Empty Spaces

My motif heart breaks
like a pool of ugliness,
Last night’s love, now a vintage memory
how you mock my love, irritates me.
i revolve like an Earth,
sticking to the mollusc
and petunias
and i fall.
fall like a group of galaxy
wild animals biting my skin
and I see you nowhere.
Nowhere inside me.
Nowhere uplifting my heavy stoned-arm.

You put me on bed
like an Old Wine to taste
till it drips and bursts.
Torrential streams of rivers of insanity.
I weep like a duck.
I weep like a drunk night.
(Soothing itself with its own light)
I weep and break.

You may ask the perforated sky
with drops of atoms
ripped apart from my chest
like the plunged rose, or honey-nectar.
A void in the sun.
A void in the star. Barren faces of slick dust.
And you will see where you left me.
Empty Spaces.


That’s life.

Run among the Autumn leaves. Run among your cascading bruises. The skin that is swollen now, the eyes which are full of jaundice, even if fingernails fall. Run.

Beneath the tree, under the valley, rub your scars, screech, shout, rub your scars again till you faint , naked facing the mirror of life.

To die or not to die, we all came to buy the bourbon once. The stale cracking lies you hold, the mask that you spit each day, dark, humid drums.

I carry in my mind, the eyelids yearning to be opened now. The electricity of sugar and salt concoction.

Take a pause. Survive. Ascend, Descend. Burn the walls like floating miseries.

Fall in Love with the fireworks inside your mind. Defeat. Put fog inside your collar bone, powder your dreams. Choose colours again. Red, mauvy red, Magenta.

Splash the cold water, like opening poetry lines, oh now you get me?

Run, Discover. This is life.

Black pain & walls

i have fallen with troops of maniac
inside this cold body
disappearing jawbones of sins
and masters of death
residing inside this globe,
the pool of ataxia,
the pool of coherence
with red pale evenings

Abstruse thumbs of broken lines
making me thaw,
ice-cold teeth
cracking on black grounds,
with lonesome stars,
knitting my naked body
like a work of brilliance,
spider's- job,
still, i fall this time...
i fall & it hurts.


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\
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



As a mind bleeds

You would bleed mentally,

axis by axis

to know my aching cheeks and lips.

they do not flutter, engulfed in smokes

my  mouth, volatile and dark

i am a pattern of transition 

disgusted each day, 

separation of tongues divides

these breasts once supple,

i am a sliced  burning moon

only diced further,

till i dismantle my nerves.

I will die a walnut death— with cracks

and dust flooding my brain.



P.S-I did not take care of punctuations, deliberately because i was too lazy to do it. And i do not care!

Point Zero

If i tell you my bones crackle, coarse carbon black

each time i sit and turn

would you slit a piece of the moon and ask her to mollify my pain?

my hands’ quiver and the elbow aches, screams and shouts as i ink my pain

like a heavy layered pile of stones resting on my newborn thigh

bending my earlobe down…down…

too much healing, prayers

chants and oil

i wither and desiccate in the flick of the time,

i am human, i weep and wipe

with a swollen cotton, yellow  glass or a paper

I am hushed and quiet like a falling star

Pain is my new muse, chopping my chin

till i am at point blank.


Like fresh breaths and cinnamon aroma
I wrapped your almond curve of palms,
preserving it into my oceanic eyes
Monsoon lilies. Iterative Petrichors.
I swallowed your words,an Orion of kisses

Only to know you will chop the slices of apple,
bit by bit
Smudging the sweetness, smudging the rhythms,
smudging my dreams.

    Scissors and Thorns

    image credits- Pinterest

    Penumbra, walls of construction, destruction
    black coherent cathartic squalid eyes
    numb crooked vertebrae floating
    in the liquid air, my body becomes a coffin.
    Enfeeble basket of black roses resides in my cracking eyes.

    I take a pause, and visit the old creaking house,
    haunted and mahogany drooling
    over my burning piquant skin,
    I feel a co-existence between
    the supernatural and the living
    Dents of loose threads of hope
    circulate, biting my skin, biting my tongue,
    biting my amorphous vapours of sick solitude.

    I want to weep today, scarring my acidic eye
    the hypocrisy, the swollen balls of abhorrence scar me.
    I am a vexatious taboo.
    How is sustenance a need?
    Even the sky dies at night.
    I evaporate, disintegrate, amalgamate
    only to be a broken piece of an elongated lie.

    ©My Valiant Soul

    The way it is.


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    image credits- Pinterest

    A box of hidden muse resides in my heart. I try to hear the amorphous murmur the times I am cold in my warm blanket. The smoke and ashes brew a pool of blurry images, my past tales that plunge deep into my veins, unable I am to move. Numb my thighs remain, numb my eyes remain.

    My room walls have gone pale, shooting bullets in my mouth, it hurts.

    The conundrum scissors mock my caricature, forming turbulence on my ceilings, in my ceilings. Nothing erupts out but the insipid cold droplets of heartaches, drop by drop it falls on my fingernails, burning like ice, cold as ice, that is how numb I float in the horizon of duplex walls.

    Like my chin resting on that eccentric needle, swords fighting producing my legs and arms, now they remain silent and here is the time, when the incumbent work is at a halt.

    So I wither and wither.



    My Poetry is Dark


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    image credits- Pinterest


    Tonight, I shall rip my mind
    bifurcating like thin veins
    for I see hot wax resting
    on my body,
    for I am lips and lips of shooting fire
    tonight, I shall cry
    and vomit my parched pain
    like shattered poppies
    lying in the coffin
    for dark is my home
    dark is my poetry
    the inside of poetry is me,
    and I am dark as Satan’s eye.

    ©My Valiant Soul





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    image credits- Pinterest


    Beyond this cracking wall, in the horizon of that empty dusk,
    I walk in the blues of protrusion of my floral cheeks
    my mind scratched, my heart stabbed
    A partition of a falling star and constellation of stars
    a Meraki of a paper boat, if you know
    I walk in unknown thorns, small, oval, sweet and bitter
    if bitterly waves reside in this moment, I shall conjure my body
    with naked dust
    And that dust will still hurt my iris,
    for my eyes has seen the deep red scar

    © My Valiant Soul

    Drop dead beauty.

    My flaky fingers hold my hope like the sacrosanct dusk, the better is my mind with the fall leaves, the turpid pick of the smoke, pulling strings impeccably, wretched you say?oh, I am just a maniac wandering on the ebb of tyranny, turbulence and war see the pattern?It’s beautiful though dark.

    The puzzles cut my thumb,scars all over the white skin,
    nourishing I call it
    Jasmine, fresh flowers
    the brutality spreads now in my eccentric jovial mind
    straight in the pond of sinking lips
    the pond of dropping diamonds.

    Dark howl

    I am no summer breeze. Neither I am a warm blanket to provide that yearning, surreal warmth.
    My own soul is shivering, heart sees cracks here and there, Irrevocable my tears are on this pillow.
    Fierce, ghost-like shadows perching on my knee joints,
    It hurts. It hurts my paradise dreams.
    And you say I am ignorant about the moon and its dark howl.


    The black petals
    On my backbone
    Fluttering mysteries
    Like stupefied
    Vintage buildings
    Resemble your devouring thoughts,
    That cling to
    My mouth
    My backbone
    My forehead
    My cheekbones and
    My heart
    In a insepid mundane pattern
    Of a dead leaf.


    I hear screech in my abdominal muscle

    Lurking deep in my vanity of thoughts

    My pillow talks the tales of absorbed tears

    The white cover unravelling the bites, the thorns of forlorn chants

    The crooked walls of my space shall direct the cave in my eyes

    Deep, dark, lost all at once

    My tongue feels the pinch as wound inflicted on a tree

    I know the cuts, mincing of cherry tomato

    Plucking of leaves, trimming the bush

    Removing filth, shaking dust

    Piling the dead flowers

    Even if they wish to dip into the brutality of a numb cracked flooring of a dead house.

    And I lie there, tongue-tied,

    Stroking arrows of horror, the array of thunderbolts uptight on my white thighs

    Watching it turn blue, darker blue and absurdly

    All black.

    A faded star


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    Ventilation bursts my shout outside the hole

    the frontal lobe of pain puts the pain on

    the clamour  my dark pink lipstick

    the soil declining to wake me up

    Tug of war.

    A lie in my pharynx.

    the knuckles of my hand

    like the cover of a coconut from my backyard

    Hard yet soft

    Veracity lies in the mouth of wise old man

    I hear, the squawk, tearing off the beetle leaf

    in the innermost layer of my earlobe

    the faint smell of roses striking  off

    the underlying scintillating pieces of star

    Explosions I hear,

    Darkening the repetitions, sketching my  faded outline

    with the black soil, no fertility I apprehend.