poetry

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Three Children and Wagon c. 1930s #history             WOW the first sweet picture I have seen with Black and White children.

Some people I see these days are like
broken paragraphs of my poetry
with a missing meter and inconsistent gravity
Detonation of disgust pits and addition of volatile
vodka stammers my insipid vision.
Half moon, half-blood, half mouth covered,
like a decomposition of the great Odyssey.
Some people these days are like
Vintage tributes( but unfamiliar, surreptitious).
With a bumblebee of summery sky,
they bite your pure coltish recently built home
Some people these days exists like this
till they tangle your knots into miseries.


-My valiant soul

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poetry

Denouement

Indian beauty
Pinterest

How many cuts does it take for a tree to heal?
Beneath the dark trunk of the Cedar tree,
memories and lives are buried
Above that same tree, premonitions of death and twitches exist
Symphony along with words is music like soft poppies
dancing in circles on my bulky breasts, (dripping sound of sweat, wax)

Your lie was my favourite perfume,
I wore that inside my body, like branches opening up, one by one
My mouth is full of water and dirt.
You are standing like a white faded star
full of thunderbolts, recumbent beds of black horizon
sticking to my tender green veins,
Between blank spaces and unsaid words, you existed like a stained-cellar
Bruised telephones, crooked chains of hope
Aligned perfectly under your dark skin,
the bites of ant wakes me up from a deep slumber,
Entwined bones crackles like spider’s great piece of architect
This is when I see, end of seasons
end of river flow, end of unseen Unicorns.

©My Valiant Soul


poetry

As You Lay Dying

vintage glamour black and white photography couples | black and white, fashion, mirror, pearls, vintage eyes

How many dark spots do you have,

Lizards and crocodile scream

to see you knitting lips on lips.

Papers mock your hubris hands

Ruffles and hibernation

In the planets of chivalry

in the swamp of lies

I see your lies and eyes,

A corrosion of rock.

I am a piece of molten clock

and

Your dark fingers are bait

like burning of ashes

cold powder.

Burial grounds smirk,

vicious cigars, vicious you

Discomfort intrudes my throat

with swollen ebbs of a horizon

I am a distorted voice

to see your insane games

only

I am more rapturous to

see you dying.

®MVS


 

poetry

Anonymous

Like fresh breaths and cinnamon aroma
I wrapped your almond curve of palms,
preserving it into my oceanic eyes
Monsoon lilies. Iterative Petrichors.
I swallowed your words,an Orion of kisses

Only to know you will chop the slices of apple,
bit by bit
Smudging the sweetness, smudging the rhythms,
smudging my dreams.


    poetry

    Resentment

    Sun-dried lemon peels occur on my skin today,
    For the sky sings dust and hailstorm
    The segments of abhorrence and sensibilty play a jigsaw game.
    For I have inhuman breaths you gave
    on that turtle path of stinking array of roses clinging my soul.
    I have heard your sorrows, laments to decipher the unknown
    Still I am covered in the darkness of your crocodile shadow.