I was told since beginning to breathe. Outside the loathing empty voice.
Like a romantic bud blossoming under the clear sky.
I knew i had some issue. I was often mad.
People called me anxious.
And life vomited every disgusted feeling, a black hole on my face.
I survived that.
i survived my anxiety.
The hollow arch of turpentine water did amaze me.
Somedays, the summers ring into my ears like a blade.
i had seizures too in the past. The ones that would burn my entire body
I became a quiet monologue, left to flip through times.
And often, I would swim among the pages of words,
words of my rummaging eyes, seeking nothing but love.
nothing but life,
oh, that life.
Iterative steps to defy this melancholy.
I rest this white clapping body onto the walls of poetry now.
it holds me like a lover.
In honor of- world poetry day.
Also, I like to keep my punctations just the way it is. (i=I)
we look at the same clouds.
the same loose hanging blue tint of our elbow.
we sniff the same sky,
the paper balls of dreams.
ah, it reminds me of your whole body.
a map cascading through your hairline to your hip.
a sky resides there too.
The water. The rain.
The crinkling sheets of staircase.
the steps that go mad.
mad/ inflated/ swing.
i often want to hold your breath
between my palms, a souvenir of Cupid’s.
or maybe preserve and turn in into a vintage burp.
oh yes, i can swallow this sky.
i can swallow you.
for we both are liquid,
between the squirming gasps.
there is a corner of Life.
up in the grey, lava, fat sky.
we shall meet like dust, like a sound.
like a pool of soft indentation.
in the sky.
calamitous whiff and your black eyes.
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.
you would burn in waters,
if you could feel my skin now.
smudged dose of love, insipid flaky fingers
this arm hurts now from resurrecting my soul,
streams of rivers lynching my soft neck.
i long for love and loneliness altogether
cleaved moon dripping honey on pale skin.
you kept me breaking, like twings and forests.
sliced ounce of crooked lemon zest, burning.
it kept me hurting yet alive, you see.
i could feel the faulty facets
leaking sideways of my languid arms.
topsy turvy my tongue, this moment.
i am moth, sucking glaze from marigold,
camouflaging dust & bitter taste of you, perhaps.
this is me, this is survival now.
swallowing all that I see.
you sit on my corrosive neck and feel the black void spot,
i have bones made of bone-china and a little neck to proceed.
i stand and look for you in aberrant currents,
i split daylight across your arms.
to know the layers of your skin & words
i perform rituals day after day.
A windswept memory tucked between your lips.
a grey memory folded like velvet curtains.
i imagine you in a surrealistic way.
A song to hum, to ingest the threads of madness.
i think of you in moments of cacophony that stich my ears with a soft noise of you.
I know I generally don’t do awards but this time I made it an exception mainly because I wanted to answer something about myself as I am in the process of Self- discovery. Many thanks to tinarosepoetry for nominating me for the same.
- Thank blogger(s) who nominated you in the blog post and link back to their blog.
- Answer the 11 questions the blogger asked you.
- Nominate 11 new blogs to receive the award and write them 11 new questions.
- List the rules and display the Sunshine Blogger Award logo in your post and/or on your blog.
- What is your favourite thing about being a blogger or writer?
I feel like blogging is the process of Catharsis for me. It relieves a lot of pain and anxiety making me feel better. The favourite thing shall be writing without giving a damn!
- Where do you get your writing and blog post inspiration from?
My darkness is enough to inspire me.
- Who inspires you the most in your life?
My mind. And if we talk about a person- Audrey Hepburn to an extent.
- How do you deal with writers’ block?
I go crazy then sip a cup of coffee. Then reverse the whole procedure until I am sane to think again.
- What is your favourite thing in the world?
Staying happy and writing.
- What is your mantra?
Expect nothing from anyone and You shall be at peace.
- Best place you have travelled to and why?
None so far to compare. I want more to make me happy.
- Where would you love to travel to in the future?
Paris. Seychelles of course.
- If you were allowed only one item on a desert island what would it be?
A journal perhaps?
- If you had five wishes what would they be?
- World Peace
- My wish to be successful in writing a bunch of poetry books.
- Loving myself more and more.
- Living a couple of months in a tree house, alone.
- Travelling more.
- If you could be anyone for a day, who would you be?
Pablo Neruda, I really want to get inside his way of thinking.
- How do you define success?
- Your favourite blogger/writer?
- 3 things you wish to have right now?
- How do you deal with anxiety, if any?
- Your current favourite passion?
- A dark poetry or love poetry?
- How do you manifest your mind into things more philosophical?
- What inspires you to write?
Ah, that’s all. I really can’t think any other questions as for now.
I feel so different right now to do such a post because mine is an award free blog. But anyways!
Thank you for reading so far.
I was the one
with bruises and stones
in my mirror-eyed reflection
a reflection of you, mother
the cacophony of time and hours
floating inside your eyes,
the heaviness of pebbles and rituals.
Your arm mocked your cerulean breast,
with its swollen stigma of memoirs
and some pictures, vintage.
I combed your concave mouths
of dripping forlorn fractures,
like a staircase bleeding
or a topology reversed and processed.
I am a soft song in your black-knitted bun
a piece of your chipped nail,
a sunflower, kissed and harassed
inside your turbulent head.
A cauldron, and a day full of nights
hid beneath your muffled chin,
a mole hanging beneath your shouts and dim- dreams.
Mother, you are a pool of madness
and a point blank.
Obscure, shadowy your tongue knits tears
and a sweet thread of touch, impeccable.
Sometimes, I glint in your orange censure
a pattern of love and you,
Your body is a dream.
and I fall in your loops of laps.
the uncontrollable seizures,
the uncontrollable laughters,
Scarlet red wires.
it’s all you, it’s all you.