Pink Earth

Dewdrops like sacred groves
twirling on my parched lips,
with lavender Twinings inside
pouring muddle Serenity echo
on the surface of once
crooked window,
the brutality is hidden
lost, in the delights
of frozen warm apple-pie.
A loop of twinkle fields
decorate the darkened corners
of my throat, my white leg
like a partner in poignancy
with fireflies inside the mouth.
with you, I connect the solitude
extending onto my calm thoughts
mending the broken door knobs
and planting a loop of hope.

Advertisements

To A New Colour

 

1940s underwear

image credits- Pinterest

 

Sacrosanct air, violet toes touching , spamming grounds
An eggshell face, with polka-dots
this family is vintage.
With bewildering tales, this air becomes scissor-talks,
A temple is burnt,
A miscarriage occurs,
The soil is pale black, the tremors are afraid
to knock the window pane.
You and I see this
We carry the stimuli of paranoia.
Splinters of forgotten prayers are stuck
to this void eye
Your brown eye,
my black eye,
What aftermath we plan?
Here, a lizard is awakened to walk across the parched souls
Here, a coffin is opened.
So we plan to walk into the land of oblivion words
where Grey- is the colour.

©My valiant Soul


 

Self-Portals


My skin coloured umbrella texture,
A polaris to inhuman substance
Extending in the North,
Like that shining star.

My red lip, like a stolen piece of a gem.
The duality of mermaid fins,
Stumbling, swimming, breathing.
I see it all.

Who am I?

The eccentric waves of ocean,
Inside my oceanic soul,
Flutters the depth of my eyelid
Narrowing my eyesight, blurry smoke.
And there exists a vast fountain of charcoal visions.
Unknown, insatiable flower petals
Choking on dead soil.

-My Valiant Soul.

Transparent Memory

Image result for lust paintings

In the vermilion threads of sunset rays,

 aberrant fireflies sparkled the molecules of tiniest grass,

the loops of a feather, imbrication of skin and lip

Aromas meeting raindrops,

the scent coinciding, intruding into the chaos of your numb eye

where the mind shackles see Apricity,

Eyes know the true palpitations,

Obscure stream of water

my lips that hold the shred of you

dilutes into molecules of your transparent memory,

for you are my abstruse, a diamond spark lost imagery.



 

This- Body- is -Truth

 

Color Magic #Brown | Ayami Kojima - Persephone

image credits- Pinterest

 

A basket of floral patterns started right here, from my proclaimed beauty.
I was beautiful, like a cast of Aurora on the Himalayas.
First, I learned and swallowed truth with honey, so was the birth of my eyes.
this deep, hazelnut mosaic eyes
My body contacted with the blatant Moon, who marked my naked body
with thorns, countless emotions of twists and turns
And I was carved with my first outcry, I walked the truth and devoured it
In a pool of bells and music, Bloodstains I see
piled up as dead leaves, choking my pharynx
loading my teeth,
so I spill….I spill the truth, the unsparing bowl of parasites
an invisible ladder of truth
and so the truth was born, inside my flesh
I inhaled the truth…decorated its scratch on my lips
for this body is a truth.
Screams, numbness, volatile bubble of love.

©My valiant Soul


 

If I were a shadow.

Through the slices of segmented desire
Where the circumference of my peevish skin expands,
I inhale into the tiny molecules that flourish these numb walls,
Mending a crack,
With a mist of romance,
Point of lust, point of dainty smell of you.
I walk through the ruptures of placcid walls enunciating your presence,
And I peel the rim of this cucumber time zone
Where my legs fall in the abyss of surreal moments of you,
Like clicking of needles, rainwater puddle upon my iris,
Now beaming
As if I were a shadow of your dream.
A dream worth swallowing the darkness,
Just to produce the moon’s composure, a debonair companion.

This state of Reality

Related imagechoke the cool breeze into my harsh reality

for I belong to the bricks of the wall

the screech of my language, wrapped in the tongue of anatomy

producing dark curtains, throttling small rooms

the lines of my palms remain  a false alarm

haywire sky, haywire mind

I could hear my slow breaths now disappearing like the cold drizzle

insomnia.

Insensate, dead.

Lost in the murky woods, cutting my own throat

chopping my own sanguine state

chop, chop, chop, chop

And then lying as dark, pale, dust.

-MYVALIANTSOUL