poetry

Eulogy to Poetry

Sugar granules on my eyelids

define the numb, static voice

beneath the waves of poetry,

absolute darkness.

The times flutter on asymmetrical length

hypnotical lifeless mellow tunes.

Words break, poetry aborts

A mother takes a life of her son.

It’s sharp. Black.

As I think, a tree detaches a leaf

As I swirl, a star weeps

End. End. End.

Nature perspires wax,

drooling loose vibrations,

Ink is lacking from my blood.

My blood is blue in reverse order, stale.

How many more tantrums?

Time is satirical,

and my body sinks in pits of crime

Analogies weep and mother smirks.

Time ruins beautiful things,

spring- Ataxia of Poetry.

P.S- It’s not a complete Eulogy, but it’s quite insane to think what if one day it is?

© MVS


poetry

Paper-Cuts

 

Related image
image credits- Google

 

 

Pellucid petals of lust,
I, lean over to smell the paper,
Where I lament my dead hopes
burning ferociously.
My pen is pervicacious
inclined to savour the smoke ignited.
The words are my soul,
Insatiable I am dipped in its white corona.
Cathartic particles of serenity forms
as I write my love,
The paper, the pen, the paper-cuts
soaks me in its sullen charm.
And I declare my writing — my muse.

©My Valiant Soul


 

poetry

As I write

 

The letter…
image credits- Pinterest

The intoxication within is valiant enough to infuse my pen with the darkest of the tales to tell,
My heart is surreptitious at times, hiding even the lamest of smiles,
as I write, the emotions open up like the blooming of bluebells, now I know what all troubled me
The white sheet was dark before my ink decorated it with my diverse butterflies,
The sheet is adorned now conquering the dust,  flickering with cuts of heart
as I write, I learn the truth
and so my pen does not break
I write, I write.

©My Valiant Soul


 

poetry

Fragrant words

the ink drop bleeds from my wound of the past

how beautifully, it drops throwing my mask in the sheet

like the vapours colliding the sky

the exuberant eye-catching landscape

 drip , drip it falls on the paper, from my breath to my leg

from my mind to the tree that made this paper

I give my fragrance, wrapped in a fur to my words.

I give breath to my scratched skin