Late Moon- A collaboration

I am more than glad to have stumbled upon Lucy’s gorgeous blog and we both decided to do a collaboration together. Please read and let us know of your opinion in the comments. Show some love to her blog as well.

It happened again 
the dead sea full of dried emotions
and the charm to write about withering winters
happened again,
from my arms to my toe nails
with colors and with a paint- brush
the knuckles are red due to migraine,
the bosoms are sagging due to age.
The concept of time throws my memory into a massive ocean
of sins/ fears/ aches.
And I think of myself as a soft folktale,
lost somewhere,
occurring due to occult or a greasy lovemaking.
I count the days back and front
to defy the mouth in exasperation
to write about the shivering body.
Madness is what keeps my soul intact,
I can talk to my mind for longer hours often
with dead bumblebees right beside me,
here- with leaves falling upon my chest
my mahogany textured hair
clinging to a sad tree. (Devika)

If this is bliss,
please don’t leave; silhouettes
played by sculptural midnights
is a song and dance
of memory; the opus rises like god's rainwater
of tragedy and embrace—
it entrances my bones kneed into pride
like a strange dream; a legacy of my footing
in the stone, I saw it today in the past
to defy the orgasmic cult, prime and prime shadows
in the back of my mind,
as messianic blood drops
from my feet
it had crushed the late moon
on its garden bed,
almost thieving the sleeping bear
mentioned for its own season;
the eucalyptus wilts
in my asylumned winter, the violence within my dreams
and the uncoiled warmth of the thorn
into my side, claws into my first
breath.
(Lucy)
Lucy's blog

Leftover Nights(A collaboration)

It gives me immense pleasure in finally collaborating with Poems in Coffer girl Chhaya. She is a lovely soul and so is her scintillating writings.
Italics- Chhaya

 

A room full of rancid leftover night
is a reminder of repugnant voids
that conform to the oddities
of a desolate decaying mind

I hear my mind crackling and fading with
whispers gone, numbness sticking
the walls break inside my opaque body,
thrashing and mocking soliloquy wilderness
Pain: the metamorphosis of painkillers, death.
Hold my cryptic thistle cacophonies
Like a lotus scratching a lotus.

the senescent atrophic walls
that preserve banal prosaics
from bromidic tales of love
are a source of an abhorrent odour
clogging conduits of all my senses
and all that permeates my cranium
is an insistent sound of stale knocks
that still linger on brazen panels
placed on fermenting doors of oak

Devoid of a filter,  cupid raspberry, air.
My veins play laconic tunes to deaf poetry
with sinking toes in a pool of madness
my body aches and desiccates, trepidation somewhere.
The wax image of my parched lips,
dribbles till the curtains evaporate.
Icicles of pain pokes my palm
Unheard epiphanies, unheard voices.
Wars occur and I am a black moon swinging.
Under the clock of stingy bees
I dedicate my memories
I dedicate my breaths, mirrors and lost talks.

and I grieve for murky windows
with shrivelled wavering frames
held by creaking rusted hinges
the ones that steadily deflect
every beam of light and hope
yielding layers of mouldy mildew
to spread like a suppurating sore
on the bod of my mephitic room
filled with leftover nights without you.

© Chhaya and MVS



Reverberating Words( A Collaboration)

Twitter
I am so grateful to Nandita for collaborating with me as I really adore her superb writings. She is truly gifted and a sweetheart.

Italics- Nandita


Hallucinations of clock hovers my hairline
dripping ink, dripping heart
in the truths and meadows of lost adventures
I shut my eyes, thinking black and grey music
I think of Chardonnay, I think of a vintage museum
Notions of time and space breathe fire on my neck 
I exhale mists of consciousness even as I 
I am lost in my own numbness, 
I am my own Alice in Wonderland, I pinch my nakedness
Reality tastes different from what I dream 
I shut it out, I sway in the music I make
I sip the hunger of my heavy eyelids
slowly and softly, like the flow of coffins
Emancipation, Satisfaction.
I drink the ambrosia of the blood moon
The nectar driving me to a state of nirvana 
Hysteria, satiation 
The blue’s of my ink and the black’s of my mind
reminds me of those chills and strawberry summers
I draw  a map beneath my fingers, and words come out
Stagnant words, Artless words, Words.
And I put my eyes and my hands swinging now
to meet the demarcations, to meet the oblivion.
Tangerine blood caresses ivory sheets
with azure strokes of tea rose and papaya whip
whisking though, in rainforest eyes, avocado dreams
I carve out impressions on my fingertips
I watch my amorphous words 
draw shapes and patterns from my nebulous existence 
While I become a pendulum to satiate my nothingness 
©Nandita Manan Yata and MVS