i have words, letters , synonyms
hanging like branches of temple.
point of emotions. wars.
i am not alive, i am hanging like joints.
these ephemeral stages that are bulbs during the day.
for no reason, i am damp and moist.
Forest with twigs lit my entire body.
Is it the poetry spreading like a disease now?
i see no moon…i see only a Point.
point of love. Matrices. Sky impregnated with moisture.
for all i remember the morning was obscure,
misty and dewy,
almost like a suicide.
he stood flowing, hopping from city to city
with mirrors broken,
a kiss forgotten.
i drew a circle that day to keep myself safe,
i always do that.
a circle with mangroves, swamps.
fingers / traipsing my mollusc body.
i had a fever.
cold and shaky like a shadow.
i wanted to perch on the footsteps you walked in.
it was that simple,
hallucinating your white-blue shirt.
oh the smell we created like chemicals.
a cadence you left still shines like the moon.
i keep it in the almirah i created,
my staicase.
a circle : of all the beginning.
I sit and fall like meteors.
and i capture your emblematic threads of wilderness.
a point of my sustenance.
my poem published on the rye whiskey review
its like lilies. diluted heaps of blue tears. scalded and indexed. all the marking onto my heavy lips. My lips are even today, with plum shade paint dancing on the rim of sorbet. its like white wildflower, a fish with black scales dancing in its slumber. Piquant, small pebbles cascacding from tears. salty as skin. salty as dream. its like mirror, sequin shades of lover. i am wondersruck galaxy. These veins in my hands run fever now.
Thank you dear readers for always reading my words and leaving your lovely comments. I truly appreciate it.
i do not say i want your metaphors all the time. I need your bowl of reflections, white and pure. Thick fog running through my backbones, i am tired of feeling this red colour inside my body. Dilute it, maybe?Splash a mute word, spreading like a fungus, onto my body. You see, i don’t want wildflowers, today. I am insane, and i want your insane, dark, rough love. I have nothing else to hide beneath.i can slice unhappy moon, anthills stretching this cold evening.
can you rustle, beneath the cold sheets of chills? And enunciate the dimensions of love, rainbows for me in an oblivious way? Sequins of art-work. I know your ways are more like a cobweb. A fire extinguisher, is all i wish. something that cures the sore tickle of my back, my bosom and mouth.
i don’t want berry nights from you, i want your white shirt, to cling. I have been doing that and i shall do it. I want it to hold on like a brush on a canvas, sliding a blurb of emotion. Like a bulge on my skin towards more of left. Crimson skies full of earth.
I want that little love, that little home.
P.S -for a change I have written a romantic piece, after a hiatus now. (to my love)
cold hands meet me like temples,
adjoining bodies of splash.
a mother, a sister,
a verb, a noun,
it all begins with me,
a feverish touch of mine,
endless spots of joy and birth.
a door often conjures murmurs.
continuous, ephemeral drops of dreams,
hanging like autumn leaves,
a transitory position slips beneath me.
i stay quiet as a hawk,
pure as hot wax.
A body rocks its arms in blue stench,
and i bask in.
for there are things growing, a weed
for no reason.
hope you are doing great.
P.s My recent poetry got published here.
Link to my poem in this amazing anthology
can be checked out on amazon.
“this is the easy time, there is nothing doing”- Sylvia Plath
Cherries and quieter moments
basking in the volatile spur of the moment
and there I sit and gulp your madness
your cold, hot waxy madness.
I wonder, how you eat my skin in the noon,
with a cheek of sublime apple,
water ripple flushing my eye.
winters are blankets of love and pain.
you sink like a twig in a swamp,
and you still want to clasp the moon.
My nostrils cold,
with you in it,
a sleepless satire of pale face.
I sit, a wall of clock eating my claw,
my fist aching,
counting the floating moment of time,
A catharsis of breeze often romances with my bosom
telling me talks of air, crisp and erratic.
And there, I am lost, empty, earthed like air.
My recent work published here- my words.
And yeah once again I am all about SP! And where are my old WP writers?
i guess, at times i walk on the waters,
the ebb, a reminder of my narrow chin.
i have a thing for kissing life.
and i do it precisely well.
i kiss and drink the sweetness,
the stars and the sound of the bells.
i metamorph into a syllabus of a veritable smirk.
dreams hold my mouth and put me back to sleep until i am awake like colours,
vibrant and throbbing a dark spot.
at times, i become seasons,
my body, a criss-cross of lanterns.
it’s small and beautiful.
And that’s how i inhale smoke,
my voice tore away like sunsets falling into the rivers.
streams of gushing ripples on my cheeks.
there was a time once,
when poetry was all Mediterranean Sea to me,
with potholes and hammers,
squirming noises of silence.
The semesters of trimmed life makes me a moon,
a person in illusion,
a mirage rising inside the languid skin.
i offered hope,
the final gleam,
protrusions of my bone
like sediments rafting.
i offered ignorance,
a slick of tongue,
spitting and spewing nocturnal thoughts
the elbow balances the shades of anger,
with disgust burning like orange lust.
i am walking
i am walking like the moon,
shedding a splinter.
i take this hanging time
and gulp it like a pill,
again and again,
iterative footsteps.
i open my eyes now,
to swallow the feeling of numbness.
an icicle sharp,
unnumbered and undissolved,
moles on my body swell up.
Fever, rage, thirst, migraines.
this is the final stage of observance.
I count the enormous voices,
stranded, circulating and trotting.
olive tears swathed into blood corpuscles.
i am all dissolved now into emptiness.
yet, i am alright
the galloping strides of heartaches
lights on this orange body,
this wood is a proof
my mouth is a squid,
hanging to catch your wet breath.
a fainting memory eats me.
for i am a sucker of bones & heart.
this is a spot of us, darling,
the summery grass of love-making.
i bite my scorched lips,
i bite my tongue to feel your departure,
and i feel hollow as a black spot.
a trajectory of million dreams.
stilness often wraps my swollen body,
and flicks my elongated neck,
until i eat your face, simple & molten.
i am that vase, half- lived.
half floating and it sucks to be like that.
Branches of sky detonates, uttering words of roar, it gives a mirage of October dispersed A swamp of shining fingers, saying poetry in love. I have a strange connection to poetry, it kills and speaks to me, unlike you and your methods. A death star, on repeat. And I celebrate my October, doused in the bowl of slippery nights.
