Sunburn

Where do I stick flowers now?
The empty faces,
the mundane eyes.

The silhoutte of a dark river
shifting its path across my face,
turn by turn;

Where do I paint red shades of sunset now?
A myth of potpourri,
a lake of setting cold nostrils.

I pray and repeat my rituals,
a soothsayer of my belly now,
a tale forgotten.
A night of crippled stars.

Where do I sit and attach these sunflowers now?

—————————————–

Buy my poetry collection here-

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

Please read this.

Hello dear readers,

I have no clue how to begin this but I definitely feel sad to see how people on this lovely community are showing lack of interaction on my blog. I understand, how I was not always there to read all your lovely posts as I was caught up in the releasing/ promoting procedure of my poetry book.

But I dont want my bond with my valuable readers to die out. I have invested my love on this platform through my poetry.

Please let me know if I can catch up with your recent works as well. I truly care about this blog, our community, our love for writing.

(In case you wish to read my book-Crimson Skins, you can check out Amazon and bookswagon.)

Love

Devika

A rescue poem.

i come to places where i can stich a notion to my entire body of chemicals.
Strange things happen here.
A women die each day/ there are ways and methods for it/

a loop of sorrow sinks like an abortion.
And a mist encircles my eyebrow, like a wide corridor collapsing.

i visit places that connects me to a numb mind.
I ask a numb air to swallow my left arm,
for it knows the bends and the geometry.

Often, I collect marbles/ potions/ circumstances that live like a vein inside me.
I fix things.
fixing like a plumber of times.
beneath the archaic tenderness of joy,
a butterfly evolves.

a blue coloured life dripping from my body
my breast,
my entire smouldered body.
i drip and collect myself all alone.
each night.
each night.
each night.

The dissection of women.

_________________________

Words and pic- MVS

 

 

 

A women’s spring

i have a mouth of needles and feet like albumen,
peppermint walks of my body deliver a soft voice,
I squeak often and break like vintage china,
leaking is the catharsis, moon or the sun, we leak sideways.

Ferment tales on my pillows,
sliding a perforated cup of talks to my own self,
(my own mind is hell)it has fungus and roses both.
so i talk and conversate,
slipping into the darkness of my broken fingernail.

this body rotate like dwarves on sherry,
with a flower in my womb,
fever fever fever
i am wild now.

so my body has another light,
a vacuum instilled inside a vacuum,
what does it make me do now?
Ingesting my mouth, perhaps?
Chills beneath these grey lips
lead like shadows dwindling.

Circle

That’s life.

Run among the Autumn leaves. Run among your cascading bruises. The skin that is swollen now, the eyes which are full of jaundice, even if fingernails fall. Run.

Beneath the tree, under the valley, rub your scars, screech, shout, rub your scars again till you faint , naked facing the mirror of life.

To die or not to die, we all came to buy the bourbon once. The stale cracking lies you hold, the mask that you spit each day, dark, humid drums.

I carry in my mind, the eyelids yearning to be opened now. The electricity of sugar and salt concoction.

Take a pause. Survive. Ascend, Descend. Burn the walls like floating miseries.

Fall in Love with the fireworks inside your mind. Defeat. Put fog inside your collar bone, powder your dreams. Choose colours again. Red, mauvy red, Magenta.

Splash the cold water, like opening poetry lines, oh now you get me?

Run, Discover. This is life.

The way- I am

do you remember the blues
penetrating my veins
of penumbra stoic
sheets?
your cutting voice of thunder
like a thorn poking
my chiselled neck & colour
my white skin turning weird
a stinking smell of appearance
& a missing map between cities.
cities of loss, cities of despair.

And i danced in the hollows of horizon
where liquids formed circles of numb rain,
you haunted me, ghost- like lemon peel.
and i peeled the layers, still & obvious.
With mercury dropping, lightings of heart.

( I am a sun- soaked, mosaic formation of wilderness & weed growing under your chin)

©Image and words- MVS

#NaPoWriMo#25

---

How I count my soul

a birthmark & a taboo
i am a lavish smile of smirk
you incubated me & my head
with soils of murder and hatred
sins of monster & coal of coals.
to kiss your dark soul
i swim like a starfish,
concurrent currents floating
inside my solitary knee-bone
see it, feel it, sniff it
chop it. chop it. chop it
it Shall again appear with
half sun and half moon rays.

like a starfish singing,
unveiling the balmy metaphors
crooked though plumbed
in your anxious fingers of blood
in your anxious mouth of dirt.

---

©MVS

NaPoWriMo#24

Salt water mixed with air

My squinting eyes evolve and illuminate the seeds and seedlings of us. Germination and hibernation. It’s stillness spinning on my cracking bones and lips. Thunders push forward my footprints, marking sand and sand-dunes of time like a canopy or translucent umbrella of opaque dreams. It’s treacherous. Banal and vixen kisses to tell you. The door-knobs even pique and cringe if this bellybutton delivers abhorrence of time and scars.

I have been bitten and marked. Denouement spoke to my tongue. I had a liquid conversation with the hinges of my black bed and cottons of white pillow, it scared me like a colossal tornado.I had inexplicable seizures that year and was hustled with a silver spoon to keep me alive. And I survived and lived.
Sustenance mingles with the Universe to crack your spine always.

I tasted salinity and guns. With thorns and lotus opening up in my callous floral palms. These small, little white palms.
Tides often slow down and flush waters only after a big cyclone. And, I learned something.

---

©Image and words MVS

Submit to Blood Into Ink

Blood into ink is a safe place for all the unheard voices of Survival and brave souls. Anyone who has suffered the cruelty or has been traumatized can submit their writings to the submission page of this bold journal. We would love to spread your voice and words.

Its a place for all the courageous souls who feel the pain, who knows the thirst and want to express it through their voices. Please feel free to share your writings and in the same process read the work of our fabulous fellow writers. Their writings are breathtaking!

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Voices.

“Paper has more patience than People”

I have heard enough about the grey letters dancing, leaping
on the white pure sheets,
I have seen her tears also pooling up inch by inch and forming a galaxy
at each side of the page
Turgescent drops of ice circulates, rhymes and drops as she swipes the cotton cheeks
She stifled a numb voice, a queer quietness. Lost in the archaic voices.

Ataxia on her knees, ataxia in her throat
a vague remembrance of ash and wine
she twirls the pages and eats it like a healthy dinner
Insoluble mud often teaches you life beyond death
making you reflect reflections, the screams and the smudged mascara

she speaks now, trembling voice like that of the old-fashioned stethoscope
a heartbeat yellow and fractured
startling. Survival. Unflagging
She resides here in these brown paper of dust and pain.
She resides in your vertebrae, like fungus
she travels quietly in our disgust words,
She is us.

«©MVS

---

 

Wheels Of Fortune

 

image credits- Dorina Costras

 

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.

©My Valiant Soul

---

---

 

Time is Me

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.

---

---

 

Rise and Heal

–

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.

 

 

Rise and heal.

---

---

©my valiant soul

For I am a Woman.

image credits-Pinterest

 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.

---

A place like this

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
Rupturing, beaming.
Flickering amidst the stars in the sky.

The sweet innocent Palm.

The shambolic evening sings music

With petals of petunia in my thigh

I mock at the hypocrite crowd

The masked souls, enough of charcoal tonight

I shall burst my bubbles of insanity you say, for I am home to wild hills

Where the temple bell sing jingles to my arteries

Sinking in my color, the eccentric red blood

Coinciding with my footsteps, filling the craters of my lipstick

Filling the lacuna of my hairline

Giving it an atom of granite

Splendid marks will arise from my delight soul kissing even your dark loopholes

Will you do the same? Oh shame!

I have the meraki of dark silence comforted as butter in my palm

My sweet innocent innocuous palm.