the voice cracks in the summer sun
I hear things falling apart
underneath my door knob
behind the cobweb- almost gone now
i hear things decaying,
distorted as the morning yawn
the leaves so parched
the sun , cold and warm
there is a music that stops playing as i write this
the music that speaks about fallen dreams,
listless curvature of atmosphere.
stillness is what i observe 'stillness in my body, my toes and lips
the earth so happy and warm now
almost like a cerulean sadness
torn into threads of bruises
into diverse sects of lemon dried faces.
the hands so small and white
with my bosom hanging restlessly on the table.
there are things so peculiar occurring everywhere.
restless yet a still monochrome pattern of life
the poppies won't die tonight
I sense the drama through the bleeding faces again
the parched vase of you and me
the horizon of us-
a hallowing question to that equation
the fields seem opaque,
dreary, with white sunflowers
I run and burn
to sniff your presence
to sniff the existence
the love equation to the sky
and to things beyond
my feet seem to be the carrier of our love poems,
enthralled and quiet
almost like a woman lost in translation
Chips in frost.
cold barren
as if a tree unfolded a leaf so huge
the love rises
and sinks
and stinks,
it breaks and fills the spaces
with things so small
almost like a hurricane,
moths fluttering,
there is no place left to make love-
not between such damp sheets, at least.
But this sorrow never ends. The tongue that runs cold due to platonic threads of sins and cold meadows the ache is blooming each day beneath the blue unfolded eyes the colour green- now a tone of burning bodies this is my survival song, you see with lines cryptic sunset on my lap the night never fades away the soil enriched with a glint of my water my heavy overwhelming collapsing lungs. this poem shall not soothe you- instead would ask you to hunt something more some more of air, water, sun , fire. in your neighborhood about the fallen leaves. dry tongues, neck choking. about things so unpleasant you would not otherwise want to know.
Bones indigo, lacking a piece of earth, inside your mouth of stars a tremor of zodiac signs Like a Taurus blooming.
You sprinkle lust on my bosom bubbles of thin colours, a 4 am moonlight sigh. Tender mouths of mud and water, unborn fruits of the ultimate kiss. This is us.
My hips now like a parched lake. I am made up of unpruned divinity, an untamed odorless shadow of sky between the thick sheets of a dark city.
Beautiful sun, how you grow all over me, with a swollen tongue licking my mouth, as if collapsing in his arms. Inside my mind, there is a temple. Rain Sun Earth I will crack my eyelids open, now.
----------------------------------------------- (I wrote this piece a long time ago) 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 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
The flesh is incoherent the nuance of this body is sand all things that sit inside my bones, tremble like sounds unheard, from the Indian mountains it begins to crack piece by piece as if it is the wail of time as if there is no neck to this body. Humans- all that they love, sinks beneath, somewhere. And my eyes become wrinkled pomegranate seeds awash beside the uprooted trees of misery.
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 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
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.
