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.


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no reasons

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.

 

 

We are the voice

⁽⁽ଘ(Seldsum)ଓ⁾⁾

i understand that feeling of leaking.
an untold truth from your orange laps,
You breathe deeply, like a concave mirror dropping in shreds.
You wish to be gentle, to be soft.
A smouldering aroma that sits quietly on the bosom, nonchalantly.

I understand the pain and the peeling of throats past evening,
You force a dry smile, day after day on your smitten wrinkled face.
I understand how the walls of your lobby appeared,
lost in ignorance,
where people walked in and they left without a souvenir.

You have many branches, girl
smoke on an ashtray, burning still.
You can feel the hollowness of Earth.
the languid smell it holds, it carries us,
we the dead morbid souls.

I understand that lisp in your backbone,
your words burning inside like a leaf dying,
A point of everything comes for everything.
Accept it, girl, you are the voice.
Watch the sunset, you can swallow it all.

Uproar



i have a body that whizz like a circus
 two eulogies of sanguine madholes
 clifts and wars of a drunk man
 Loss of vision.Loss of words.
 repercussions produce hollows
 as deep as a cactus.

My knees producing floating amphibians
 Almost inhuman.
 Slid my copious throat
 you will have two minds again there,
 savaging my body
 like it's a loss of nothingness.
 streaming hot heads of loss.

©MVS

Whisper and the Roar- Collective

As already stated this is a collection of some profound writers and a web of survival stories that always make me proud. Proud of the fact, that I am part of this stunning community. The writings here are strong and makes you feel your bones like never before.

The writings not only intrigues one’s mind but also acts as a safe heaven for the survivors and the warriors. If you are a feminist or even a part of it, it’s the exact place for you and your tales.

The collective is currently seeking out for some RICH, EARNEST yet POWERFUL writings against Women exploitation and a lot more in honor of National Poetry Month. You can find the further details here.

Please do read the previous writings of our collective before submitting to Whisper and the Roar in order to avoid any rejection emails. We can be a bit choosey when it comes to some real writings. So give us some real voice, something that makes us go breathless.

Till then keep reading – the Whisper and the Roar!

MVS-

Curator of Whisper and the Roar.


Hunters-Down

I’ve been ripped and raped
with ferocious water ripples,
knives-steel cracked
Blood- bookmarked souls
rummaging through my skull
black&grey, still, molten.

The people are stale and ash
clicking wet tongues
eh,eh,eh,eh
dipped in morgues
and shadow of the death

With spits of fungus and moss
decoding their faces of hunger,
the world is a shit hole
anger and anger.

This place is a hoax
and a drop of glinting blood
on your chin,
on your hands,
on your rose opening.
The violence eats you
mental brewing of skulls and cracks
and this polka dot frocks, skirts
ripped and raped.

©MVS


Denial

Tonight, I shall smirk and produce cactus in my bones. Reverberating your conjured beds exhausted me. Tonight I shall not be a bean of pelican feathers, a china crockery. With the burial of your carbon mouth, I burn till the sky thumps. And then you shall explode the way I did.

Your clandestine face is like a green moth today. Pulverizing. Torrential.

The language of lonesome affairs strikes and burns my ginger thigh, moisture resides, phosphorescent sigh.

Scream and watch that burning sky. Swallow the eclipse. Revolve and rotate like wild sharks. A stack of lipids and liquids shall only entice you. You leap and crawl. Your skin is that of marine molluscs, fidgeting, concealing.

Tonight, I refuse to entertain you.

The burning wax is still my favourite companion.


®My Valiant Soul

Voices.

“Paper has more patience than People”

I have heard enough about the grey letters dancing, leaping
on the white pure sheets,
I have seen her tears also pooling up inch by inch and forming a galaxy
at each side of the page
Turgescent drops of ice circulates, rhymes and drops as she swipes the cotton cheeks
She stifled a numb voice, a queer quietness. Lost in the archaic voices.

Ataxia on her knees, ataxia in her throat
a vague remembrance of ash and wine
she twirls the pages and eats it like a healthy dinner
Insoluble mud often teaches you life beyond death
making you reflect reflections, the screams and the smudged mascara

she speaks now, trembling voice like that of the old-fashioned stethoscope
a heartbeat yellow and fractured
startling. Survival. Unflagging
She resides here in these brown paper of dust and pain.
She resides in your vertebrae, like fungus
she travels quietly in our disgust words,
She is us.

«©MVS


 

Still Evolving

Sharing my one of the poem that published in Visual Verse


A nameless flower, born in the thistle of cacophony.
My white thighs wrapped in the cellophane of expectations, suffocating and palpitating.
I marked my mother with scars, when I was born, she survived and cursed.
I am a girl, a white penumbra of the dark moon.
Chopping and twirling exists right in my aching stomach
my pale blue eyes, devouring the truth, sustaining the myth.
I am a ball of false mushy hopes.
I evolved each time eating the paw of time
the perforated sky, the unborn lilies of the fields.
The humanity eats my loops of scratched skin,
like the fights of animal, I am lost, swelled up in my dirt
The haywire of unseen puddle of disgust puts my jittering teeth in
total eclipse, a black afternoon of dying autumn.
Here, my fingers poke my sustenance churning the evolution of my vapid firm breasts, for it is still evolving
For the mixture of raisins and cactus still, thump my vagina.
I wake up each morning eating your unhuman thoughts in my breakfast, I see you smiling under the black sheets
And I know, I am a bedazzled drop of that liquid ice
Still hunting, still fighting until I am a beautiful form of
solid atmospheric lush.

 

FIRST PUBLISHED IN VISUAL VERSE

Contrast

Teenagers in the 1950's much more elegant than teenagers now...

Pinterest

Circulation of stars was more familiar during
those sincere days when our bodies felt the lust,
the smitten rose kiss, the dandelion slaps
on our naked, yellow tongues.
Telephones were intriguing, for addiction kills.
Fingernails did not chap, broken things did mend.
Inside the tubes of bars, ladies enjoyed
with a brew of solace and poised wise.
My teeth crack to see the irony today,
humanity dies, numbing the skies.
Sometimes when I walk on moist roads,
The oak and the cactus pigments my impeccable skin,
slapping mud onto my thighs, making me realise a sigh!
For life's revenge is time,
And nothing binds the state of time.


My latest work published on Duane's Poetree.
-My Valiant Soul