Yellow- a poem

Yellow – scratched and heavy
an unknown desire to melt between the stasis of the sky.
Yellow,
a color that dissolves inside my thin muscles,
my tongue wired up with your name,
a loose sheet of kiss and melancholy,
Yellow: a quiet tapestry that hangs loose
bearing limbs out of balance
bearing mouths dripping foolish sins.
An external pain of the body,
a pain crisp as our bedsheet

I am a bunch of memories that belong to the sky
patched and cornered.

__________________________________________

I wrote my poetry book – Crimson Skins out of pain, love, despair. Hope you like it too. Links can be checked out here- IT’S AVAILABLE AT HALF THE COST ON POTHI.:) I have posted the reviews for my book in past posts, check it out if you are skeptical. I would appreciate it.

Crimson skins – US

Crimson Skins- POTHI

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Snippets from my life

Image about girl in ~Indie~ by Katarina on We Heart It

eggshells,
Coconut water. A vintage period film.
Clouds that speak a simple language.
A symphony sitting behind my silhouette,
a whimper of art.
Circles  of red tensions,
swinging to swing my hair hard.

A lipstick so dark,
my hands suffice the pain…
and the parched lips, bodies producing chemicals.
Fever in ropes of summer evenings.
You know how to feel it.
To drink it like a lemonade, sour/ therapeutic.
My life for you.

it begins as a full stop,
ends with a diagram of loss and repair.


My latest work published on Piker Press


windows and mirrors

Often, I am a whole another woman.
A woman who sighs with almond breaths,
oceanic concave shape of my face,
something like an oval,’with fingers typing “slow, breathe”
somewhere in this moist air.

This woman is inside my onion mind,
slithering an oculus bowl of chipped nights.
ah, eh, ah, eh
the voices are hollow,
and the dreams are crippled.
They modify too often, along with my neighbour’s talk.
I hear it like a tunnel.

Often, i am complete,
the stem of a leaking shoot.
The colours of my lovers words suffice the pain.
it happens, during the night,
i am not a sex object.
He makes me full.

Often, i just close my eyes,
these eyelids refuse to sleep,
they rather douse its callous mind in pain,
sobbing and sniffing
mirror plays a friend, too.
embossing my pain, love, all at once.


Soaked lips

these lips utter a pause of lipids
time after after
like a powdery cough.
 they bloom and shatter
 with details,
 wisdom of lush lights
 a fluid, a shade,
 a soft sunset resting on my backbone

Each petal a dandelion of rays,
 imperative words
 upwards and sidewards,
 spitting veins dipped in blue ink
 blue sky...a blue world.
 Porcelain drops of dew
Like lust to wax
A moments of spurring thoughts
Defying existence, one by one.

©MVS

splinters

 

it’s that time of the month
when the earth blooms like a bride,
and a thumb of life splinters.
fragments of the earth, the moon
like a mahogany autumn kiss,
divides my body into two beautiful halves.

I am a blossom now,
a dew on the foreheads of Gods.
Those gods who created a dimension of soil inside me.
Blueberries that speaks a truth about springs.
I give births, i take births
a circle of life.
effeminate blisters chiselled onto my hip.

I do not take rest like the sun, the moon.
i am a supernatural flower of crumpled anxiety.
So, I gather and gather, sunbeams, lilies
a soft thorn, honey, raindrops.
as much as i can,
to slip it all into my jaws,running
through the streams of loneliness of this fish-shaped eye.


 

the rise and fall

i guess, at times i walk on the waters,
the ebb, a reminder of my narrow chin.
i have a thing for kissing life.
and i do it precisely well.
i kiss and drink the sweetness,
the stars and the sound of the bells.
i metamorph into a syllabus of a veritable smirk.

dreams hold my mouth and put me back to sleep until i am awake like colours,
vibrant and throbbing a dark spot.

at times, i become seasons,
my body, a criss-cross of lanterns.
it’s small and beautiful.
And that’s how i inhale smoke,
my voice tore away like sunsets falling into the rivers.
streams of gushing ripples on my cheeks.

there was a time once,
when poetry was all Mediterranean Sea to me,
with potholes and hammers,
squirming noises of silence.

The semesters of trimmed life makes me a moon,
a person in illusion,
a mirage rising inside the languid skin.

A stich of memory

i am white & floaty like clouds.
thick sheets of molasses.
Old lavender strings hanging on my chest.

i am a convex memory of wax.
flashback of old days speak to me,
like vintage numbers,
vintage photos,
vintage walls & laughters.

i have a thing with people.
i mark and eat them along with the spaces.
completely. Bones. ashes. all in me,
as i create my nausea myself
dripping down my red lips.

i create and dissolve.
_______

when i die-

you will find ink blurb, parched words,
acoustic in air,
a hot burning potpourri
and my ink romancing with words.
this is what i will leave when i die-
a torn cloth, stinking souvenirs,
words like thick and sick stick to my tongue,
a concave road of anxiety on my wrists.

for i had no people in my pockets,
i had no eye contact,my conversations with stars
made me fall in love with the moon,
and its dark now, nocturnal love.
nocturnal soul.

Time&You

Related image

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.

®MVS

NaPoWriMo#15


The truth of this Skin

This Skin is transparent, like a stitch to spew,
 to flatter the moments of despair.
 The bruises occur,
 with an open mouth
 an empty sheet of braided dreams
 this skin claps and claps
 with a bowl of spewing lotus,
 and a hollow dripping hocus-pocus

Peppermint& honey drops
 with earbuds sagging,
 this skin melts,
 in the oceanic mouth of yours.
 Or this skin divides
 in my repetitive sins and sins.

I gasp and pray
 till my body collapse
 with a dying hint of clove,
 wafting breeze of paddy fields
 this skin smiles.
 Like polaroids humming
 in the crux of
 my immune skin.

INSTAGRAM- MY VALIANT SOUL

©MVS- NaPoWriMo#16

Madhouse- body

Your belligerent electric eyes
of swamps and tea bags
like vapours & death
picking my hair strands
to dissect me further,
oh you, mouth of monster
& shadow of half-naked moon.

i lie on my bed & count my reverse
motionless screams, words, screams
here in this room of death & poetry.
chapters of skin peeling, numb iris,
transparent lips of missing skies
i forlorn my ankles
of you and me.
and shiver the scoundrel body.
for this body is a madhouse.
like a concave arm of wax
dripping insanity, clocks
bells and words crooked-pungent.

©MVS-words

#NaPoWriMo-20


nights that talk of you

A mesh of poetry ascends in my scalp of lights
the place punctured by your visits often,
in my nocturnal nights of anxiety and suicides.
You step on to my body, peeling layers
of SCARS\ and you watched POETRY\
C A S C A D I N G
in molten, mountain flush of hours.

I am not dead if that’s what you mean—
There are splinters of time and flower
the raw ageless faces of skin,
goblet eye of evil-
here moon meets sun,
and earth meets my soul
it’s a travesty of you and me
rather than what you did to me.

I have seen the postcards of vintage ink
our lotus bodies sinking like air,
tropical destinations, with kisses side by side
I ate your nails, your fingers, your dirt
defying existence of deads & deads.
Now, my finger bleeds fungus,
crochet of inhuman trepidations.
I still hang you in my mirrors
behind my bed, behind my eyelids.
I still see your insanity

C A S C A D I N G

©MVS – NAPOWRIMO#19


A Poet’s Sanity

Tumblr site. This person has collected some really beautiful, old photos. This one is not the best example---but it came up as the only pinnable image.
Pinterest

Do not cross your doubts in my face of trees
Humongous rocks piling and shattering altogether
I am a cloak of shadow, hiding and humming chants
to release my sanity, blue waters of Mediterranean hunger
Clap my soul, and find the twinnings of pieces of glass
Fixated on the roots of my birthplace, insanity clamours.

Reds and Blacks
beneath
the sheets of night,
Liquor and it’s all forms
enticing and questioning
I knock my mind, to check the sanity
and words perch like a thick rope
entangling and pressing my blood,
knots and knots and knots
I check for my sanity now each day
for people melt into my mind, askew drawings
and then question my sanity.


©MVS

A Wall of Separation

Street Style Through History - Street Style of the 1930s, 1940s, 1950s

Understand this.

That I am afraid of the sunshine that sticks to my forehead often

ringing darkness as its ghost, or the beam of the heavy eyelid

The mannequins of transparent aches I have

Throttle the rim of my soft neck, and my skin sinks

in the reds and blues of waterfall reverse.

My fingers might chip and my dress might slip

Vertically in the horizons of your wide eye

Understand this.

The spots under the cleft of my chin are misty scars if you see

Defeated. Mended. Hands of the clock.

Times of quietness sticks to my mouth always, seeking a surreal cryptic language

Understand this.

I eat this paw of time, drinking the remains of memories

and then spawl, scorch, make a night- shift.

I conjure your breaths like papers of old Poetry onto the

cracks of my lips, my jawline to seize you in this verse

Understand this.

I am paranoid, choking on pills and pills and some more pills

I am an overrated drug of numbness and quietness,

biting the hollows of my palm.

Oh dear, Understand this.

©MVS


 

 

The Ghost is back

Apprehensions sink in the dark cloudy layers

like the kohl of my waterline, the kohl of my heart

I am a clown or that saint of the temple, for people misjudge me

With deposition of tears, I shall settle too

in the obnoxious satin walls of turbulent words

Something swells up on my neck, triangles and diversion.

Trepidation. Trepidation.

The wax of candles is stuck to my mind,

dripping anger or illusion

the folds of my bedsheet recall my tear

perfectly imbued with the corrosive words, the abuses.

I decay again.


Mother, I see you.

pinterest

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.

©MVS