Beneath the shell-Visual Verse Link to my latest work.

I must say that this time the picture demanded something more raw and constructive. It took me some time to write this one but glad I am to see my verse in Visual Verse and also the other amazing writings. Do check it out.


The Final Exit

The day I shed my skin,
what will it be named and scored
The table of mahogany, the scent of yellow stained old papers
the blanket now white would be turned crisp golden
Mosaic moments Transparent fragrance Cold evenings

With time as a poking device on my cheekbones
I would shed some pieces of satiation, hunger
on the nape of my thin neck,
Screams, lipid screams and tongues of unborn voices.

Knives as powerful as life,
will slap me with cuts and honesty
Stating the end of pavements, the end of seashore walks
Strangulating noises will go missing in my head,
That writer’s block will be missed as colossal as a thunder.
dropping sounds of Sonnets. Wheels of bleeding pale ink gushing my veins.

Thirst of a parched desert, Oval eyes seeping thrush blue waters.

I will be ashes and the rest will be an Ode
With sagging back, my lips will shout “POETRY”
Emulating peachy air of life- death
I will be a memoir and a tribute
I will be someone or something, in circles and loops.
The day I shed my skin.


Mother, I see you.


With hallucinating fingers of forecasting
I counted your skin and your mouth and I counted you

Your mouth poured water on my soiled heart, almost a surreal thing.
And you buttered my hair, my lips, my hips
with cerulean droplets of your vintage mirror.

I saw you taking vodka and pills while sobbing
near the cliff, near the swollen ebb,
near the Earth
to see him departing you and bisecting you
like old cassettes and used carpets
he played the keys of the mundane monopoly game,
Oh, I saw you circling your eyes
with oceans of thunders and clinging dirt

you ate so ferociously the whole dinner by yourself
like you wanted nothing but this food
and the platter was already full of brass and copper.
Mother, mother, mother
I see a soliloquy of sustenance sinking
right on the joints of your tongue
and extending deep down to your tottering chipped toenail

I have drunk the milk your poured me
rummaging the past bonds, the past sorrows
like the splitting of peas and dicing of peas.

I always wanted to surround you, Mother
And then, the time came I saw you emulsifying
Saturating and desiccating
With a cigar in your mouth, you wanted to bleed prayers
Ransacking these walls of thesis and soft love
you wished to melt and melt and melt

I sat and saw you, still scavenging your unsaid words
your love, your molten body
like Jaipuri studded skirts.
I wanted to weep and splash reality that day
in the spirits of my hallucinating verses.

But, you did not care Mother,
You melted anyway.



And then you shall die.

Embedded in the swamps of paroxysm
where I see no constant paths or pavements
chipped walls, chipped florals, chipped winter
cascading all through my pale face
in delusions, in fallacies

I cracked the seeds of opulent hypocrisy of yours once
I shall do it again,
and again,
and again and again.
Till you split like apples and dice into cubes
with a naked foot of mine
I shall pierce you,
thawing your fingernails and burying
them into a grave
empty and swollen.

And then, you shall die. (claps, claps)

P.S- I know its all-new year thing going on everywhere but for me, a new year and new day is always when I am happy. Pardon my dark write-ups or even better deal with it! Who cares, after all!


That Silence

I am walking on my own laced path

with frills and throbbing water

Discern the reality, Observe.

Titanium clocks strike the moment of truth

I am as soft as the morning baked bread,

Eyes peeping into your glass carved twists,

Sonder. Hallucination. Expectation. Ashes.

Death shall come eventually,

choking your doors and my windows

What does human fight for, if not humanity?

Coffins: decorated and flowered

I speak veracious lights of thorns,

Concave, convex

Puddle. Soil. Palpitations.


© My Valiant Soul




Image result for together art
Maria Szollosi


This syndrome I carry,
Seraphic, a butterfly in cocoon
churlish eyesight, colliding with your wounds.
I will sew your pain
Believe me, for I am the traveller of scars,
I will kiss your moonlit tears
and the paths it travelled,
I am an archaic smell of vintage champagne.
I shall regenerate always,
I shall not die,
and when I do, I shall with you.

©My Valiant Soul


A myth


Image result for human nature art
image credits- – Google



Surreal spectrum of rainbows
clicking my mind
in the sultry daydream.
A mirage unknown,
Faces floating
roses blooming
till the moonlit occurs,
a failed marriage,
or child marriage
Lavender smiles,
perplexion in minds
Mahogany sturdy furniture to cherish,
and the coffin is just a wood.
oh, human, what a myth!

©My Valiant Soul


The Endgame


Related image
image credits- Google


I am shaking in the still water
among the perfect aroma of lemon, I smell decay of woods
like the tall statues, my veins perspire
I sink, I sink.

With scissors of betrayal
the humming of howls
loss of births
I am lost, I am lost

Teeths crackle,
with each twist in my cerebrum
words hurt like
electric wires,
I die, I die

©My Valiant Soul

Newborn Me


image credits- my valiant soul

Time: An acerbic motionless protest cling to my feet,
abstruse it lies on my face disguised as the
murky hair-strand, defining today’s black solitude
whiffing tomorrow’s grey death.
Friable snippets of my today’s sorrow still exist,
lying on my wet sheet of the chopped pillow
as the translucent water drops on my oak tree,
Dissonant hangings still sing bliss
while my insipid dulcet arms cross each other in anguish.
I see a black star, death perhaps?
I see a white star, sufferings perhaps?
Convulsions of betrayal paralysis my lower half
in the basket of crooked watermelon slices.
I knead the vacuum of Orion, stepping into the loophole
of the web of time, knots constrain my teeth,
Now, time halts inside my empty stomach
echoing the bulge of a lump of void dust.
Brushing the remnants onto my airy skin,
The striking of pendulum in my upper eyelid
gives the aftermath to a newborn me.


©my valiant soul