A vintage truth

Image result for vintage photos

Photographs are blurred memories,
 of faked, chipped, plastered walls
 cracking like walnuts,
 eating its own body-
 Walls & bones dissolving
 inside the tooth of dust,
 memories can be fatal,
 if picturized or vandalised.

All memories collide inside flaky cheeks
 producing abhorrence of stars,
 photographs stick
 like a parasite
 to your naked soul
 & exposes the flimsy spots
 of your entire galaxy.
 Like the black spots
 of a beautiful bird.
 Wax droplets memories afloat.

Denouement

Indian beauty
Pinterest

How many cuts does it take for a tree to heal?
Beneath the dark trunk of the Cedar tree,
memories and lives are buried
Above that same tree, premonitions of death and twitches exist
Symphony along with words is music like soft poppies
dancing in circles on my bulky breasts, (dripping sound of sweat, wax)

Your lie was my favourite perfume,
I wore that inside my body, like branches opening up, one by one
My mouth is full of water and dirt.
You are standing like a white faded star
full of thunderbolts, recumbent beds of black horizon
sticking to my tender green veins,
Between blank spaces and unsaid words, you existed like a stained-cellar
Bruised telephones, crooked chains of hope
Aligned perfectly under your dark skin,
the bites of ant wakes me up from a deep slumber,
Entwined bones crackles like spider’s great piece of architect
This is when I see, end of seasons
end of river flow, end of unseen Unicorns.

©My Valiant Soul


Electric

 

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image credits- AvaxNews

 

 

The protrusion of sultry roads
chokes my unborn laughter.
my teeth dropping off the tiniest molecule of red wires
sharp, electric, bizarre.
I doubt your tongue, human!
For chills are deceptive often.

Summons of thunder on my pale lips
now your sturdy words,
collide, oh human!
Your tricks are electric.
Your tricks are deceptive.

©My Valiant Soul