How many times do I shift my bodily postures? from a room so cold, so absolute, to a room full of hopes. There is a never -ending system of dying things in here. I move like a ‘banjaran’ wishing for dead leaves, painted auburn sky sunlight hitting my pale, loose skin, I move to hide my burnt scar, throbbing now layers of cold ripped moths biting each other. How many times do I slip from this moment? wrapped into a crochet woven by memories, How many times do I defy my existence? Fragments of red – like winters forming on my chest. How many I times I become countless? (banjaran- a wanderer)
I would appreciate if you could check out my poetry collection Crimson Skins through the links below. Read it on Kindle maybe? Share and spread.:)
https://store.pothi.com/book/devika-mathur-crimson-skins/- INDIA
CRIMSON SKINS- BOOK DEPOSITORY
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