How- My- body- Loves- You

Hold me like soft sand and poetry shimmering inside our luminous body. With neutrons clinging. Alphabets dancing. Hold me in the ebb of your turbid arch of bones that wraps my skin against your beard. I see my sagging breasts colliding your face, erupting cocktails and exotic dreams. I hear crickets churning my stomach. I, ingest my fears and swallow my dewy rainbows where you circle my lips with moist conversations of love.I place my frizzy coconutty hair on your chest and you knit a dreamland back and forth.I swallow your caricature and drink it like a cupid or something even more divine. Sinking beneath your foot I douse my fingers with painted doses of smile and hopes. A forehead of sunsets and mosaic, I chew my crisp quixotic air till I am floating like wax. This is how I worship your transparent shoulders, your utopian breath, little murmurs. Loops and magnets of lipids and liquid dreams. A grasshopper marks my mouth with your rosewater incensed air. Here, a collision occurs. Occult.


All Blank

Related image
Enter a caption

Tropical horizons of numb walls,
Wherein lies my dead mind, impotent veins.
Inside of my skins bursts, spelling the blank point
where there is no moss, where there is no sapphire
Sustenance to soliloquy dreams dipped in blank paints
Who am I?
A corpse of redundant hopes, a pool of mosquitoes, tortoise eye.
Stammering lips gather a thorn, to poke my swollen window,
who shall remember? Who shall smother?
It’s all blank.

©My Valiant Soul


Alcohol on my newly-born skin,
Do you see the patterns and the checks, the spotted wings?
I lick this ferocious almond scales on my skin, counting the pores
And I measure the breadth and length, obtaining details of details.

The oak tree knows the dents and paints
in the surreal landscape, where people romance
The lavender fields twist in its imperfection,
it sees black, grey, black, grey.

We travel and remorse like a soaked cotton ball in hallucinations,
We learn and emancipate, we gulp metamorphosis
and stack our bodies with memories, rub eyelids to breathe.
We survive and smoke, smoke till the moon spits anger, guilt to our innocence if any.
We are a floating wax of titanium spirits yet we fear cravings. Solivagant in dreams.

I suck the sand, the colourful dust and lips of my lover
I suck the galaxy of you and me.
I know, this arithmetic of us and time. We will evolve too.

©My Valiant Soul

Poetry and Ink.

No, it did not start with the extraction of bones and marrow. Neither, there was an epiphany.
I pluck my eyebrow with a sharp pencil, to check the skin underneath. A bizarre.

Mockery of a round square pats my naked back, yelling I have something inside my earlobe too.
So, I prick my navel and join the rummaging polka dots meeting my ankle, eroding the black spot finally.

What is there after all beneath my transparent skin? I burn. I burn.
Enough by now, drinking, smoking indivisible moments. They inundate like ant colonies.

For I have a single eye, a single lip, a single leg, a single tornado
The rest is a stone of Poetry and a wool of Ink.

The Art of This-Body

Sidney Carter (Canadian,1880-1956) Portrait after Dante Gabriele Rossetti's The Blessed Damozel, ca 1906.  National Archives of Canada

Helplessness running through the haze of clouds,
Hands swinging, liquified skin and slaps of salt grains.
I prick my soul, to check the shrieking
the altitude coincides with a marriage ritual
in the Altar, in the temple
Between the moist lips
The air halts, pause
and my skin kisses my eyes
Conundrum,    Abortion
Throbbing of mind, the paintings of my room cracks now
like the white eggshell
I drink the art of this moment,  quiet now
I rub alcohol and ashes on my face
Indexation and outnumbered faces,
I am colourblind, I am crooked, oh still I count the maths
I run until I fall to melt into the sand
and to begin my heavy footsteps again and again
My body is sinking, catch, catch.
It may fall like a sharp needle pointed towards the foothills
It may rise like shedding of words on paper
Catch, Run. Catch, Hold. Breathe.




what a cold star i would make. — 	seven word poem // r.i.d (via inkskinned)

In the hush moments of orange silence
A war between scissors and wet lips occur
where this smoke burns my tongue and vapours of half abstraction arise
A deluge of storms and black skins float, black is favourite.
Between lights and array of point blank, something goes missing
Between my white thigh and quarantine of delusions, my toothaches
A series of corpse surround my waistline, delphic view of sorrows drip
smoke burns the truth, I spill the scars like a needle piercing my susceptible skins,
A burning wall of benumbing silence churns inside my mouth.
Vexation, annihilation, perception.
And the rest is all illusion.

©My Valiant Soul

Our Poetry

Pull me closer to your diamond skin
a place that eats all my molested scars,
in the walls of books and poetry
you shall be my muse, the other half.
of my upcoming poetic line, upcoming splinters of ice,
we make love castles,amidst the dirt hanging like spider web,
Precise knots of commitment are the strongest.
Skin:a reverie of splashing memory,
Something that your lips eat daily.
Turn by turn, inch by inch
we mark each other’s soul
creating geometry, defeating geography.
My collarbone is star dust today,
Ebullient scents from your whisky eyes
expand my artless poetry,
like the writings scribbled onto my library walls,
pink, orange, brown.
Infinite, Indelible.

– my valiant soul

P.s_- To my love, my constant.

Anonymous Bond


Do you hear me breathing? In the moments of translucent air,
where our breaths collapses and cling onto each other,
where the crooked walls burst, like jackfruit ripening
purple colours pouring onto our bed covers here I breathe
contours of sparkling waters brushing my dead spirit, fully awake.
The screams, shouts, jingle,
And splashing of Ganges water on my shivering feet,
Awake, awake, awake.
Spinning the floor, spinning in your mind, do you hear me breathing?
I draw my gold carvings on your teeth, on your body
where the twinnings of winter tree is chopped,
You hear the chopping?
I extend my feet, they are poetry.
I extend my white cadaverous feet on your sturdy shoulder,
Do you hear me wheezing?
Do you see a lake of satisfaction splashed on my arms now?
Do you see, do you hear my red songs?
You are my canvas. You are my unnamed bond.


You are beautiful

Related image
image credits- google

Tear off the mask, your face is glorious”— Rumi

Unscathed beams of sunshine ripple along your pious cheeks,
There lie a canopy of precious words,
decorating your soul with white beauty,
where rivers of unruffled jasmine travel.
The scent is you, like a home of lavender candles
burning your mind, your beautiful mind.
Fabrication of art and beauty lies in your smile
Titanic view of sunrays, a holy reflection of poetry.
Seduction of smells entices your body like an opening of a lotus.
You evolve like the skin of the moon.
So, I become your hidden reflection.

©My Valiant Soul

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.