The sound of water almost uncanny, A plastic bag bloats and floats like a memory of thoughts piled and halved beneath, my sagging skin of skins. The room is a liquid gel with my thoughts arrested, sleek and colourful. Water Ripples my thoughts bifurcate further With tunes of melancholy and cascading mystical languages. It's supernatural. To observe the stagnant darkness with my crisp white eyes A twig eating another twig. I sit and scream in the slivers of time piercing through this vacuum body, I hear rumbling of sky detonating my body vapours I nourish the thoughts like a cotton swab softly, piling and weeding. It's almost ethereal. ®MVS
These lines, mahogany smell
Orchid base— prediction,flavour.
A loose arm of sky swings
inside my bowl of emptiness.
The colours dim and the henna evaporates
It criss crosses my legs and eats up my entire body
A parasite. A swollen body.
I walk in the room and the razor cuts sharpen
Folds and pattern twists the softness
and corrodes the dewiness.
A slice of Death iterates here,
Something still at pause ( no gerund, no punctuation)
I think again
about this life,
I walk again
in the pits of life.
I am a liquid naphthalene ball.
Round and white. Evaporating each day.
thriving from square to square.
I am a shallow bone of desires
burning in my own rivalry among galaxies.
Vinegar-faced my legs drool on my mouth,
Everything is opposite here.
When the earth rains and the sky listens,
the precise water-droplets of mercury,
churns my anxiety.
Where my war is my peace.
the hallucinations are my paradise,
poking my raisin breasts,
Osmosis of mind, osmosis of soul.
For everything is sustenance.
©My Valiant Soul
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.
A year and a half now on this beautiful platform which gave me an opportunity of sharing my writings and reading some brilliant work too. I want to take a moment and say how grateful I am to all the lovely people here who never fail to encourage and support me. A lot happened during this journey as once I also deleted my blog back in 2017 and then made this new one which again you guys flooded with love, thanks for that! Last year also I got featured in various beautiful online journals and with God’s grace, many more are upcoming including my next book.
To be honest, I don’t follow back all my followers for the mere fact that you are not my cup of tea doesn’t mean that you ain’t good. So let’s just say that! I deal with various body illness and often mind slaps which makes me write dark poetry. I know most of you must be like get over with it already…but if you don’t like it step ahead, please. I won’t stop writing what I feel. Oh yeah, I write philosophy too or love poetry too!
I have met some repulsive creeps also on WordPress which I can’t even begin to describe because I don’t want to. I don’t want to make my vibes squalid and disgusted.
And to all you lovely souls, thank you for your immense love, I hit 2K in December and since then I wanted to thank you all. I always shall appreciate you and I shall always breathe poetry.
Alcohol on my newly-born skin,
Do you see the patterns and the checks, the spotted wings?
I lick this ferocious almond scales on my skin, counting the pores
And I measure the breadth and length, obtaining details of details.
The oak tree knows the dents and paints
in the surreal landscape, where people romance
The lavender fields twist in its imperfection,
it sees black, grey, black, grey.
We travel and remorse like a soaked cotton ball in hallucinations,
We learn and emancipate, we gulp metamorphosis
and stack our bodies with memories, rub eyelids to breathe.
We survive and smoke, smoke till the moon spits anger, guilt to our innocence if any.
We are a floating wax of titanium spirits yet we fear cravings. Solivagant in dreams.
I suck the sand, the colourful dust and lips of my lover
I suck the galaxy of you and me.
I know, this arithmetic of us and time. We will evolve too.
©My Valiant Soul
I am in that bad phase which apparently the blood moon did. Thanks to her! And so I won’t be posting much neither would I would be punctual in replying all the lovely comments.
My latest poem is here. Just in case!
For memories does not spark my romance with life
Nor do they slip through the curtains of moisture.
All these years, even when I was a teenager,
I watered the dying roses and Orchids
Flushing a spew of lightning and rock salt
People became a mystery to me, leaving me stained
Behind the sturdy brown doors, a knobless door
And then began a veracious knitting
of words with emotions
I popped millions of pills, smoked cigars
Innumerable open wounds made me ugly, they said so.
Placid openings spewed disgust, Torrents powerful.
So, memories clasp you, twist and give a sudden twitch
They furl and embrace your naked soul,
Immersed in the droplets of blood and ink.
Memories are nothing but floating crisp memories.
image courtesy- My Valiant Soul
The day I shed my skin,
what will it be named and scored
The table of mahogany, the scent of yellow stained old papers
the blanket now white would be turned crisp golden
Mosaic moments Transparent fragrance Cold evenings
With time as a poking device on my cheekbones
I would shed some pieces of satiation, hunger
on the nape of my thin neck,
Screams, lipid screams and tongues of unborn voices.
Knives as powerful as life,
will slap me with cuts and honesty
Stating the end of pavements, the end of seashore walks
Strangulating noises will go missing in my head,
That writer’s block will be missed as colossal as a thunder.
dropping sounds of Sonnets. Wheels of bleeding pale ink gushing my veins.
Thirst of a parched desert, Oval eyes seeping thrush blue waters.
I will be ashes and the rest will be an Ode
With sagging back, my lips will shout “POETRY”
Emulating peachy air of life- death
I will be a memoir and a tribute
I will be someone or something, in circles and loops.
The day I shed my skin.
Watching the movement of emptiness sinking on my nostrils,
A part of Earth tremors inside my Corona of dismantling systems
With crooked pens, I still draw mundane loops of Reds and Black
Planets dance around my white waist
with slumbers of lilies stuck inside the windowsill
I leap and quiver, rebuking my seizure
For the numerous cracks now building under my blouse
Silhouette of Blueberries ruptures somewhere.
My eyelids become heavy and heavy
and the tears as my faithful companion
I sleep and walk and turn and weep.
Oh, my fingers shall be healed
and the knives of blood shall be washed
It shall be done.
It’s how we Survive.