 
 
 

 How many times do I shift my bodily postures?
 from a room so cold, so absolute,
 to a room full of hopes.
 There is a never -ending system
 of dying things in here.
 I move like a ‘banjaran’ 
 wishing for dead leaves,
 painted auburn sky
 sunlight hitting my pale, loose skin,
 I move to hide my burnt scar,
 throbbing now
 layers of cold ripped moths biting each other.
 How many times do I slip from this moment?
 wrapped into a crochet woven by memories,
 How many times do I defy my existence?
 Fragments of red – like winters forming on my chest.
 How many I times I become countless?
  
  (banjaran- a wanderer)
  
   

I would appreciate if you could check out my poetry collection Crimson Skins through the links below. Read it on Kindle maybe? Share and spread.:)

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

Crimson skins- US

CRIMSON SKINS- BOOK DEPOSITORY

subscribe to my therapeutic newsletter- https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_soul

On Dreams

carousel image 0

The dreams have started to spread

thudding under my chin and elbow

the dance of a song,

a bridge of warm laughter.

We lick each other

in warm oil and nights,

wet sheets and trees of hope

A final leap

and a levitating scratch on skin,

it crawls under my slippery neck

the loose, aging skin

lost in parameters of transcendence and sins,

Abandoned by all

it has not the face of people,

of mundane , temporary people.

Brown, molten and crisp

in eternal restlessness,

always rising

traversing night and days.

_______________________________________________

A few years back, I was lost in the era of pain and wound, emotional and physical reverberation. Times that made me crippled, head full of variety of aches and then I decided to print my emotions into a voice louder than my pain. I wrote my book with labor, love and sweat. I am grateful for the lovely, heartfelt reviews it received. If you want you can still read my book Crimson Skins on Amazon, Kindle available worldwide. I would appreciate it. Thanks.

Flower and Fruits

These words will arrive in formations

about my sleep

about the morning fresh dew.

about Point of indulgence. Crisp periphery of sliced strawberries.

About dying Flowers and Fruits.

Scratch, fingers across belly button.

Finding appropriate word is almost like flowing incessantly.

Organs fluttering.

My words will occur in shapeless boundaries

with lanterns and lost sheets of clouds.

A few about moments. A few about tiny swirls of acrylic seasons.

_________________________________________________________

Would love to see you reading the poetry collection I published during the last year. Available worldwide now!:)

Tiny letter- A mindful letter straight to your inbox

Hi,

It’s just a reminder if in case you all wish to receive a mail full of mindful resources, articles along with some classic poetry, artwork you can subscribe to my newsletter that I have been issuing since the pandemic started in order to balance out all the negativity with a dash of positivity.

You just have to subscribe to the mailbox and you can enjoy different poetries while sipping on your favourite tea and maybe anytime you wish to read. I still will be hanging onto my this platform along with my Instagram, twitter handle.

https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_soul

Love & light,

Devika

Thank you!

Things that happened

Picture- mine

Things happened in the past

with a reckless sigh of breath

with madness screaming above the shore.

Things happened between the sky and the Earth.

Climate / Conditions,

Between. Stone. Tank traces,

a poem got saddened,

quenching and reaching,

split and tear.

Like frozen apples and bananas

I hunt them, roll them

from the pines in the beginning.

Snort on them, put them in my veins,

old things,

Forlorn ankles. Bruised. Soft. Slow.

I have songs from the Island,

that I never share.

Things happened between the day and the night.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

P.S- I AM GOING TO READ A LIVE POETRY SOON ON INSTAGRAM ALONG WITH A FEW OTHER TALENTED ARTISTS. LET ME KNOW IF ANYONE IS INTERESTED, I WILL SHARE THE LINK.

Thinking of a Christmas gift? 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-

Crimson skins

Crimson Skins- India

Tales from the dark

the nights shift incessantly

between the coiled conversation,

about semantics of life

the arrival and departure of distilled solitude

at a point of growling sleep patterns

my words think they are tool

to carve

to emboss a pain onto the strangers arms

about melancholic shifting dreams,

the mosiac vintage art

my nakedness is a cry to the limbs out of balance

they cringe,

they wither away

like soft paper dreams,

crushed under the sinking elbow

again

and

again.

……………………………………………………………..

Thinking of a Christmas gift? 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-

Crimson skins

Crimson Skins- India