Wheels of fortune
like sour grapes, apple
tumbling my spirits.
Spirits of fire, unflinching
A ball of reveries, undiscovered.
Musty halcyon, a penumbra of elixir.
A soft cushion, a soothing balm.
The nectar of hubris dreams, drooling
in the breeze, a nimbus of dark clouds,
an array of shooting stars,
Wheels of Fortune
play me, trick me, devour me.
desiccate my veins, coconut shreds.
For if I rise, the earth shall tremor
The sea, scorching Sempiternal my initials
The moon bending down, as my furtive solace.
Needles in my mouth, poking the sustenance of time
with a swab of cotton dipped in grey pause
A pause from the rigorous living and the dead,
beyond the veil, a harmony exists, a topology of Stardust
covering my naked breast.
A musical building devouring me with lust
sprinkling some on the nape of my neck,
Beyond this, precision exists forming clouds,
resembling my black locks elongating the path,
to travel the unfathomable soil,
the colour is not Auburn, it burns
it burns on my arms, it burns on my wet tongue,
twisting in forward steps,
each moment time moves, I stay here to glean the patterns,
to play hide and seek with the mirage, a shadow.
I draw curtains, performing segments to watch
the porcelain body of time’s shadow,
drawing paintings on the cerulean sky and I see,
a fragile moment of reflection
swallowing the colossal truth of me
Time is Me.
Like autumn leaves my words are shredded
into the oblivious basket of doleful cracked souls.
I rise once again, hoping for a falling star and collecting its
reminiscence into my insipid hair,
only to emboss the flaws and flourish with my insecurities.
I am a protrusion of rose,
hiding the black spot of the moon in my valour
that rises white dandelions on your skin.
My finger bones creak my virtues,
giving a red shade to the once grey shadow
for I am a Woman, invincible like mammoth stars,
I seek, I wander through the rim of sidewalks
conjuring in roles only unspeakable of.
I walk, I swim, I conquer, I am a swollen mass of expectations
I carve sunflowers, lavender on my forehead,
a thorn indeed wrapped in the interiors of my lips,
my sun-baked lips,
still the succulent lips
oh! My lips.
And then my heart speaks a language of ripe fruits,
yellow pages, white pages all inside
burning a canopy of emotions
Decaying, nurturing, flourishing.
for I am a woman, invincible like mammoth stars.
The epitome of peach shaped markings,
Defining the extended fields of valour and hope,
Drooling in my walnut bones,
Mingling in my solitary ebb,
Lies inside a place where my mother
Wakes me up from a cascading nightmare.
To the jubilant staircase of rainbow meadows,
To catch an intrepid molecule of a butterfly
Then to drink a cup of valour,
As I see a place like this
Flickering amidst the stars in the sky.