Published in a magazine.

 

I have been keeping busy off late, Writing and meeting deadlines and then drafting the manuscript for my next novel has drenched my energy almost. My debutant poetry book can be checked here, in case if you find it appealing. Well, I have been writing less on WordPress as I am trying writing various writings online and submitting it to numerous magazine which is a new deal for a change now.

Writing here is always a pleasant feeling as I get to see numerous wonderful writings and you people leave constructive comments always and my blog is extremely precious to me! But for a change, it would be nice if I can interact elsewhere too. Let’s see how will that go as I know it’s a painful path but then C’mon who said being a writer is all roses?

Still, we have to try and learn and with that positive note, I would like to thank the editor of Indian Periodical magazine who considered my poetry good enough to publish in his marvellous magazine.

Here is the link,

http://indianperiodical.com/2017/08/a-daunty-star/

Peace out!



 

The-wisdom- is- her

Related image

Mother: You are a hyperbole of the moon and the star, a hubris of soliloquy.

Like floating wax, you extend your skin to my mouth, forming chains of bewilderment

chains of congruence     chains of mammoth frills of hope.

You lie in the darkest of hours with a sparkle of holy water on your chin, the pink chin,

the orange chin, the grey chin where all the clandestine secrets are packed between

your teeth and the parched lips, you give blossom to my hair extending to my curves

the scarlet, metamorphosis pattern of face

Opulent serenity lies in your blood, I see my reflection

Time, death or a crooked  tree, you put embroidery incumbent to survive the veracity,

harsh or simple.

Objects around you become opaque, hollows of orange skies

squares of white ice, the eye of Satan

I absorb all the conjectures knitted in the black of  your eyes

to the stars in your magical touch

the fidelity to produce a seed: a seed I shall carry

a seed I may fail

your liquid, pale truth of surviving I inhale in the morbid tales of summer

only to form the web of ink and paper burning inside your motionless,

sturdy, an amalgamation of Supreme Ant  intoxicating, all pouring inside

basket of void, dulcet, a white star.